by Caro LaFever
Didn’t her father see?
The McDowell hotels were her home, the staff the family she’d grown up with.
How could he possibly think a pile of millions of dollars would compensate her for the loss of family and home? The loss of her reason to exist?
Standing at the entrance door of the ballroom, she scanned the crowd and was satisfied at what she saw. Clyde McDowell sat in his high-backed chair, surrounded by a crowd. Jess heard his hoarse laugh and watched as Carlos, his constant companion since being hired for the role several months ago, handed him a glass of water.
Her dad was all right. For the moment.
She decided she’d take a few minutes to gather herself. Frustration and fear weren’t emotions she should be dealing with while she served as the gracious hostess her father required.
Backing away, she strode down the hallway and onto the small balcony the staff used to smoke and chat. To her relief, it was empty. The balcony led off past another hallway, winding back to the ballroom. When her father had first demanded she serve as his hostess, she’d spent several nights coming here, time and time again, ready to throw up over the anxiety.
That girl and her worries seemed far distant.
Now, she was a woman struggling to find a way to prove herself.
She took in a breath of crisp October air and lectured herself. There was still time. Her dad loved her. These hotels were hers. She only needed a moment, a speck of time, to reach her father. Tell him her truth. Convince him.
“Hello.” A deep, masculine voice came from the open doorway.
Whipping around, she eyed the male lurking in the shadows. The night was dark with not a touch of moonlight, and the city lights were dulled by the darkness of the alley below and the looming walls of the hotel above. Only the dim bulb shining behind him hinted at his bulk.
Yet she knew instantly. This wasn’t one of the staff, and wasn’t anyone she knew.
“May I join you?” He took a step closer and the door swung shut behind him.
Jess shifted into the corner of the balcony.
The man stilled.
She’d been under her dad’s protection her entire life. He’d had security surrounding her from the day she was born, and she’d never stepped out of a McDowell hotel without an escort. Even at college, she’d had to endure the taunts of her classmates because her father wouldn’t budge.
“Jessica,” he’d said with a snap. “You’re the only daughter of one of the richest men in the world.”
“But, Dad—”
“I don’t intend to lose any of my wealth ransoming you back from a kidnapper.”
“I won’t be—”
“And it would kill me if you were raped or mugged.” He’d stared at her hard. Something he only did when he was really focusing in on her. Just her. “Don’t put me through that.”
There had been love in his voice, and that didn’t happen often, so she’d gone silent and hadn’t complained since. Not even when McDowell security had vetted the two boyfriends she’d had in her twenties.
Consequently, she’d never been in a situation where she was alone with a strange man.
A thrill of something that wasn’t dismay ran up her spine.
“Don’t be afraid.” The masculine voice went husky as if he were cajoling a frightened kitten. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know.” Straightening, she remembered who she was. A strong woman. She’d taken a martial arts class last year, and if she had to, she could scream, and her entire staff would come running.
“Good.” He took a step closer and the movement of his body, even in the gloom, caught her attention.
He moved with fluid grace, like a dancer, like an acrobat. After flying across the world a time or two and landing in city after city filled with theaters and amusements, Jess had attended hundreds of shows celebrating the human body in all its sinuous glory. This man moved like he was on stage. He commanded the area around him with a vital, virile force.
Her fingers tightened on the steel railing and she raised her chin. “Who are you?”
“Nick.” The name came out with a flick at the end, as if he dismissed himself.
Which was absurd. Even in these few short seconds, she could see this man was powerful. “Nick who? And how did you find your way back into the employee area?”
“I took a walk down a hall. Needed to get away from the crowd for awhile.” Stepping to the rail, he leaned his elbows on it and peered at the alley below. His scent drifted to her. It wasn’t like any men’s cologne she’d ever smelled. It hinted of spicy, hot nights with a warm, rich undertone, beckoning a woman to come closer.
She stayed where she was. “This isn’t a place for hotel guests.”
“I’m not a hotel guest.” He kept his gaze straight, not glancing at her. “I’m something else.”
Just then, a flash of car headlights struck his face, highlighting his profile.
Jess sucked in a deep breath.
Chapter 2
Jessica had been around beautiful people her entire life. Technically, she was one of them. She was the only child of a powerful, rich man, who spent most of her life in fancy hotels, going to luxurious parties. To an outside person, she lived an enchanted life.
Except, in reality, she’d always been the misfit. The one who didn’t wear the right clothes or have the right sense of panache, and couldn’t string a light line of chatter together to save her soul. It had taken her years to figure out how to blend, much less be beautiful.
The car’s headlights swept away from the stranger, concealing him once more.
Him and his unbelievable beauty.
In one swift flash, she’d grasped the reality of him. The sharp perfection of the blade of his nose and the edge of his jaw. The elegance of his close-cut dark curls and long lashes. The curve of the muscles on his shoulders, and the sophistication in how he held himself.
Pure male beauty.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She felt his gaze on her face rather than seeing it because she’d shifted her focus to the brick wall across the alley. A wall that was far safer than staring at this man. “No, nothing other than you shouldn’t be here.”
