Kate Fortune’s Journal Entry

I can no longer bear to stay silent. My family is crumbling, and Jake needs my support. I believe all the plots to destroy the Fortunes have been unearthed. Now we must unite and stand proud against our enemies. It’s not easy being rich and powerful, always in the spotlight. Everyone wants a piece of you. But I know that together we can triumph over any adversity. I know justice will prevail and Jake’s innocence will be proven. Then we can get back to what really matters—love and family.

A LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR

Dear Reader,

I have always been a firm believer in family and family ties. The idea of big family gatherings has always filled me with a warm, nostalgic feeling. And year after year, I still manage to get choked up at those greeting-card commercials. You know, the ones where siblings and children overcome great obstacles to walk into a house and a warm hug just in time for the holidays. They never fail to make me misty.

For the longest time, my own family was tiny—just my two brothers, my parents and me. I can remember envying people with grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. That was why it was such a treat to be one of the authors included in the FORTUNE’S CHILDREN series. While writing Forgotten Honeymoon, I could close my eyes, put myself in Kristina’s place and pretend to have scads of family scattered all around the country. Family that, no matter what the differences involved might be, come through for you when the chips are down. And after all, isn’t that, along with having five different flavors of ice cream in the refrigerator, what the American Dream is really all about? To always have people to rely on, to watch over and to have watch over you?

I hope you enjoy reading Forgotten Honeymoon half as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now go and hug someone close to you.

Forgotten Honeymoon
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Jessi and Nikky, the beginning of my legacy

MARIE FERRARELLA

is a RITA® Award-winner and USA TODAY bestselling author with over 140 titles for Silhouette Books.

Marie was born in Germany, raised in New York City and currently lives in Southern California with her husband, their two children and a German shepherd named Rocky. She holds a Masters of Arts degree with a concentration in Shakespearean comedy from Queens College. Her interests include old movies, old songs and musical theater, and her motto is Always Be Prepared. (She sewed her own wedding dress and made it wash-and-wear “just in case”!)

Meet the Fortunes—three generations of a family with a legacy of wealth, influence and power. As they unite to face an unknown enemy, shocking family secrets are revealed…and passionate new romances are ignited.

KRISTINA FORTUNE: She is beautiful and wealthy, but there’s more to Kristina than her spoiled rich-girl attitude. However, it isn’t until she loses her memory that she proves she is more than just another pretty face….

MAX COOPER: The tough blue-collar loner has had to make his own way in life. He resents that pushy and pampered Kristina is his new business partner. And when amnesia renders her at his mercy, he decides to teach her a lesson…. But could he be the one who ends up learning about love?

JAKE FORTUNE: He stands accused of murder. But will justice set him free, or will he end up imprisoned for life?

KATE FORTUNE: She can no longer stay hidden while her family faces a relentless adversary driven to destroy them. So she reappears to provide the emotional support that binds the Fortunes together in their crisis.

REBECCA FORTUNE: The mystery writer and amateur sleuth is determined to unravel the clues and prove Jake innocent of murder. Will her investigation succeed before it’s too late?

LIZ JONES—CELEBRITY GOSSIP

Kate Fortune is alive and well! Many friends and family members grieved the death of this wonderful woman. But apparently the crafty matriarch of the Fortune family has been hiding out. She survived the plane crash—which was an attempted murder, not an accident!—and has remained in hiding, trying to discover who’s been out to destroy her family. With Monica Malone dead and Jake on trial for murder, Kate could no longer remain silent. She’s back to support the family and resurrect the mighty Fortune empire.

Go, Kate!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

One

K ristina Fortune hung up the telephone. A bittersweet smile played on her lips, a reflection of her ambivalent feelings. Grant was getting married. And while she felt happy for her older half brother, she couldn’t help feeling sad for herself. She doubted it would ever come to pass for her, that knock-your-shoes-off kind of love that left you tingling and wanting more.

Especially since she wasn’t about to let her guard down anymore. Not after David.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she thought. And nothing ripped apart.

