A Billionaire's Redemption

by Cindy Dees

  From the moment he rounded the corner into the library, she didn’t like the guy. It didn’t help matters that his first words were a booming, “So here’s the little lady keeping my seat in Washington warm for me.”

  He was a good ol’ boy all the way. Not that all good ol’ boys were all bad. But this one left a decidedly sour taste in her mouth. He just assumed that, as the candidate her father’s party had hastily chosen to replace John Merris, her endorsement was in the bag. He talked so much about himself and his extensive connections to the oil industry that he barely allowed her to get a word in edgewise. No question about it, he would operate in Washington the exact same way her father had—playing lobbyists off against each other, trading favors under the table and getting as rich as possible while in office.

  The second candidate, a man named Thomas Montoya, was in Dallas campaigning, and rightfully surprised that the daughter of his political rival was calling him. He immediately invited her to attend a fund-raising dinner he was having tonight. Wary of her presence being construed as an endorsement, she only agreed to meet him for coffee before the meal. But the fact that he didn’t once refer to her as a little lady went into the definite plus column for him.

  She dressed in the power suit the folks at Nieman Marcus had fixed her up with, and two of the security men drove her down to Dallas in a big black SUV that she had no doubt was armored and bulletproof. It would have been cool if she didn’t actually need the protection.

  Montoya’s fund-raiser was in a big hotel downtown. Her ride pulled up at the loading dock out back, and one of the guards whisked her into a thoroughly unglamorous service elevator for the ride to the twentieth floor where Montoya was apparently waiting for her.

  She stepped into a generic hotel suite, where Montoya, and a lovely but quiet woman who turned out to be his wife, stood and introduced themselves. Willa was struck by how the wife immediately faded into the woodwork, serving coffee with a smile, murmuring a few pleasantries and then moving to the far end of the room.

  A few weeks ago, that had been her. Willa shuddered in recollection at how it had felt to have people constantly looking right through her as if she wasn’t there. She made a point of looking the wife in the eye and speaking directly to her. The wife smiled with a gratitude that broke Willa’s heart. It was a hard life being the significant other of a politician.

  She turned her attention to Montoya. He was quiet and thoughtful, clearly versed in the issues and highly intelligent. But the clincher for her was his response when she commented, “I have to say, my fear with you is that the special-interest groups will eat you alive when you get to Washington.”

  Quiet steel entered Montoya’s voice and his eyes flashed with determination. “Unless we send people to Washington who are willing to say no to the same old way of doing business, who are willing to vote against lining their own pockets, who are willing not to be re-elected, how will we ever fix the problem?”

  She laughed ruefully. “You’re singing to the choir, Tom. So you’re truly willing to be a one-term senator?”

  “I fully expect to be a one-termer. I have a successful law practice back here in Texas, and frankly, it’s going to be a real inconvenience to my firm and my family for me to spend six years in Washington.”

  “Well, Tom, you’ve got my endorsement. How would your campaign manager like me to announce it?”

  Montoya stared at her in shock. “But I was running against your father.”

  “And doing a fine job of it, too. He was scared stiff you were going to beat him.” She shrugged. “I happen to agree with you. And I happen to believe in acting according to my conscience, not my father’s.”

  “I’m honored to get your nod.” He added wryly, “You’re a brave woman. I wouldn’t want to face the flak you’re going to take for abandoning your father’s party.”

  Now that he mentioned it, she supposed there would be hell to pay for switching sides, particularly at the last minute like this. Good thing she had that team of bruisers to protect her.

  The campaign manager was jubilant, and suggested that Willa stay for the fund-raiser and announce her endorsement there. It made sense. The press would be there in force, as would many prominent and wealthy supporters of Montoya’s.

  Willa made a point of chatting with Mrs. Montoya, who turned out to be a highly educated intellectual in her own right, while they waited in the wings for the fund-raiser to begin, and the crowd to be whipped into a proper frenzy before Tom Montoya was introduced. Willa knew the drill well and ignored the roar of the crowd. Tom went out and the screams and chants grew deafening.