“I’ll leave in a minute.” Easing off the railing, he turned to look at her straight-on. “What’s your name?”
Jess had assumed he knew. If he were attending Clyde McDowell’s annual charity ball, he’d know of the daughter. Every man who knew her father quickly deduced there was a female heir waiting to be plucked.
She’d never wanted to be plucked, and she’d succeeded in avoiding the multiple male lures and gambits over the years. The come-ons had only grown worse during the last few months, as it had become clear to anyone with eyes: The McDowell was deathly ill.
“You don’t know?” Her tone was rich with disbelief.
His gaze never wavered. Although she couldn’t possibly imagine he saw much of her, the way she stood in the shadows of the balcony. There was a certain comfort in standing here, halfway hidden, that she appreciated.
“What is your name?” This time his voice was tough and hard instead of light and alluring.
The change from elegant refinement to aggressive demand made her straighten. She wondered if he always shifted so quickly from one kind of approach to another. Pushing her curiosity away, she focused on his question. Perhaps if she answered, he’d be satisfied and take off.
“Jessica.” She wrapped her arms around her, icing her words with dismal. “I think you should leave.”
“Nice to meet you, Jessica.” He smiled, giving her a flash of white teeth in the gloom.
There was something odd about his accent. She’d become something of a linguist with her extensive traveling, and she could detect a South African from a New Zealander. Or a true Oxford Englishman from a down-home American. This man’s accent was pure American but there was something in the way he said you, a slight tick of a j at the front that was different. “Where are yo
u from?”
“I thought you were trying to get rid of me.” He leaned on the railing, his pose languid and his voice a soft, captivating thrum along her nerves. “But now you’re curious.”
“No, I’m not.” Except dammit, she was. “All right, I am. Where?”
He stared at her for a moment, before throwing his head back and laughing. The laugh was sharp, almost a bark.
“You get to the point, don’t you?” he finally said.
Yes, she usually did. She’d grown up with a father who was nothing if not blunt, and she’d learned to be the same. It worked with their staff who liked to have clear orders. It worked with the lawyers and accountants who swirled around the McDowell fortune, giving advice. The only place it never worked was with men. Her direct manner regularly drove off men until they figured out who she was and circled around for another try.
By then, with Jessica, it was too late.
“Tell me.” She edged the command with a cutting inflection. This man needed to be driven off, too. Eventually.
Sticking his hands in his pockets, he leaned on the railing again and chuckled. “Make me.”
The taunt held wickedness at its core. A lick of tease, a hint of seduction.
He must have been telling her the truth when he claimed he didn’t know her. If he did know about her wealth, like all men, he’d be coy and cunning, not throwing out lures like this. Lures a man threw out to a woman he was genuinely attracted to. “Stop it.”
His whole body went taut, as if sensing more than her displeasure. Like he caught on to the thread of hurt inside her demand. “Why? Aren’t we enjoying each other’s company?”
“No.” Jess had never found it amusing to be made fun of. “I’m not.”
“Okay.”
The one word slid between them. He didn’t move and he didn’t glance away. His intensity, his focus on her, made her uncomfortable. Most men she met were more interested in her father. “I think you—”
“I’m from around here.” He shrugged, indicating it wasn’t important. “Or close enough.”
“Um.” His answer stumped her for a moment, which she’d bet was what he wanted. How she knew that about a stranger, she didn’t have the faintest idea. But she knew.
The fact made her even more uncomfortable.
The old habit of being tongue-tied around men rose inside her. She’d thought she’d put that inane response behind her, smoothed over by years of training and constant contact at parties. “It’s time for you to le—”
“You might have picked up the remnants of the accent I inherited from my mother, though. It’s possible.”
His mother. Accents. This was a bizarre conversation. What was she doing? She should be in the ballroom, making sure everything was running correctly. Not talking to a strange man on a dark balcony. “I have to go.”
The flash of white teeth came again. “It was nice to meet you.”
He stepped back, allowing her to move to the door and open it. The urge to glance around, to stare once more at his male perfection now there was light, stirred inside her, but she ignored it. Beautiful men were not part of her life and never would be. She would never spend the rest of her life knowing the only reason a man was with her was because of her money. And the only reason a man as beautiful as this one would choose her was because of the McDowell fortune.
“Hasta luego.” Once more, his voice was coaxing and lulling, all at the same time.
She didn’t respond. While she was good with accents, she had no talent with languages, so she had no idea what he’d just said to her. The words had been Spanish, that’s the only thing she could say. She probably didn’t want to know anyway. Instead of turning and asking, she strode down the hallway and tried to train her focus to what was important.
Her father.
And how she was going to convince Clyde McDowell to trust her with her own heritage.
Whenever she and her father landed in Denver for any length of time, Jess made a point to go to the Open Cover. The old bookstore had stood in the center of LoDo for years, and had become one of her favorite haunts. Actually, she had a string of bookstores from London to Tokyo she frequented whenever she was in a particular town. They were her home away from her hotels.