With a sigh, she wandered over to the window. The view from the fourteenth floor of the Fortune Building was next to nonexistent today. Visibility, according to the radio, was zero. Air traffic was at a standstill. Looking out the window was like looking into the interior of a cloud. A dense fog was embracing the city, swirling its long tentacles around the tall Minneapolis skyline and smothering it like a white feather boa thrown about the shoulders of a call girl.

She remained standing there, staring, though there was nothing to see. Staring and thinking.

There was no doubt about it, she felt restless. Edgy. Grant’s phone call had just brought it to the fore. It was as if there was no place within the chrome-and-black-enamel office where she could comfortably alight. So she didn’t bother moving at all.

The feeling of restlessness, of dissatisfaction, was due largely to her grandmother’s sudden death.

Kristina still couldn’t believe it.

Death happened every day. The newspapers and the rest of the media were full of it. But it was always someone else’s family, not hers. Death wasn’t something that she wanted to think about at twenty-four. It had no place in her life.

Except that it had entered, hoary and unannounced, claiming someone she cared about a great deal.

Grandmother would have been happy for Grant.

Kristina smiled to herself. The sad curve of her mouth mocked her as she looked at her reflection. Funny, she’d just assumed that Kate Fortune would go on forever, like the sun, like the tides. Never once had her grandmother given any hint that she was actually mortal. She’d never been sick, and she’d worked long, endless hours tirelessly. She’d been more an institution than a flesh-and-blood woman.

Except that she could be warm and kind when a granddaughter was needy, Kristina thought sadly. She fingered the silver charm around her neck, the one shaped like a lace valentine. It had been specifically bequeathed to her, taken from her grandmother’s charm bracelet. It was the charm her late grandfather had given her grandmother the day Kristina was born. “Another valentine joins the lot,” Ben Fortune had told his wife, continuing the tradition of giving her a charm for each birth.

As she touched the charm, Kristina remembered the way Kate had held her and let her cry her heart out over David, the one and only time she’d allowed her heart to be vulnerable. David, who had turned out to be far more interested in the Fortune name and inheritance than he was in her love. David, who had gone on to marry well, ensconcing himself in a political dynasty. Breaking off her engagement, Kristina had spent the night at her grandmother’s house. They’d stayed up all night and talked. Kate had been the only one to ever see this softer, vulnerable side of her. Kate had understood how much it hurt to discover that you had been made a fool of.

She pressed her hand against the glass. Winter was just outside, harsh and unforgiving. Like life, she thought, if you let your guard down and made one mistake. Kristina blew out a long, tired breath. It didn’t help ease the tension.

David and politics deserved each other, she decided, her mouth hardening. But her grandmother didn’t deserve what had happened to her.

She thought of Kate as she had last seen her, her hand lightly resting on her lawyer’s arm as she inclined her head toward him, quietly commanding center stage, just by her presence. Kate Fortune had been a magnificent woman, even when approaching her seventh decade. She hadn’t aged the way other people did. There were no telltale wrinkles, none of the mocking badges that the passage of time awarded, like hands that shook, or a mind that became progressively more vague and enfeebled. Kate Fortune had embodied the very essence and vibrancy of life.

That was why having that life snuffed out in a plane crash seemed so highly impossible. The ultimate insult. Kristina could barely make herself believe it.

And yet, if her grandmother had picked a way to die, that was the way she would have chosen, Kristina was certain. She would have elected to go out in one astounding blaze of glory, crashing somewhere in the middle of a mysterious jungle.

Leaving the rest of her family to realize just how much they missed her. How much they needed her. Not to run Fortune Cosmetics, but just to be.

Kristina’s throat tightened with the swell of tears that insisted on forming. Tears she hadn’t allowed herself to release. Kate Fortune wouldn’t have wanted tears. She would have wanted them all to go on, to forge an even greater legacy than the one she had worked so hard over the years to give them. The Fortune success was due as much to Kate’s efforts as it was to Ben’s. Perhaps even more, for she had continued the expansion even after her husband died.

