Swept into the Tycoon's World

by Cara Colter

  “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me for not kissing you at your senior prom?”

  “That was part of being a good man, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I think we should have a do-over.”

  “What?”

  She could not believe this was her, but one thing she was learning was you only came this way once. Why not take chances? Why not go after what you wanted? Why not take a risk?

  She was falling in love with him. She knew that. Even today, it felt as if it was deepening around them. The level of comfort, of connection, of companionship.

  And something was definitely brewing on a deeper level, too.

  Awareness.

  A wanting.

  To taste him again. To know him in a different way.

  In a way, his choosing kayaking was the safest thing he could have done. There was a whole boat in between them! No cuddling was possible. No physical contact. The closest she could come to touching him was splashing him!

  Was she just going to let him relegate her to friend-I-can-decompress-with position? Was she constantly going to be the one helped? No, for once in her life she was taking a chance. She was going to put it all on the line.

  “Your company’s charity ball is coming up,” she said.

  “Did the organizer get in touch? Are you making cookies for it?”

  “Yes, for the midnight lunch, plus four-cookie boxes for party favors, though that’s not why I mentioned it.”

  He waited. She glanced over his shoulder at him.

  She took a deep breath. “I’d like to go.”

  He dipped his paddle in, setting them in motion, trying to move away from it. “Of course you are welcome to go!”

  “Not as the cookie caterer.”

  The strength of his stroke carried them a long ways out into the stillness of the water.

  “With you,” she told him firmly.

  She could feel the bravery in her. She could feel a shift in her perception. She wasn’t the hapless, heartbroken woman pleading for people to choose her on the internet, desperate for a first date, never mind a second one.

  She just wasn’t that person anymore. Maybe just speaking about what had happened to her with Brand had clarified something in her.

  Helped her make a vow.

  No more being a victim. Not of men. Not of life. Not of circumstances.

  She was going to take the helm. She was going to steer. She was going to move in the direction she wanted to, not wait for someone else to move her. Instead of waiting passively for something to happen, she was going to take charge of her own life,

  She wasn’t waiting, hope-filled, for something to happen to her. She was making it happen.

  He didn’t answer. His paddle entered the water and pulled the kayak forward with such force Bree wondered if she had ever been helping paddle at all. He looked wary of her invitation.

  As well he should, she thought happily, as well he should! Because she was changing right before his eyes. It might not have hit him yet, but what she was really asking him was did he want to explore what was going on between them in a new way? Did he want to move forward?

  Yes or no.

  As simple as that.

  But, of course, she should know by now, nothing in her life was ever simple. Because as that question hung there in the air between them, as she explored the meaning of bravery in this brand-new and infinitely exciting way, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a movement.

  She swung her head toward the ripple in the water maybe a hundred feet to the left of the bow of the kayak.

  The ripple became larger. A huge round back, black and shiny as a freshly tarred road, rose out of the water.

  Her heart felt as if it might beat out of her chest. A mountain was shoving its way out of the gray endlessness of the ocean, way, way too close to them. The powerful movement was rocking the kayak. They were in very real danger of being capsized by a whale!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE KILLER WHALE swam beside them, its ripples rocking the small kayak. Thankfully, it quickly outdistanced them. It blew out its top spout, a geyser of water droplets making a rainbow in the air. And then the whale’s terrific bulk lifted out of the water. The grace, in a creature so large, was astounding. It shot up in the air, a cork released from a bottle. And then it crashed back down with such force that they were sprayed with water, and the kayak rocked more violently, before settling into stillness.

  Brand had never seen a whale that close, not in all his years of being on the water.

  Bree turned and looked at him. When the whale had first begun to surface, she had gone dead quiet and utterly still. He had been able to read the tension in her posture.

  But now, all of that was gone. She was radiant as she turned her wide eyes to him.

  “Oh!” she breathed. “Oh! That was the most amazing thing I have ever experienced.”

  His male ego wanted to remind her that she had just kissed him, only days ago. Certainly for him that kiss had been as earth-rocking as the breaching of the whale.

  The whale had distracted her from her invitation to him. On the surface, it seemed as if maybe she was asking him to go to the charity ball. With him.

  But, of course, with her, there was another layer to it.

  Bree was asking him to define what was going on between them. He’d known, as soon as he had to escape to Bali to get away from her pull, what it was.

  He was in the danger zone.

  And maybe it was already too late to fix that, to escape it, to change it to something else.

  The way she was looking at him now, her face so radiant, a person so capable of wonder, after all that had happened to her, it asked him about the nature of bravery.

  It asked him if he could be a better man.

  It asked him if he could stand the loneliness of going back to a life that didn’t have her in it.

  He was not a man used to being terrified, and yet really, he was aware that had been there since the moment he had rescued her from under that cascade of her own cookies at the Stars Come Out at Night gala.

  That she would ask more of him. That she would require more of him than anyone had ever required before.

