For several seconds, he entertained the notion that she did deserve better. She’d walked away from a marriage she believed could give her everything. She’d flown halfway around the world to offer her support. She’d told him she loved him and he’d fobbed that off, too intent on licking his wounds and protecting himself from another round of love and loss to accept the honesty of that gift.
He couldn’t blame her for thinking she deserved better. He wouldn’t blame her if she refused to listen to what he had to say. But he would say it—everything that needed to be said, everything that he’d gotten so wrong the first time.
Then she could decide what he deserved.
Damn weather. Susannah swung at the moving target and missed. Damn punching bag. She hit out again, this time connecting with an audible thud that jarred through her gloved fist all the way to her shoulder. Damn man.
She unleashed a wild series of punches. Some of them actually found purchase on the hunk of leather. More didn’t. But there was enough satisfaction in the occasional thud to keep her swinging for several more minutes, until her breath grew short and ragged and her muscles ached from exertion.
Dodging the wildly undulating bag, she pulled off her gloves and reached for her towel and water. A quick cooldown on the treadmill and then she would treat her well-used muscles to a long, soothing bath. The prospect almost brought a smile to her mouth as she turned toward the door.
And then she saw him. Leaning against the wall just inside the door of the Tahoe resort’s fitness center. Dark suit, white shirt, silver-grey eyes riveting her to the spot as he straightened.
Everything inside her went still as he closed the space between them with slow, sure footsteps. As he approached, she could feel him taking in the yoga pants and crop top, which made her look the part, and the new haircut. The shortened curls were still unruly, despite the sweatband that was supposed to keep them secured.
“Hello, Susannah.” He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could see the softening mix of amusement and appreciation in his eyes. “I like the new look. It suits you.”
“I think so.” Their gazes met and held in a moment’s assessment, but that was all Susannah allowed herself. He’d tracked her down less than a day after that phone conversation, but she hardened her heart against its foolish leap of hope. “You’re a long way from home,” she said coolly.
“I have unfinished business.”
“How did you know where to find me?” A frown creased her brow as she considered the possibilities. “My mother is the only person—” Seeing the answer in his eyes, she stopped. “Miriam told you where I was staying?”
He shrugged, that familiar lift of one shoulder that was both eloquent and efficient. And ridiculously attractive. “That was the easy part. Finding you here—” he tilted his head to indicate the gym “—was more difficult.”
“It’s raining too hard to go walking, and I needed to expend some energy. This punching bag seemed an ideal way to work off some aggravation.”
“Did you picture my face on the bag?” he asked. The tiniest hint of a smile lurked in his eyes, and Susannah gritted her teeth. It was bad enough that he’d snuck up on her, that he’d watched her for Lord knows how long, without the amusement. To think that her mother had given up her location, that she hadn’t called to deliver fair warning….
“I should have included my mother in the target range,” she said darkly. “You must have made a mighty fine offer on The Palisades to win her over.”
The smile disappeared and his expression tightened, but not only with the impact of the cynical shot. The determined set of his jawline caused her heart rate to jump about like the assaulted punching bag. “This has nothing to do with business,” he said, low and even. “Your mother knows that. She’s a romantic at heart.”
“My mother? No. She was married to a man who cheated and lied to her for thirty years, but she never let on that she knew. She was afraid of the consequences. She liked being married to Edward Horton. She liked the position and the prestige, she put up with the negatives. My mother is a pragmatist, you see. I doubt she was ever a romantic.”
“She wants you to be happy.”
“And so she sent you?”
“She says you love me.”
“And you believe her?” For a long moment their eyes met and held, and for the first time, she saw the tension, the flicker of vulnerability, behind the set facade. Her pulse started to race, set alight with a new flare of hope. “Why would you take her word, Donovan, when you wouldn’t believe me?”
“I was afraid to believe.”
“Afraid of letting someone else close?” she guessed.
“There was that,” he admitted. “And I was afraid that I could never give you anything close to the everything you talked about having with Carlisle.” Serious eyes settled and steadied on hers. “After talking to you yesterday, I realised the truth. I knew the night I dropped you at your hotel. I watched you walk away and—”
His voice broke off as if he couldn’t find the necessary words to describe how he’d felt, but words were unnecessary. Susannah saw all she needed in his face, in his eyes, in the fact that, finally, he was revealing himself to her.
