“It sounds like I was doing the world a service. The report seems quite detailed.”
“The FBI is thorough.”
“So it appears. Can we move past my school years? At least skip to college.”
“What makes you think you went to college?”
The question drew his attention away from the peekaboo view of her cleavage. “I didn’t go to college?”
“You tell me,” she prompted. “Do you remember anything about college?”
He gave it a beat, two. Nothing. “Quit playing with me, Grace.”
“Okay. I’m just testing your memory. Despite the hacking incident, you earned a scholarship to Berkeley. You attended for two years. You created your first game there. And it was all uphill from there. As Doug said, you made your first million by the age of twenty-two and your first billion when you were twenty-seven. You own companies and/or properties in fifteen countries. Your net worth is in excess of ten billion. You were Look magazine’s Man of the Year and People’s Sexiest Man Alive the year you made your first billion.”
“Very thorough. No wife?”
“No wife. No kids. You were right about that. You’re a bit of a player. You’ve been connected with actresses, models, high-powered executives. Mostly short-term. You have a couple of long-term relationships.” She arched one black eyebrow. “If you consider a year long-term.”
He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Sounds like I have commitment issues. With my childhood and bankroll, can you blame me?”
“We all have to grow up sometime. And love has to do with trust not your bank account.”
“Says the woman who’s never been married. How many long-term relationships have you had?” His life was an open book, or more precisely an open file, to her. Turnabout was fair play.
Her pretty lips pursed as she contemplated him. “Three,” she finally answered. “If you consider a year long-term.”
He laughed. “Gotcha.”
“We’re talking about you, not me.”
“I’m sounding like a sad character. Properties all over the world but no home. Replaceable women. I hope I have good friends.”
“I don’t know about that, but I did an internet search, and you have a lot of influential acquaintances.”
“That’s reassuring.” The sarcastic comment slipped out. He tried hard not to whine. But the whole situation tore at his patience.
“Sorry.”
He shrugged. “Not your fault. Anything about the people I work with?”
“You have four people in your top echelon. Your legal counsel, Ryan Green. Financial advisor, Jethro Calder. And security executive, Clay Hoffman. The three of them go back to your foster days with you. Your associate Sierra Ross is a Harvard attorney. I’ve just started looking into them. I’ll have more tomorrow.”
“Good.” He finished his wine and asked, “What about the stabbing? You haven’t mentioned that.”
“Are you sure you want to hear this tonight? We can go over it tomorrow, when you’re more rested.”
“I want to hear it now.”
“Okay. Well, according to the report, you stated a woman you were dating went wacko when you refused to let her spend the night. Her name is Vanessa Miller. She began by throwing things at you, and when you tried to restrain her, she stabbed you with a piece of broken metal frame. Sometime during the altercation, you were able to activate a panic button. She slipped away while security was seeing to you.”
“A real winner. I guess I can really pick them.” Every word she spoke drilled a nail into his skull.
“Don’t judge yourself too harshly.” She gave him an out, sympathy strong in her voice. “Dating is a difficult prospect these days. I imagine it’s even more so for a man in your position.”
He imagined so, too. Truly, how could he know for certain if his date was into him or his money?
“Have the police apprehended her?”
“No. They suggested you beef up your security. Instead, you decided to take a vacation. You took your Harley and went off the grid. That was three weeks ago. Does any of this strike a chord with you?”
Pain streaked down his neck when he shook his head. “It’s like hearing a story that happened to someone else. But if the throbbing in my head is anything to go by, it’s dead-on.”
“Are you okay?” She leaned forward to study his eyes. “Do you want to head back to the room?”
A glare sent her back into her seat.
“I’m just saying I’m ready when you are.”
“You need dessert,” he insisted. He wouldn’t be the reason her meal was cut short. She deserved this treat for all she’d done for him.
“I don’t want dessert.”
“All women want dessert. Order some anyway.”
Blue eyes narrowed on him. “First of all, I’m not all women. Second, I couldn’t even finish my steak. We can leave now.”
“I’m fine. And I saw you drooling over the chocolate mousse cake when you were looking at the menu. You know you want some.”
As if summoned, the waiter appeared. “May I get you anything else tonight?”
“The lady would like dessert.” Jackson answered before Grace could send the man away.
Her eyes flashed with annoyance but she smiled at the waiter. “I’ll take a piece of the chocolate mousse cake.” She turned her saccharine sweet smile on Jackson. “To go, please.”
Leave it to her to find a way around him. Fine with him. He’d been staying for her anyway. The waiter quickly returned with the boxed dessert and the bill. Jackson charged it to his room.
In the elevator on the way to the suite Grace dropped a bomb. “Here’s something you need to know. A few years ago you started a foundation for displaced teenagers. They’re having a big fund-raiser three days from now. You’re scheduled to be there, and from all accounts it’s something that’s pretty important to you.”
“I guess that starts our clock ticking then, doesn’t it?” Hearing about his childhood, he was proud of the fact he’d also created a way to help. Which meant facing the world whether he had his memory back or not.