  That she would hold out to him the most enticing gift of all: an ability to hope for things he had given up on a long time ago.

  There was a possibility he was constitutionally unsuited to the world he saw shining in her eyes like a beacon calling a weary soldier home.

  But he had warned her of that. He had tried to tell her.

  And this was what she was trying to tell him: she was not the innocent girl he’d escorted to her prom any longer.

  She was a woman, capable of making her own choices, capable of embracing all the risks of the unknown.

  Love. The greatest unknown of all.

  Love, that capricious vixen who called you in, then shattered you on the rocks.

  Somehow, he could not see being shattered on the rocks with Bree. Her eyes were warm, everything about her was genuine.

  She wasn’t going to hurt him.

  And so he said, “Sure, let’s go to my charity ball together.”

  He said it casually, as if it was not every bit as thrilling and as terrifying as that whale breaching the water beside them had been. Saying it was a lift of his shoulder that said “no big deal,” as if he had not just stepped off a cliff, and was waiting to see if the parachute would open.

  And the parachute was her.

  * * *

  Despite a paddle against a slight current coming back in to English Bay, Bree was brimming over with energy. Life felt the way it had not felt in so long.

  Exciting and ripe with potential.

  “I’m famished,” she said, when they had pulled the kayak up the beach
and hoisted it onto his roof rack. “Should we go grab a bite?”

  This was the new bold her! Taking chances. Asking Brand to spend yet more time with her. He was going to say—

  “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

  “I love that Hot Diggity food truck.”

  “Hot Diggity?”

  “Hot dogs. If you give me back my phone, I’ll check their schedule and see where they are today.”

  He was smirking as he handed her the phone. “You know, I can afford a little better than a hot dog.”

  “You probably can. I’m buying.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Look, Brand, if it’s going to be a relationship of equals, you have to let me do my bit, too.”

  The word relationship word wavered in the air between them, like a wave of heat shimmering off hot pavement.

  “Did you actually get stiffed for the coffee with the e-Us loser, or did you offer to buy it?” he asked.

  “Different lifetime,” she said, scrolling through her phone. “I’ve moved on. You should, too. He’s on Robson Street today, by the art gallery.”

  “The guy who stiffed you for coffee?” Brand asked, surprised.

  She glanced at him and saw he was teasing her. Warmth unfurled in her like a flag. “Parking won’t be fun.”

  “My office has some spots down there, if you don’t object to that on some principle of equality. We could travel together.”

  She certainly wasn’t going to object to that part.

  And so Bree found herself in the deep and luxurious leather passenger seat, enjoying his confidence as he maneuvered his oversize vehicle through downtown traffic. He turned on his CD player. No Elvis. Light classical.

  He parked in a private stall in a private lot and they walked the short distance to Hot Diggity. He didn’t put up too much of a fight about letting her pay, and just as she had hoped, he fell in love with the hot dogs.

  By the time he drove her back out to English Bay, the sun was setting, and both conversation and silence felt comfortable between them. He had an old blanket in the car, and they sat together on it, shoulders touching, until there was no light left.

  “My turn to supply food tomorrow night,” he said as he walked her to her car. “Meet me at my office around six?”

  “Okay.”

  For a moment he hesitated. For a moment she hesitated.

  And then his arms were around her, and he pulled her into him, kissed her soundly on the lips and let her go. They stood there, studying each other with a kind of wonder.

  “I don’t remember when I’ve had such a perfect day,” she confessed.

  “I don’t know when I have, either.”

  “Are you scared?” she asked softly.

  “Terrified,” he answered.

  “Me, too.”

  “The good kind of terrified, like when a very large whale breaches beside a very small vessel.”

  And then he kissed her again, harder this time. “Get in your car,” he said huskily, “before I invite you home with me. And it wouldn’t be to make cookies.”

  She got in her car. She felt so intoxicated with lust she didn’t know how she would drive. Somehow she managed to get home. And somehow she managed to get through the next day until it was time to be at his office.

  * * *

  It was much emptier than the last time she had seen it, but just the same, Beau came barreling through the door. This time she wasn’t so shocked to see him. In fact, she felt delighted. And glad she had opted for slender-fitting jeans that could stand up to him. The rose-colored silk blouse, however, didn’t fare so well!

  Brand came through the door. “Beau! I don’t know what it is about him and you. He managed to give me the slip and was through that door before I knew you’d arrived.”

  “What did you have planned for dinner? Do I have to change?” she asked.

  Brand’s eyes moved to the wet splotch on her breast. “Uh—”

  “That’s a yes.”

  “Well, we’re eating in.”

  “Here?” she said, surprised.

  “Yeah, I thought we’d have dinner and then I’d show you the climbing wall. And the ball pit.”

  She giggled.

  “I have extra shirts here.”

  “Why not?” she said.