  Then it was her turn to be introduced. The crowd went wild when she announced her endorsement. She sat down at the head table in the place of honor hastily arranged for her, and looked out across the room at a sea of dark, unrecognizable silhouettes. She couldn’t see a thing with all the spotlights pointed at her. The meal passed in a fog.

  Circulating in the crowd afterward was surreal. She was used to being the one who listened respectfully and nodded politely while everyone else talked, but tonight, people wanted to hear what she had to say. The main question was why the party switch? She eventually got her explanation down by rote and recited it pretty much automatically.

  But then a voice came out of the sea of faces that shocked her into stillness.

  “Tell me, Senator. Why did you feel obliged to wreck my life and ruin my reputation with your groundless accusations?”

  She whipped around to face James Ward. His nostrils flared sharply as if he was incensed that she would dare to face him. A few days ago, she might have wilted and slunk away from him, but no more. She was done being the eternal wallflower and always backing down.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “Supporting Tom Montoya’s campaign.”

  He leaned in close to her and she flinched in spite of herself as his pupils expanded until his eyes were entirely black. He muttered menacingly, “You’d better drop those stupid charges. You’re the one who looks crazy, not me.”

  She looked crazy? He was the one who had turned into a maniac and attacked her!

  His gaze raked up and down her scornfully, and his voice dropped into an entirely creepy whisper. “Still playing the vestal virgin. We both know what a lie that is, don’t we? Uppity bitch. Pretending to be better than everyone else...”

  She reared back in horror, but ran into the impervious wall of tuxedoes around them. Trapped. She was trapped!

  Her voice shaking, she inched back as far as the press of people around them would allow, and tried to reason with him. “James, this is not the time or place to talk about what happened. I’m sure both of our lawyers would advise not to speak to each other at all.”

  His shoulders hunched forward and his hands flexed and unflexed in angry fists. His entire body tensed as if he wanted desperately to spring at her in violence. “Afraid I’ll get another shot at you? Afraid you’ll like it too much? That everyone will find out just what a hot little slut you are—”

  She cut him off sharply. “You’re never getting another shot at me, James. Do you hear me? Never.” She backed away a few more steps, breathing hard, her limbs begging her to turn and run for her life.

  Apparently, their little confrontation was finally drawing the attention of the people around them. Or maybe it was just that Willa was backing into total strangers and tromping on their feet with total disregard. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted a commotion headed their way. Crud. She was about to fan the flames of scandal already surrounding her and James Ward. Intense need to avoid a press fiasco and diffuse this confrontation warred with her instinct to confront this bastard and not let him cow her any longer.

  James shook his head briefly and stood up straighter, relaxing both fists and his aggressive posture. The transformation was shocking. He was suddenly back to being the charming, urbane scion of Dallas society that everyone knew and loved.

  “Willa. I have to s
ay I’m shocked to see you here,” he said conversationally. “What do I have to say to convince you to drop those ridiculous charges against me? We both know nothing happened that night.”

  The gall of the man! As soon as he knew he had an audience, he completely changed his tune! The ease and completeness with which he transformed was chilling. If he could turn on the charm like that in court, she was in big trouble. What jury would believe that this pleasant, attractive man housed the monster she’d just glimpsed?

  Belatedly, she ground out from behind clenched teeth, “You call rape and violent assault nothing?” She forced herself to look him in the eye and was stunned to see what looked like genuine confusion there. What had happened to the furious, threatening man of moments before?

  Confused and more afraid than she’d been since the night of the assault, she said with disgust, “It took a week for the swelling in my face to go down, and longer for the bruises and other injuries to heal. And you dare to call that nothing?”

  The crowd around them was jostling now. The gossips were no doubt angling closer to hear this juicy little exchange.

