by Carol Rose
“Let me take care of that,” Delanie said, borrowing a notepad and pencil from Ben.
“Thank you,” the other woman replied warmly. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Let’s move along,” Mitchell said, wondering if there was any one on The Cedars’ staff that wasn’t under Delanie Carlyle’s spell.
“Tell me, Mr. Spinner, any problems with the grounds?”
“No,” the head gardener responded, as terse as usual.
“Do you have special projects planned for the off-season when we’re closed before the holiday bookings?” Mitchell asked.
“Nothing unusual,” the gardener replied, a shade testy.
“Mr. Spinner,” Delanie said, a lovely smile spreading across her face. “Ben told me you ordered more of those wonderful old roses, the kind that are full and smell so beautifully?”
“Why yes,” Spinner said, unbending a little. “I found a supplier for Gallicas.”
“Really? How exciting!” Her face lit up. “Those are the really old kind, right? The ones you told me about before?”
“The Gallicas are the most ancient of cultivated roses,” Mr. Spinner informed her, his pleasure at her interest obvious. “Mr. Donovan wanted me to resurrect his grandmother’s rose garden and I’ve searched for some of the specific roses she collected. I’ll be expanding the rose garden back to its old size soon and putting in some walkways this off-season.”
“How marvelous,” Delanie enthused. “Will there be more of those lovely gold-ish yellow ones?”
“Those and some pinks,” he said in an almost fatherly tone. “But you’ll have to wait till spring for blossoms, you know. The conservatory is over-grown already and we don’t have any greenhouses.”
Mitchell ignored the reproachful glance the gardener sent his way.
“Thank you, Spinner. I wonder what you’d call ‘unusual’ plans,” Mitchell said dryly.
The gardener looked at him blankly before turning back to assure Delanie that he and his helpers would also be planting more of the yellow tulips she loved.
“You make this place beautiful, Mr. Spinner,” she told him, beaming.
“Moving along,” Mitchell said, trying to maintain control of the meeting, “how are the new brochures coming, Chad?”
The young man Donovan had brought in to handle in-house advertising straightened in his chair.
“Very well, sir,” Chad Walker said, a faint, intimidated stammer to his words. “I’ve found a printer who can do the full color for a reasonable price and I’ll have a mock-up ready for your approval by the end of the day.”
“Good.” To his annoyance, Mitchell couldn’t help compare his staff’s warm response to Delanie to their obvious discomfort with him. Not that it mattered. He’d long ago learned how to manage large groups of people. None of the techniques used in corporate business management required a tremendous amount of employer warmth.
All that touchy-feely management theory was bull.
People needed to know what was expected of them and needed to be adequately recompensed for their work. Period.
An awkward silence settled around the table.
“Chad,” Delanie said after a moment, “a hotel I’m working with in Boston is using a terrific advertising idea we might want to incorporate.”
“Really?” The younger man turned eagerly toward her.
“It’s some sort of video brochure,” she said, her face animated. “They have a tour of their grounds and talk about all their amenities and activities.”
“Yes,” Chad said immediately, “I know about those. They’re terrific and very cost effective, but—“
He broke off, casting Mitchell a scared look.
“But I decided it was unproven and unnecessary,” Mitchell finished for him, wanting to kick Chad like the scared puppy he was emulating.
“Oh,” Delanie said, her expression thoughtful. “Well, it’s an idea we can consider later, if we want.”
For an instant, Mitchell struggled to keep from informing her that the idea had been considered and dismissed. But he’d had enough experience to know that business required a cool head, no matter how much you wanted to strangle your damned partner.
“We’ll get settled into our new management roles,” Delanie said, her tone and smile clearly meant to reassure the staff. “Maybe later, we’ll find we have the money in the budget to do a trial video brochure. It’s a wonderfully visual enticement to prospective guests. We may be able to work it out later.”
Mitchell made no comment, determined to keep from reacting to the woman’s provocation. He was in charge of The Cedars and he planned on keeping it that way.
“Oh yes, one more thing,” Ben Norton said, consulting his notes. “Everything is underway in our preparations for the—that big wedding we’re hosting here. I’m not going to mention the celebrity names, but all of you need to caution your staff that we won’t tolerate them selling stories or photos to tabloids.”
“Certainly not,” Mitchell agreed. “If there’s nothing else to discuss now, I’m sure you all have other things to accomplish today. We’ll meet at this same time next week. Please, have your annual budgets ready to discuss next week.”
Gathering his notes together, he nodded his dismissal and the others at the table began to disburse. Several paused to murmur quiet comments to Delanie before eventually clearing out of the room.
Within a matter of minutes, Mitchell sat alone at the table with Delanie Carlyle.
As he rose, she halted him.
“Mitchell, can we talk a moment?”
Here it comes, he thought. The moment when she dropped her pretense of not knowing him and tried to charm him into stupidity again.
“Of course,” he responded briefly, sitting down again, his resolve unshakable. “What would you like to discuss?”
How we grappled in each others arms that night? The fact that I threw you off the property you now own half of?
She tilted her head to the side, an engaging smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “It might be a good idea if we decided how we’re going to handle our joint ownership of The Cedars.”