God, but she missed her.

Kristina sighed again. The weather was getting to her. It was so gloomy, so pervasive and disheartening.

She needed to get away for a few days, she thought. Kristina glanced at the official document on her desk, the one she’d been studying this morning. Maybe, she considered, for more than a few days.

She thought of Grant and Meredith and their pending marriage. And the honeymoon to follow. A gleam entered her eyes.

Why not?

With the enthusiasm that was the hallmark of everything she did, Kristina turned back to her desk and began making notes. The idea that had been born yesterday morning began to take on depth and breadth at a speed that would have astounded anyone who didn’t know her.

Those who did knew that Kristina never did anything slowly or in a small way.

At twenty-four, she was already successful and recognized as being insightfully creative, a definite asset to the advertising department she had joined. She was also driven. She took after her grandmother that way. A powerhouse who enjoyed making a difference, leaving her mark upon everything she came in contact with.

Buffered by inheritances, completely devoid of monetary concerns, Kristina could very well have done nothing with her life but attend parties from dusk till dawn.

That wasn’t her.

Kristina thumbed through the folder Sterling Foster, their family lawyer, had been thoughtful enough to send on to her. There was a very lackluster-looking brochure included in the packet. Four pages in total, it featured three rather homey, unflattering photographs of a bed-and-breakfast inn, one her grandmother had made a sentimental investment in so long ago. Every word she read within the brochure generated more notes on her pad. And sketches that she kept for future consideration.

The youngest in her large family, Kristina made certain that she would never have the adage “Last but not least” attached to her. She was never going to be last, in any manner, shape or form. She was too conscious of beinning first. Of being a winner.

If, in winning, it cost her a friendship or two, well, she rationalized, those people couldn’t have been such very good friends after all. Not if they didn’t understand what making her mark upon things meant to her. Being part of the Fortune family meant having to try harder to make an impression. She didn’t want to be just one of the Fortunes, an interchangeable entity. She wanted to be distinguished from the rest. To do things her way and stand out.

Like Grandmother.

This might just be her key, she mused, turning the brochure over to the back page—even though the inn looked tacky. Tacky could always be fixed.

Moving the brochure aside, she looked at the cover letter on her desk, the one Sterling had sent with the deed and the information on the inn.

How like her, Kristina thought. Even in death, Kate had seen to everyone’s needs, leaving each of them not only a monetary legacy, but something else, as well. In Kristina’s case, it was a half interest in a country inn located in southern California.

Until she was notified by Sterling, Kristina hadn’t even known her grandmother had the inn among her holdings. From what she’d gathered, it seemed Kate Fortune had remained a discreet silent partner in it for over twenty years.

Kristina smiled fondly now. It was hard to envision her grandmother being a silent partner in anything. They had that in common, too. Neither of them had ever believed in keeping her opinions to herself.

“The silent aren’t heard,” her grandmother had once said to her.

At the time, Kristina had thought that the line was just a quaint, self-evident homily, but now she understood the deeper meaning behind her grandmother’s words. You had to make yourself heard in order to get your own way. If you didn’t, no one would ever know what you had to offer.

And she had a lot to offer, especially to this tacky little place. Kristina tapped a well-manicured pink nail on the photo on the cover of the brochure for emphasis. In fact, she’d guess that the bequest had arrived here just in time. Just in time for the inn.

As a matter of habit, she’d requisitioned the tax information on it from their accountant. It had taken some doing to find the information for her, but it had wound up on her desk this morning, just as she had requested.

The statement wasn’t heartening, but that hadn’t been completely unexpected. There was a huge margin for improvement. As far as investments went, this hadn’t been a shrewd one for Kate.

Kristina decided that Kate must have kept her hand in for some sentimental reason. Maybe she had even met there with Grandfather Ben for a lovers’ tryst.

The thought pleased her. Kristina would have wished her grandmother that kind of heart-quickening happiness.

The kind that Grant now had. The kind that had completely eluded her.