Today, she’d planted herself in the historical fiction section. As a kid, she’d dreamed of zooming back in time and becoming a priestess in Egypt or a queen in England. At the moment, she took solace in being away from the hotel demands and the reality of her father’s failing health.
Sinking into the comfort of a faded armchair, she opened a book about the Australian outback and prepared to dive in.
“Hello again.”
Jessica jerked her head up and gawked. It was the man. The man from last night. She recognized the voice and the compelling presence. This time, his good looks weren’t hidden by the night’s darkness, or dimmed by the shadows of a city balcony.
This time, she couldn’t escape the impossibility of his beauty.
He wore dark jeans and a gray sweater. The monotone of the colors only made him appear more vibrant and virile. Over it, he had on a charcoal wool trench coat that made his shoulders look incredibly broad.
He smiled. Blinding her.
The whiteness of his teeth contrasted with the luster of his olive skin. His black hair was cut short, only hinting at a curl on his forehead. Although it was only a little after one p.m., the shadow of stubble graced his jaw and upper lip.
His smile slid off his face at her continued silence.
Those lips.
If a woman could describe the perfect male lips, then this man would be the poster boy for the description. They were full, but totally masculine. Ripe and delicious, and asking to be bit, sucked, licked.
The images running through her brain made her blush. Inevitably.
His smile reappeared. “How are you?”
The flicker of the j before his last word made her remember the strange conversation they’d had about accents. That lead to the memory of how she’d glowered at the ceiling last night, lying in her bed, going through the memories of him like she pored through one of her favorite books.
“What are you reading?” He slid into the armchair next to her, a smooth move that reminded her of the elegance of a dancer again.
Acting on instinct, she closed the book and brought it to her chest.
His brows rose, drawing her attention. A person could essentially describe them as bushy, and yet, they served as an ideal contrast to the straight blade of his nose and the clear, celestial blue of his eyes.
“Do you always hide what you’re reading?” He stared at her like he had the night before. This time, however, she couldn’t withdraw into the gloom. This time he saw all of her.
The realization made her blush fade.
He saw her.
The brass of her hair. The freckles. The gawky body.
“Let me guess.” He grinned and the purity of his masculine appeal made her gulp in a breath. “It’s something erotic.”
His eyes took on a gleam. Jessica had seen that gleam before in other men’s eyes. But she’d been smart enough to understand it was a gleam of avarice, not interest. She wasn’t stupid, and she wouldn’t be this time, either. This man was just another in a long line of men who knew she was Clyde McDowell’s daughter. Even though he’d pretended ignorance last night, she wasn’t fooled. “Why are you following me?”
Slouching in the chair, he folded his hands together in his lap like he was preparing to stay awhile. “Perhaps I like bookstores. Perhaps meeting again is a coincidence.”
She snorted. “Don’t play me.”
“That’s interesting.” He surged forward, placing his elbows on his knees, studying her like she was a curious specimen of female. “You don’t believe in coincidence? In serendipity?”
There was the light touch of a tease in his questions, as if he were asking her to play with him, instead of being played by him. She was a curious specimen of a
female, though, and she’d never liked the games men and women played with each other. She’d never been good at them, and she never would be. “No, I don’t. I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”
He hummed and eased back into the chair.
It would be impossible to concentrate on her book with him sitting there staring at her. Irritation bubbled. “Will you leave?”
The man glanced around at the nearly empty room. The Open Cover had four floors packed with books. The historical section was in the basement, in a far corner. It was quiet and hushed and usually deserted. This was one of many reasons why she liked this area the best. Her security detail had taken off for the bookstore’s cafe and left her in peace. The realization struck her—she was alone with him once more.
Still, she didn’t feel threatened or worried. Odd. The only thing she felt was unwilling attraction and the stubborn refusal to bend to his appeal.
He shifted his focus back to her. “Why would I leave when I’ve found the most interesting thing in the bookstore?”
“Thing?” Stung, she frowned at him. “Go away.”
A low, sultry chuckle came from him. “A demanding thing, aren’t you?”
“I am not a thing.” She wanted to add asshole, but she was a lady. “And you are not a gentleman.”
Those luxuriant brows rose again. “You’re observant, too. How fascinating.”
“I am more—”
“You’re right.” Flashing her an unrepentant grin, he confessed, “I’m not a gentleman.”
“Fine.” She jerked to a stand. “I’ll leave.”
With the grace of a ballet dancer, he stood, abandoning the chair. The move was so effortless and graceful, it stopped her for a moment. He took advantage of that, and came right into her personal space.
Last night, Jess had on her high heels. Today, she wore stout boots with no heel to speak of.
The difference was stark.
She rarely met men who could look her in the eye. Literally or figuratively. At five-foot-ten wearing stilettos, she often towered over men. When she’d been a teenager, this invariably made her dreadfully uncomfortable and embarrassed. But she’d grown confident enough to own her height. She used it to her advantage when she was negotiating with local officials, or settling disputes among the staff.