“Handle it?” he echoed. Two could play this game.
“Yes,” she said with a charmingly rueful grimace. “It would only be natural for you to resent my inheriting half of this place. It’s been in your family for years.”
“Generations,” he said, getting up from his chair to signal the end of the conversation, “but I can’t see what use it would be for me to get worked up over Donovan’s choice. It’s done.”
He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing his rage again.
“Can’t we come to terms?” she asked, the faintest hint of dismay on her beautiful face.
Mitchell came close to hating her then for the relaxed way she sat in the chair, the seemingly unconscious lifting of her hand in entreaty.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” he asked, hating himself for the expectation that made his heart beat faster. He shouldn’t want her, under any terms. Yet, the thought of sinking again into her welcoming body made his breath catch in his throat.
Why shouldn’t he take what she offered? She’d screwed him out of millions.
Delanie shrugged. “We own this huge place jointly and, while we have an excellent staff, some decisions will have to be made by the two of us. I just think we need to decide who handles what—“
His surge of disappointment surprised him. He’d expected an offer. Her favors in return for his acceptance of her position here. Following quickly on the disappointment was disgust.
Snapping his briefcase shut, Mitchell said in a clipped tone, “I’ve run multimillion dollar enterprises for years. You own a small design business. Which of us do you think is better suited to handling The Cedars’ management?”
The slender red-haired woman on the other side of the table looked at him with speculation in her eyes.
He maintained his silence, very aware of letting his face reflec
t none of the savage rage in his breast. This woman with her come-hither eyes and her soft skin had to learn it was dangerous to play with Mitchell Riese.
He wanted none of her manipulative charm, none of her sly maneuvering. The fact that he wanted her body under his again meant nothing. Pure physical lust.
“So,” she said after a moment, “you think I should quietly go back to Boston and leave The Cedars to your sole supervision?”
“You have nothing to lose by doing so,” he pointed out, keeping his eagerness off his face. Getting her away from the place, away from him, could only make his job easier. “Your share in the venture remains an asset.”
Her gaze rested on him, the green eyes considering. “I could do that—“
“Good,” he said, picking up his case. “Leave your address at the front desk.”
“—but I don’t think that’s what Donovan had in mind,” she finished, her chin lifted fractionally.
Mitchell’s fist tightened on the briefcase handle. He battled back the fury that roared through him at the sound of his grandfather’s name on her lips.
“Donovan’s dead,” he said, the words faintly clipped. “Let’s leave him out of it.”
“I can’t,” she said simply, the half-smile almost apologetic. “I cared for your grandfather, so what he intended when he left me a share in this place, well, it matters.”
“And what do you think he…intended?” Mitchell asked, his tone cool, a burning anger in his chest. He refused to discuss her caring for Donovan after she all but threw herself at Donovan’s grandson all those months ago.
She looked down at the conference table, one slender finger tracing a pattern before she raised her gaze to his. “I think Donovan knew I loved this place almost as much as he did. I think he wanted me involved in it’s running.”
Mitchell said nothing, unwilling to open the subject of that night so long ago and the morning after when she’d shown herself to be a deceitful, promiscuous woman.
She’d have to bring it up first. He was acknowledging nothing.
“So, I’m not going back to Boston and leaving it to you,” she told him, still with the polite note of regret in her words, the irritating hint of sympathy in her eyes.
If she’d have begged him to accept her or threatened him with a lawsuit. If she’d have shown any sign of concern, of panic or fear, he have been able to dismiss her as just another business matter to be contained.
Just another golddigger.
But she looked at him as if he didn’t matter. Looked at him as if they had never been intimate strangers.
So they were pretending that night never happened.
He saw the awareness in her eyes. She had to know he was not happy. But for the life of him, he couldn’t see any sign that he effected her to anywhere near the degree she jolted him.
He couldn’t forgive her that. In that moment, Mitchell mentally took off the gloves. If she wanted a bare-fisted battle, that’s what she’d get.
“Fine,” he said, turning to leave. “Then we both stay.”
Delanie Carlyle wasn’t your average avaricious woman. Dealing with her required a cool head and a marshalling of all his cunning determination.
But one way or the other, he’d best her and get control over The Cedars. And if, in the process, he chose to sample the wares she’d so freely offered him before, who would blame him?
******
Mitchell Riese jolted the hell out of her.
Delanie pulled her Toyota into the driveway of her newly-rented house, still thinking about the meeting that morning.
It was too bad that her sexy business partner hated her guts. He was the first man in a long time to raise that breathless, prickly feeling inside her, as if all her hormonal sirens were going off.
But she sure as heck wasn’t going to roll over and play dead because he resented her presence at The Cedars. He might be big and muscular and completely mouth-watering, but nothing could develop while they were at such odds over the resort.
Not that she had the time or energy now to devote to responding to the energy crackling between them. With the baby, her decorating business to maintain and, now, the situation at The Cedars, she had no room in her life for a sexy-as-hell lover with smoldering blue eyes.
Even if she managed to overcome his dislike of her.