Kristina banished the thought before it could make her maudlin again, and made up her mind. Her career was established and flourishing. She was a natural at creating ad campaigns that were simple yet sleek and caught the public’s attention. But after two years, it was a case of “Been there, done that.”

What she wanted now was a challenge, something new to try her hand at. Something that was hers alone, not an integral part of the Fortune dynasty. She looked at the paper on the desk. The place was begging for help.

And she was just the woman to give it.

With a nod of her head, Kristina swept together the papers on her desk and deposited them in their manila envelope. Her pensive, restless mood had vanished, now that her course had been established.

“Thanks, Grandmother. You always knew how to set things right for me.”

Frank Gibson had been part of the advertising department at Fortune Industries for the last fifteen years. He had slowly worked his way up within the framework, losing a little more hair with each advancement. Now, as the senior VP, a title that he felt at times was more decorative than lucrative, he retained only a slight fringe of brown just above his ears. And even that was in danger of going.

Such as now.

He looked at the blond slip of a girl who had been all but foisted on him two years ago and digested what she was saying to him. He might have accepted her into the fold reluctantly, expecting nothing, but he had been more than just a little pleasantly surprised. He’d quickly discovered that Kristina Fortune pulled her own weight and then some. If at times that meant she ran over some toes, allowances could be made, not just because she was the boss’s daughter, but because she was damn good.

He didn’t like the idea of doing without her for any long extended period of time.

Frank rubbed his large palms along the edge of his desk, a sure sign that the news he was receiving was making him nervous.

“You want what?”

She knew she could do this without asking. No one’s opinion really mattered, when you came right down to it, except her father’s. And he would give her her head, as she was requesting, especially since it involved his mother’s bequest.

But, technically, Frank was her boss, and she got along with him a great deal better than she did with her father. So, to avoid any bad feelings, she went through the proper channels and put her request to him.

“A leave of absence.”

They were unveiling a new perfume in a little more than two months. There were still a thousand details to see to. It had been Kristina’s baby all the way.

“Now?” Frank asked. “In the middle of an ad campaign?”

Kristina laughed. She couldn’t remember a single day going by when Frank hadn’t behaved as if everything were a matter of life and death.

“Frank, we are always in the middle of an ad campaign.” Sitting down on the sofa against the wall, she crossed her legs and saw Frank’s eyes drift to her hemline before he quickly looked away. Frank’s romantic life began and ended in his mind. “It’s nothing you can’t handle.” She genuinely liked the mousy little man. He was kind to her without being obsequious. She tucked her tongue into her cheek. “Maybe not with my flair, but at least with my notes.” She nodded in the general direction of her office. “I left everything organized for you. It’s under Redemption.” Which was the name she had given to the new scent.

Kristina had made her mind up to handle the inn herself a week ago, when she first received Sterling’s letter. But she had taken the extra time to do her homework on bed-and-breakfast inns. She never ventured into anything unarmed.

Frank frowned. After years of trying, he could finally find his way around a keyboard, as long as it was attached to a typewriter. Word-processing and spreadsheet programs were completely beyond him. You might as well ask him to pilot a starship.

“You know I hate computers. That’s what I have you for.” Finally comfortable with her, he was not above putting a teasing spin on their working relationship.

She laughed as she leaned forward. “You have me for a lot more reasons than that, Frank.”

In actuality, at this point, Frank was content to let Kristina head most of their campaigns. The TV spot she’d come up with for Hidden Sin had single-handedly upped sales a full ten percent across the board.

“All right,” he agreed. “Rub my nose in it, but don’t leave.”

“Leave of absence, Frank. Leave of absence.” Kristina enunciated the words slowly. “That doesn’t mean forever.” She knew how quickly Frank could come to rely on something. It was flattering, but right now, it was getting in the way of the new pair of wings she wanted to try.

Kristina rose, giving the appearance of being taller than she actually was. “I’ll only be gone for about two months.” She thought of the photographs of the inn. “Two and a half, tops.”