“I didn’t want you to leave,” he continued, “but I didn’t know what to say to make you stay.”
“It would have taken only a few words.”
“You say that as if it’s easy.” One corner of his mouth lifted ruefully, but his eyes remained intensely serious. “I’ve never said those words.”
“Not even to Mac?”
Anguish flitted across his face and her heart rolled over. “I can’t lose you, too.”
Heart brimming with desperate optimism, she watched him take her hand in his, and for the first time, she saw a muscle jump in his jaw. He was nervous. Afraid. Patently terrified. A part of her ached to ease his misery, while another cautioned her to hold back and wait for everything she’d yearned to hear from this man’s beautiful mouth.
“Someone suggested recently that you deserve better than me. Same person also said Charlotte Island was meant to be mine. I happen to believe that you’re meant to be mine, as well.” His eyes on hers quickened with a sincerity that stole her breath. “I’m not Carlisle—I don’t have the ready-made family. I don’t even have a home, but that’s what I want with you. I don’t care where we live. I can work from anywhere. I’m adaptable.”
“You’re independent,” she cautioned. “You told me the weekend we met that you don’t need a home.”
“Back then I probably believed it, but that was before Mac revealed herself, before I was forced to slow down and take stock of what mattered. Before you made me reconsider the meaning of everything.” His clasp on her fingers tightened. The expression in his eyes held her transfixed, wanting, hoping, wishing. “When I came back to Stranger’s Bay, my only thought was finding a way to get The Palisades. Then I met you. I wanted you. I made excuses. I told myself it was only about ending the wedding so I could get the contract. But I couldn’t stand the thought of you with another man.”
Susannah’s heart dipped. “You couldn’t stand losing out.”
“You stood up for yourself, for your principles, and that only made me love you more.”
“Wanting me isn’t love, Donovan.”
“I love you,” he said again, this time slowly and clearly, with conviction strong in his eyes. “You told me on the phone yesterday that you need to improve your core strength, but your strength is one of the things I love in you.”
She started to shake her head, but he stayed her with a look.
“You’re strong when it matters. You left your father’s business when you no longer respected him. You didn’t take the easy path, accepting his money. You walked away from a perfect marriage arrangement because you love me.”
Reading the question in his eyes, she touched a hand to his face. “I do, but—”
“No buts,” he said softly. “You deserve a man who lov
es you with everything he is, who wants to make a home and a family with you.” And there, with the soldierly rows of treadmills and StairMasters and weight stations for witnesses, he went down on one knee. “I love you, Susannah, and I’m asking you to be my wife.”
“Are there any clauses attached?” she asked solemnly, despite the wild racing of her heart.
“There is one about wearing my ring.” Like a conjurer, he dipped into his pocket and produced a perfect white solitaire. “On your finger, a sign of commitment.”
He slid the ring onto her finger, and she lifted a tremulous hand so the diamond caught the light and dazzled through her sudden tears. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s forever,” he said.
“Yes,” she managed around the tearful jubilation that threatened to overwhelm her. “I know that.”
“Is that a yes, you will marry me? Yes, you will be my wife?”
“Yes. Yes. I love you, Donovan. I have always loved you.”
Finally, as those words took hold, the tension around his eyes eased into a smile. “I love you, too, Susannah. That’s the answer, isn’t it?”
“To every question.”
Slowly he came to his feet and engulfed her in an embrace for a long moment before lifting her into his arms. “Where are you taking me?” she asked on a shriek when he swung her around in a wide arc. The smile on his face and in her heart turned her giddier still.
“To your room.”
“To pack?” she asked, and her arms were around his neck, her face nuzzled close to his.
“Eventually.”
“Hmm,” she mused. “Are you thinking of an exercise I might enjoy more than the gym?”
He laughed, a wicked, smoky chuckle mirrored in his eyes as they looked down into hers. “I’m thinking that now I have you right where I want you. And I am never letting you go.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1506-5
TYCOON’S ONE-NIGHT REVENGE
Copyright © 2008 by Bronwyn Turner
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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*Princes of the Outback
*Princes of the Outback
*Princes of the Outback
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Tycoon's One-Night Revenge Page 14