Getting out of the car, she crossed the small, bright green lawn. Her gaze lingered on the white picket fence that marched around the yard. The fence was why she’d rented the small house. Only a few miles from The Cedars, the white frame house gave little Jenna a place to howl and prowl, as she was sometimes inclined to do.
Delanie had always loved white picket fences. They symbolized everything she wanted for her baby daughter. Stability, continuity, love. Even if her mother had blocked out her conception, Jenna deserved all the best things in life.
On the practical side of it, living at the house also kept baby Jenna from disturbing the paying customers at The Cedars. Delanie could only imagine what Mr. Lust-and-rage-in-his-eyes Riese would say about her setting up a nursery at The Cedars.
Smiling as she unlocked the front door, Delanie went into the house. Shedding her purse and jacket onto a nearby chair, she dropped to the floor on her knees to greet the joyful baby scooting across the floor toward her.
“Hello, beautiful Jenna,” she cooed. “Have you had a morning glory day? Did you love your peaches and rice? Are you the smartest, most wonderful baby in the world?”
Jenna babbled enthusiastically in response.
“I swear,” said the young woman sitting on the couch next to a stack of folded baby laundry, “that child sounds like she’s trying to talk to you.”
“Of course, she is,” Delanie agreed, tickling Jenna’s cheek as the baby crawled onto her lap. “We have our own language, don’t we Jenna-love?”
“How did it go this morning?” Connie asked, folding another tiny shirt.
Pausing to smack a kiss against Jenna’s tummy, Delanie said, “Pretty well. This situation is going to be interesting.”
“Is hunky Mitchell Riese welcoming you into the family business?” the other woman asked in a wry tone.
Delanie shot her a sardonic glance. “Not exactly, but we did survive our first skirmish.”
“I knew you would,” the other woman said, stacking the last of the clean laundry in a nearby basket before she got up and began unloading books from a packing box. “He’ll be no match for you.”
“You’re faith is touching,” Delanie responded in a teasing tone. In actual fact, she thanked her lucky stars for the day she’d hired Connie Stanton as her assistant. With very little discussion and few questions, the woman had been her savior in the days after Delanie had learned of her pregnancy.
A lot of design assistants would have resented baby duties being added to their job, but Connie had begged to spend time with Jenna.
“How’s the unpacking going?” Delanie enquired, balancing Jenna on one hip as she rose from the floor.
“Pretty well,” Connie said. “The bathroom’s done. So is Jenna’s room.”
She paused, reaching out to tweak the baby’s toes. “I’ve left your room for you to do, of course, and mine won’t take any time. So we just need to get the living area organized and we’re set for a while.”
“You are a gem,” Delanie said, hugging her friend. “We’d be lost without you, wouldn’t we, Jenna?”
Connie emerged from the embrace, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. “You might not say that when you find out I’ve left the kitchen for you to unpack.”
Delanie laughed.
“Not a problem.” She kissed the top of the baby’s head. “Jenna and I will do it together. She loves to play with plastic ware.”
Connie laughed. “Well, you two get to it.”
With the baby still on her hip, Delanie went to her bedroom, pausing only long enough to change into a t-shirt and jeans before heading into the kitchen.
As she unloaded th
e boxes and kept a watchful eye on her blond bundle of energy, she thought again of Mitchell Riese and his blue, blue eyes.
In the circumstances, he had a right to be angry. Most people, no matter how rich they were, wouldn’t like a property as valuable as The Cedars to be left in shared custody with a stranger.
But the intensity of anger in Mitchell’s eyes puzzled her. She didn’t mind the sparring dialogue, the civilized jostling for position. He’d sat there at the conference table, outwardly calm, if a little uncompromising. His words had been measured and reasonable. He’d acted like the skilled businessman he no doubt was.
Yet, when the others had left the room, when it was just the two of them looking across at each other, she’d felt the oddest impression. As if the enmity in his eyes was very, very personal.
As if she’d somehow outraged his soul.
And that puzzled her.
She wasn’t even sure Mitchell Riese had a soul.
She didn’t really know him and yet, he hated her with a vengeance. Hated her and wanted her.
Why?
CHAPTER FIVE
“I was surprised you asked me to dinner,” Delanie said, patting her mouth with her napkin before returning it to her lap.
She met Mitchell’s enigmatic gaze across the table two days after their first management meeting.
“Were you?” He sat leaning comfortably back in his chair, his big muscular body relaxed. “Surely not…with all we’ve meant to each other?”
She frowned at him, not sure what to make of his last soft murmur.
“Yes, I’m surprised.” She glanced around the small, exclusive restaurant. “Just the two of us? In such an elegant and private surroundings?”
He took a sip from his glass, his expression difficult to read. Was there heat lurking in the back of his eyes? A predatory male sort of something that sent a shiver up her spine?
He’d been nothing but agreeable throughout their dinner, no hint of the tightly-controlled anger she’d sensed in him at their previous meetings.
“What are you up to?” Delanie challenged lightly. “I know you resent my inheriting half-ownership of The Cedars.”
“Do you? Yes, I was initially upset by my grandfather’s will,” Mitchell said with surprising equanimity, “but I’m not one to beat my head against the wall.”