He knew it was useless to argue with her. She would do what she wanted to do. She was a Fortune and could afford to, unlike the rest of the world. “And what is it that you want to accomplish in those two months?”

“Something new.” She couldn’t quite put it into words, but something was calling to her, telling her that this was right. That she had to do this. Maybe it was even her grandmother, whispering in her ear. She wasn’t certain. She just knew she had to go. “Grandmother left me her share in a bed-and-breakfast inn in California.”

“California?” he echoed, horrified at the thought of the place. “They have earthquakes.”

She laughed at the expression on his face. Frank was one of those people who were content never to try anything new in their lives. He ascribed the feeling to everyone. “And we have fog and tornadoes.”

Frank snorted shortly. Nothing in the world could get him to travel to California, even on business. He would delegate trips if he had to. “A fog can’t kill you.”

She looked out the window. The gauzy texture of the fog hadn’t changed since this morning. “No, but it can depress you to death.” She knew she didn’t have to explain herself, but because she liked him, she wanted Frank to understand. “I don’t know, Frank, I just feel that I want to try my hand at something that doesn’t have the Fortune stamp all over it.”

“It will when you get through with it,” he pointed out, in case the fact had escaped her.

She turned to look at him, her smile wide, satisfied, as if he’d gotten the point. “Exactly, but it’ll be my own stamp.”

“Your mind’s made up?” It was a rhetorical question, uttered for form’s sake. He already knew the answer.

“When have you known me to waver?”

Never. She was the most self-assured woman he’d ever encountered, next to her grandmother. Frank sighed. “All right.” Cocking his head so that he resembled a sparrow eyeing an early-morning worm, he gave it one last shot. “I suppose there isn’t anything I can say to make you change your mind?”

Kristina slowly moved her head from side to side, her amused eyes on his.

Frank spread his hands wide, helplessly. Surrendering, since he’d never had a chance of winning. “Then there’s nothing for me to say except yes.” He frowned as he sighed, resigned. “When has a man ever said no to you?”

She grinned. “Hasn’t happened yet.” Even with David, she’d been the one to say no. But that had only been after she discovered that his one and only love was the Fortune money. “And I don’t see it happening anytime soon.”

He had no reason to disagree with her. “When it does, let me know.”

She patted his face affectionately, with the camaraderie that had arisen in the trenches over the past two years. “You’ll be the first, I promise.”

She’d begun to leave when he called out after her, “Really, what are you going to do there in…” His voice drifted off as he waited for her to tell him the name of the city.

“La Jolla,” she supplied.

“La Ho-ya,” he repeated incredulously. What kind of a name was that for a place? “You don’t belong in a place like that,” he insisted, “With all those laid-back, surf-obsessed weirdos running around. You’ll go stir-crazy inside a week.”

Spoken like a man who had never traveled outside of Minneapolis. “You’re getting your information from some bad movies made in the seventies, Frank.” She knew that, in his own way, he was concerned about her. That touched her. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. After debating with herself, she decided to confide in him, at least partially. “I want to turn this little side holding of Grandmother’s into something she would have been proud of.”

Not everything needed to be tampered with, Frank thought. He didn’t want to see her fail. God only knew what sort of repercussions that would have on her work when she returned. Not to mention on her. “Seems to me that if Kate Fortune would have wanted to change it, she would have done it herself.”

Maybe. And maybe there was a reason she hadn’t. “Not necessarily. She might have been too busy.”

He thought of the mountain of details still waiting to be tended to before the campaign was launched. “And you’re not?”

It was time to go. If she let him, Frank could go on like this all afternoon. And she had packing to do. “You can handle it, Frank.”

He rose behind his desk, his voice rising with him. “How will I reach you?”

“You won’t.” She tossed her reply over her shoulder. “I’ll call you.”

When I feel like it, she thought.

She had left everything in her customary meticulous order. Frank had all her notes on the new ad campaign and though she knew for a fact that she was the new blood that had been pumped into the veins of the stodgy department, she also knew that there wasn’t anything here that couldn’t keep, or be handled by someone else, until she returned. She’d done all the preliminary work. All that remained now were the uninspiring details that had to be overseen and implemented.