“I’ll make sure you’re ready,” she promised.
He keyed them into the suite. Inside, a handful of pink message slips had been placed on the foyer table. He picked them up and waved them for her to see. “I hope you’re right, because ready or not, the world has found us.”
CHAPTER NINE
SHE TOOK THE pink message slips from him and returned them to the table. “These can wait until tomorrow. I’m ready for our game. Prepare to go down.”
Over the past hour she’d seen how rehashing his past had aged him before her eyes. Pain etched lines around his eyes and a clenched jaw drew tendons tight in his neck. The world may be knocking on the door, but it could wait until tomorrow. Tonight he needed to relax. Whether he liked to admit it or not, he was still healing.
“Now, that’s just crazy talk.” The tension visibly drained from his shoulders. “Nobody beats the master.” Without glancing at the messages he headed for the game room.
“I don’t know.” She trailed behind him, pretending she didn’t notice the nice fit of his dress pants over his firm posterior. “The master is broken. I think I’ve got a shot.”
He stopped suddenly and swung around. Her reflexes were excellent and she stopped short of running into him, but they were still nose to chin. The predatory light in his eyes rooted her to her spot. She could show no weakness.
“Your trash talk won’t get to me. I’m not broken, I’m memory-challenged.”
She groaned.
“Hey, my instincts and reflexes are as sharp as ever. I’ve got this.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” she tossed back. He seemed to thrive on the competition. “Just know there will be no mercy when you start whining that you have a concussion.” She slid past him, deliberately knocking his shoulder with hers. “I’m going to change. I want to be comfortable when I kick your butt.”
“Hmm,” he mused, “probably for the best. You’d only distract me in that getup.”
“Nice try.” She exaggerated the sway of her hips, smiled when she heard him groan. “Five minutes, Hawke. Don’t go to sleep on me.”
“Babe, I’ll be warming up your seat.”
In her room she wasted no time kicking off her heels and trading out the dress for jeans and a comfortable sweater. After pulling on a pair of soft socks, she strolled down the hall to claim her seat.
“You’re a hoot, Hawke.” With her hands on her hips, she stared down at the deep candleholder with three flames flickering merrily about. “This is how it’s going to be?”
“I promised you a warm seat.” He slouched in his seat, his hands on the control.
“Very funny.” She moved the candleholder to the credenza where the reflection of the flames danced on the wall and then dropped down beside him. Scrolling through the avatars, she chose her favorite, a shaggy-haired redhead with more muscles than curves who went by Ruby.
The big screen was split into two separate viewing areas. In “Unleashed,” the characters have been dropped in a remote part of the Amazon to be hunted as live prey. The player can save himself if he reaches civilization in the form of the Amazonia Resort and Conservation Range near the origination of the Amazon River in Peru. Many routes ended in dead ends or insurmountable dangers. If the hunters didn’t get you, the environment probably would.
She and Jackson would be playing the same game but running their own course. They could well run into each other in a kill-or-be-killed scenario. They each started with three lives and two weapons of their choice. She went with a nine millimeter and a machete. Jackson had a fishing knife and a crossbow. She noticed both were silent weapons.
“Okay, here are the rules, we’ll play nine levels.”
“Nine.” He muttered a curse under his breath. “That’s a tease.”
“We’re not going for a marathon here. I just explained I have work yet to do tonight. So, whoever has the most points at each level wins that level. Whoever wins the most levels wins the game.”
“No way. Speed is an element of the game. I don’t want to be twiddling my thumbs while you wander about collecting points. Whoever finishes level nine first is the winner.”
“Okay, you’re on. First to finish nine wins.” It wouldn’t change how she played. Rushing is what lost the game for most players. “Man up, Hawke, we’re wasting time. I have searches running on your entourage. I want to do an initial read-through tonight.”
“I have my choice.” He flicked his thumb and a tall wiry kid, who looked a lot like Where’s Waldo? minus the hat, emerged from the shadows.
“Slippery Syd? You’re kidding me. I thought for sure you’d choose one of the muscle-bound behemoths.”
“A common mistake many players make. This guy is tough, smart and versatile.”
She eyed his profile as he set up the game. “So you do remember how to play.”
He sent her a sidelong glance. “I was born knowing.”
“Bragging does not equal skill.” Squirming in her seat she got set for the go. “I can promise I’ll make you work for it.”
“Babe,” he said, as the game started, “I won’t break a sweat.”
“Honey, you’re going to crash and burn.”
At least she hoped so. He kept discounting his concussion, but she counted on it, both to slow down his reflexes and his cunning. She had skills—a girl had to do something to fill the long nights—but he was Jackson Hawke. Her bravado was all bluff.
This may not meet the definition of rest his doctor would recommend, but in her opinion it was better than letting him brood on what was missing in his head or on what he faced in returning to his life without his memories. Playing may require him to use his brain, but it wasn’t the part that caused pain every time he had a thought that challenged the block in his head.