  James spoke a little more loudly, no doubt for the benefit of the wagging ears around them. “I would never hit a woman. And I certainly would never force myself on one.”

  She was so shocked, a feather could have knocked her over. The bastard actually sounded sincere. And that was when the fury came upon her. So angry she could hardly keep her fists still at her sides, she gritted out, “How long did it take you to perfect that injured innocent routine? Are you practicing it to deliver it to a jury?”

  His wide blue eyes gazed at her, injured. “Willa, I would never lay a finger on you. Why would you make up such a horrible lie? What did I ever do to you? I only asked you out in the first place as a favor to your father. I wasn’t interested in you in that way at all. Why in the world would you go to the police with a cockamamie tale that no one believes? Are you that desperate for attention? Maybe you should talk to someone, honey. A counselor or something.”

  The bright lights of a television camera crew were closing in on the two of them, and she had time only to grind out, “You and I both know what happened, and you know I’m telling the truth.”

  He had the nerve to look at her in what could only be described as utter bewilderment. If she didn’t have firsthand memory of his attack, she might wonder herself if she hadn’t lost her mind.

  So that was how it was going to be, huh? She saw now exactly what his defense in front of a jury was going to be. He was going to paste on that wounded look and swear on a stack of bibles that he’d never touched her. Cold dread settled over her. He might just get away with it, too. His act really was convincing.

  No surprise, Paula Craddock was the reporter in front of the camera when it pulled up beside the two of them. The woman looked back and forth at Willa and James Ward as eagerly as a dog begging for a bone. “Well, what have we here?” she drawled. “Lover’s spat, perhaps?”

  James took the initiative, turning those innocent blue eyes of his to the camera. “We were never lovers. I categorically deny ever laying a hand on this woman, let alone doing any of the things she has accused me of. My momma and daddy raised me never, ever to harm a woman.”

  “So, you’re calling Miss Merris a liar?” Paula purred.

  “As sad as it makes me to say it,” James answered soberly, “I am.”

  The fist that shot out of the darkness beyond the camera’s blinding light connected with Ward’s jaw solidly, snapping his head back and laying the guy out flat on the floor. The camera light wobbled and then fell to the floor as something or someone jostled the cameraman in the eruption of chaos to follow. The camera light went off. Paula Craddock added to the chaos by yelling at her cameraman to get the damned film rolling because he was missing all the good stuff.

  As the spotlight went dark, Willa abruptly was able to see Ward’s attacker. Gabe Dawson stood there, flexing his right hand as he glared down at Ward on the floor. James struggled up to an elbow, and Gabe snarled, “Stay down unless you want me to break your jaw next time.”

  Ward subsided.

  Willa’s bodyguards muscled through the mob to her then, and just as she made eye contact with Gabe, her mouth opening to thank him for defending her honor like that, the two bodyguards each grabbed one of her elbows and practically lifted her off her feet. They hauled her out of the room at a near run and didn’t stop until they’d rushed her through the hotel kitchen, out the loading dock and into the SUV, which promptly sped away from the hotel.

  She didn’t even get a chance to speak to Gabe, darn it. If only she’d known he would be here. Maybe she could have found him and apologized for overreacting yesterday. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that he had backed her father’s opponent in the election.

  Chagrin rolled through her that he had come to her rescue, even after she’d shunned him and acted like a jealous, immature idiot.

  The SUV had made it about halfway back to Vengeance when she couldn’t stand it any longer. She leaned forward and said to the driver, “Could you take me back to Dallas?”

  “Back to the fund-raiser?” the guy exclaimed. “I can’t recommend that, ma’am. The press will tear you up.”

  “Not back to the fund-raiser. To a private residence. A penthouse with crazy security.”

  If the driver knew who lived at the address she gave him, he made no comment on it. The SUV exited Hwy 35E and turned around. In a few minutes, the skyline of Dallas loomed in the distance like a beacon beckoning her home.