  His office was dark, except for candles that burned on the coffee table between the love seats. As the sun went down, the Vancouver skyline was lighting up outside his windows.

  She could see the table had been set. And that food was already there. For a guy who claimed to be hopeless at relationships, he seemed to be doing just fine at romance!

  “Here,” he said. He went into a large cabinet that turned out to be a wardrobe and passed her a shirt. “Powder room is through there.”

  The powder room was exquisite and luxurious. She put on the men’s shirt. It was clean and crisp, way too large, and for some absurd reason it made her feel sexier than hell.

  She came out, his shirt to her knees, with her own soiled shirt balled up in her hand.

  “Give that to me. I’ll put it in the basket that gets sent out to the cleaners.”

  “Don’t be sil—”

  He gave her a look. She passed him her blouse.

  “In any other context, me getting you out of your blouse might be kind of fun.” He raised that delightfully wicked eyebrow. Then her smile died. She had the feeling he found her as sexy in his shirt as she felt!

  “Have a seat,” he said. “I took the liberty of ordering from one of my favorite places.”

  He poured her a glass of wine, and she looked at the plate before her. It held a salad, and she took her fork and took a tentative taste. The salad had greens, but also tomatoes, avocado and crab. It was exquisite, of course!

  “Well?” he asked.

  It was so endearing that he was anxious that she be pleased. Really, it was like something out of a dream.

  “It’s not Hot Diggity,” she said thoughtfully, “but it’s passably good. The bouquet of the balsamic vinegar is lovely.”

  And then they were laughing together, and as always, when they laughed together everything else fell away.

  The rest of the menu was just as exquisite as the salad, as they dined on grilled quail, served with tiny roasted potatoes, and fresh green beans in a lime butter sauce.

  “This is so good,” Bree said.

  “This is what happens when a man doesn’t use his own kitchen,” Brand told her. “He figures out where to get the best takeout in the city.”

  The dog, who had been sitting quietly, moaned softly.

  “He knows we’re done. I won’t let him beg at the table, but I always give him a little something after.”

  Brand opened a bag from the same restaurant, removed a container and went over to a huge bowl.

  “What’s he getting?” Bree said as she came over and stood beside him.

  “Same thing as us. Deboned.”

  For a moment, she felt extremely awkward and out of place. She was with a man who thought nothing of feeding his dog deboned quail from one of Vancouver’s finest restaurants.

  He turned back to her. “You want dessert now? Or do you want to try the climbing wall?”

  “Definitely the climbing wall!”

  There seemed to be no other people in the office tonight, and they had the “play” equipment to themselves. Beau came with them, and Brand threw one of his toys in the ball pit. The big dog leaped in and soon balls were flying everywhere as he searched joyously for his toy.

  The awkwardness was gone, just like that. Brand knew how to have fun!

  He helped her strap on a harness, and gave her a few tips for her first attempt at the wall. He put on his own harness, though it was obvious he did not need one. With the confidence and ag
ility of a billy goat he topped the wall in about twenty seconds. From his perch up there, he called tips down to her.

  “Oh,” she cried as, just when she thought she had gotten the hang of it, she fell. But the harness took her weight easily. He was beside her in a second, showing her how to get back onto the wall, or lower herself to the floor and start again. She lost her hold several times, which was good, because she also totally lost her fear. The harness caught her and swung her gently each time.

  They spent the rest of the evening finding different ways up the wall. Like the kayaking, it proved to be a terrific way to get to know each other. It involved communication, but not that interview-style intensity that Brand had pointed out was a flaw of the online dating world.

  Beau finally captured his toy and abandoned the pit to go chew on it.

  Since muscles she did not even know she had were aching, Bree was glad when Brand suggested they take over the pit. Following his example, she let herself fall in over the side, arms spread wide. The balls caught her and cushioned her, and she shrieked with delight, just lying there. Brand swam the backstroke and then dove into the colorful sea of balls. Bree joined him, until she was laughing so hard her stomach ached from it.

  They retreated back to his office and had coffee and crème brûlée for dessert.

  And then he walked her home, through quiet Vancouver streets, one hand in hers and the other holding Beau’s leash.

  Bree felt so happy. She thought they probably looked just like one of those couples she had always envied, out with their dog on an evening walk.

  He insisted on seeing her right to her apartment door.

  “I’d invite you in,” she said, “but I don’t think Oliver is ready to meet Beau.”

  “I’m sure he’s quite jealous of all the time you’ve spent away. And now, after arriving with the scent of a strange dog on you, the slathering beast is right on his doorstep.”

  “I’m not worried. Oliver’s forgiveness can be purchased with a new toy,” Bree said, and pulled a bright purple mouse from her purse. “Voilà!”

  They both laughed when Beau made a try for the toy.

  “Plus, Oliver has selected my neighbor as a suitable slave in my absence. She spoils him atrociously. She’s recently lost her husband, and I think she and the cat are both loving the relationship.”