Playing relaxed and energized him. Winning would give him confidence to face his friends and associates. Not that she’d let him win. Her avatar slid past a coiled snake, snagged the knapsack that would garner her fifty points and hopefully some ammo and rappelled out of the pit.
She’d disciplined herself to use his real name earlier, for her benefit, but also for his. He needed to get used to hearing and reacting to the name. That’s also why she’d switched to his last name to razz him about the game.
Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Slippery Syd taking on an anaconda in level three. Good luck, pal.
If she could get past the sleeping jaguar to get the first aid box on the other side of him, she’d have enough points to advance to level three, as well. One wrong move and she’d be back at the start of level two. She went up and then, by hopping from rock to rock, made it past the napping cat to snag her prize and move up in the game.
While the game reset her at level three, she shook her hands and flexed her fingers.
“Congratulations,” Hawke taunted, “you’re only half a level behind.”
“A quarter level,” she corrected. “And that can change in a heartbeat.”
As she spoke, he missed his footing on a jump and landed in the river. Piranhas were on him in an instant and he lost his first life.
“Poor Slippery Syd. Now we’re even again.” Her level three started and she had a plan. There was antivenom on this level she may need later. She’d make for that before Hawke could get there and then advance straight to level four.
As the game went on, they continued to jab good-naturedly at each other. He combined quick wit and easy flirting to make her laugh. She kept striking at his ego, but it had little effect. Her barbs bounced off his thick hide.
No doubt she could distract him by responding to his flirtation. But uh-uh. They’d already been down that road, and she wasn’t encouraging him. Her sanity and ability to do her job depended on her restraint.
But, oh, how he tempted her.
He was funny and quick. And he smelled good. Such a distraction.
He reached the ninth level right ahead of her and they were both down to their last lives. She decided to forgo any attempt at points or resources to go straight for the finish line.
She chanced a quick look at his screen and determined he’d made the same decision. Dang, he must have muscle memory for this game because he seemed to know right where to go.
Don’t rush, she cautioned herself. Sure and steady will win this game.
Stealth was needed on this level as the hunters were close. At one point she saw Slippery Syd ahead of her on the path to the waterfall. If he continued straight, he’d get to the top faster than her, but he’d be exposed. She chose to go farther down the river, under cover of the foliage. The ascent was less severe but longer.
She had to hope he made a mistake.
Because she was watching him reach the waterfall summit, she walked right into a hunter. He had his sights on Slippery Syd, but when she stumbled into the clearing, he immediately turned his gun on her. Ruby dove to the ground expecting the kill shot. Instead there was a thump. She slowly lifted her head to see a bow bolt had taken out the hunter. Slippery Syd had saved her.
And he’d also won. Except a shot rang out, echoing on both screens. And Slippery Syd fell, his last life taken by a hunter. Because he’d revealed his position to save her.
Next to her, Hawke cursed.
No fair. He’d had the win. She made a mad dash and wild jump, windmilling her arms and legs in an attempt to reach a ledge on the rock face of the waterfall. Ruby missed and fell, suffering the same fate as Slippery Syd.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Jackson admonished her.
“I kind of did.” She assured him. “The win is yours.”
“You had more points.”
“And you reached more levels faster.”
“I’m not claiming a game I didn’t win.”
“Fine, we’ll call it a draw.” She tucked her control pad into the sleeve on the front of her seat. “
I look forward to the rematch.” His insistence said a lot about his sense of fair play. One more thing to admire about the man, when there were already so many.
“I’m ready if you are.” His slumberous gaze rolled over her, suggesting he was ready for more than a friendly game.
She licked her lips, suddenly wishing he was just JD, someone in her sphere she might actually have a chance at having a relationship with, someone who might stick around and build a home with her. From the number of stamps in his passport, Jackson was a jet-setter. Out of her reach and out of her league.
“Oh, no.” She rose and backed away. “Shall we say tomorrow night, same time, same place? Ah... I...uh, have some reading to do. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Whipping around, she fled temptation.
* * *
Grace jerked awake. Something had broken her sleep, but what? She’d left her door ajar an inch or two in case Jackson called out. Was that what woke her? Was he in distress? She sat up.
Then she heard it, a hoarse call sounded from down the hall.
Jackson!
She pushed the covers aside and, not worrying over the fact she wore only an oversize white T-shirt and Tweety pajama shorts, she raced down the hall.
Another shout.
She reached his door and found it slightly open, but by less than an inch. Knocking, she called out, “Jackson? Are you okay?” She waited a beat and then repeated, “Jackson?”
A low moan leaked through the crack in the door. Waiting no longer, she knocked again and pushed into the room. A three-inch swath of light from the bathroom illuminated the room.
“Jackson.” He sat up in bed, bare to the waist where the covers pooled around him. He slumped forward, head cradled in his hands. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on his blanket-covered thigh. She realized he was shaking. “What is it? Do you need a pain pill? Or a doctor?”
“No.” And more emphatically, “No.” But he didn’t release his head. He cursed. “I’m fine. You can go back to bed.”
“I don’t think so. Tell me what’s going on.”
His Unforgettable Fiancée Page 11