  Showing up at Gabe’s place unannounced could turn out disastrously. For all she knew, he might want nothing to do with her. She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. The anger in his voice message last night still rang in her ears.

  But then, why would he punch James Ward tonight for calling her a liar? Did he or didn’t he like her? She hated the confusion roiling in her gut. If nothing else, seeing Gabe tonight should clear that up one way or the other. She hoped.

  The SUV pulled up in front of the posh apartment building, and a sudden attack of nerves turned her gut to jelly. Sheesh. She wasn’t some thirteen-year-old knocking on a boy’s door for the first time. Although in point of fact, this was the first time she’d ever knocked on any male’s front door. They had always come to her house to pick her up. She had definitely lived too sheltered a life, and it was high time to rectify that.

  She pushed the button beside Gabe’s nameplate in the lobby. Please be home. Please be home.

  Without warning, a deep voice came out of the intercom. “Willa? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “How did you know it was me?” she blurted, startled.

  “Lobby cam.”

  Of course. This was his techno-toy place. “Can I come up? We need to talk.”

  “Do we?” he asked cryptically.

  Was he going to make her beg? She supposed he had the right after she’d been such a jerk yesterday. But to have to apologize over the intercom, in front of her bodyguard...

  A buzzer startled her. “Enter the number 4-9-2-7-5 on the key pad in the elevator and it’ll give you access to the penthouse,” Gabe directed.

  “Up in a sec,” she replied gratefully.

  She turned to the bodyguard. “Would you freak out if I asked you to stay down here?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m familiar with this building and its security system. You’ll be safe. We’ll wait in the car until you’re ready to leave. If you decide to stay the night, text me and we’ll take off. Just let us know what time you want a pickup tomorrow.”

  Thankfully, the arrival of the elevator saved her from having to answer that. Her face must be scarlet if the heat in her cheeks was any indication. The bodyguard stepped inside, looked around the conveyance briefly, and held the door impassively for her as she stepped inside and keyed in the code.

  “Good night, ma’am,” he said emotionlessly.

  The guy said that like he expected her to
spend the night. She did have to admit, the idea of making love with Gabe again made her breath come short and her heart pound disconcertingly.

  The elevator ride was far too short as she tried to regain her composure and give herself a pep talk. No matter how many times she told herself this would be okay, she didn’t believe it as she knocked timidly on Gabe’s completely intimidating, stainless-steel front door.

  Without warning, the door swung open beneath her knuckles, and Gabe loomed in front of her, scowling darkly. He gestured silently with the whiskey bottle in his left hand for her to enter the lion’s den. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  Chapter 13

  Gabe didn’t know whether to be relieved or infuriated that Willa had shown up on his doorstep like this. He’d planned to spend the evening tying on a good, old-fashioned drunk. To hell with everyone who said a guy shouldn’t drink alone. Besides, he had plenty of ghosts to keep him company. The ghost of John Merris, the father he’d never had and whose standards he’d never quite managed to live up to. The ghost of Melinda, another person he’d never been quite good enough for.

  What the hell did a man have to do to win their approval? He’d made a billion bucks with the sweat of his own brow, for God’s sake. Wasn’t that good enough for them? What the hell was the use of having all that money if it didn’t impress anyone? Maybe he should give it all away. Maybe that would impress them.

  He snorted as he eyed Willa’s sexy little tush sashaying toward his living room ahead of him. John would call him a damned fool if he gave away his billions. Melinda might be momentarily impressed, but he knew all too well she wouldn’t stay that way for long. She would probably bust his balls for not giving the money away to the right cause.

  “Drink?” he asked Willa.

  She perched on the edge of his sofa in her linen church-lady suit, straight out of the political fund-raiser fashion catalog. He much preferred the hot copper number from two nights ago. She hadn’t looked like some damned virgin in the backless gown. But in this modest getup, he felt dirty for even contemplating sex with her.