Kristina placed all thoughts about the department and the pending ad campaign on the back burner and turned her attention to the future.

A new future.

Who knew? This could be the start of something big. She had a feeling…

“Hey, Max!” Paul Henning cupped his mouth with one hand as he shouted above the noise of the crane. “It’s for you.”

He held up the portable telephone and waved it above his head, in case Max couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Max Cooper turned toward the trailer. He’d thought he heard his name being called. The rest of the men were too far away for him to hear one of them. Then he saw his partner waving the telephone receiver.

With a sigh, he took off his hard hat and ran his hand through his unruly dark brown hair. He sincerely hoped that this wasn’t from someone calling about yet another delay. The construction of the new housing development was already behind schedule. The December mudslides had set them all back at least a month. He had his people and the subcontractors working double shifts to try to catch up. The last thing he wanted was to pay the penalty for bringing the project in late.

Every time the phone rang, he mentally winced, anticipating another disaster in the making. Nature didn’t use a telephone, but errant suppliers and subcontractors did, and they could wreak almost the same amount of havoc Mother Nature could.

Replacing his hard hat, he waved at Paul. The latter retreated into the trailer that, at the moment, housed their entire operation. Max followed.

He made his way into the cluttered space, hoping that by the next job they could see about getting something larger. Right now, a new trailer was the least of their priorities.

Paul, a tall, wiry man, was as thin-framed as Max was muscular. He pressed himself against the wall to allow Max access to the telephone.

“We’ve built closets larger than this,” he muttered, still holding the telephone aloft.

Max indicated the receiver. “Who?” he mouthed.

Paul knew who it was, but he thought he’d string Max along for a minute. It appealed to his sense of humor, which hadn’t been getting much of a workout lately.

“She said it was personal,” he whispered.

He was between “personals” right now, Max thought as he took the receiver from Paul. He and Rita had come to a mutual agreement to go their separate ways. Actually, the word agreement was stretching it a little. She’d been screaming something about his “freaking fear of commitment” at the time. Those had been her parting words to him, ending what had otherwise been a rather pleasant, albeit short, interlude.

Warily Max put the receiver to his ear, wondering if Rita had decided to try to make another go of it. He hoped not. He’d kept his relationships short and predominantly sweet—the former fact being responsible for the latter—ever since Alexis.

But then, no one had touched him, or hurt him, like Alexis. And no one ever would.

“Hello?”

“Max? It’s June,” the voice on the other end of the line said. Normally pleasant, June’s voice was anxious and uncertain. “I hate bothering you at work, but I think you’d better come out here. You’re going to want to see this.”

June Cunningham, sixtyish, even-tempered and efficient, was the receptionist at the Dew Drop Inn, the small bed-and-breakfast inn that Max had found himself the unwilling half owner of. He would have sold his share in it long ago, if it wouldn’t have hurt his foster parents’ feelings. John and Sylvia Murphy were the only parents he had ever known, taking in a scared, cocky thirteen-year-old and turning him into a man, when everyone else had elected to pass on him. He owed them more than he could ever hope to repay.

So if they wanted him to take over their half of the inn, he couldn’t very well toss the gift they offered back at them. He left the management in June’s hands and stopped by on Fridays after six to look in on everything. Right now, knee-deep in construction hassles, the inn was the last thing on his mind. When he thought of it at all, it was in terms of it being an albatross about his neck.

He couldn’t imagine anything that would prompt the unflappable June to telephone him here, of all places, and request his presence at the inn. She’d never asked him to come by. What the hell was wrong?

“This?” he repeated. “Exactly what do you mean by ‘this’?”

“Ms. Fortune.”

It was a minute before he reacted. “Kate? She’s dead. She’s been gone for nearly two years.” He remembered seeing an article in the paper saying that the woman’s plane had gone down in some isolated part of Africa or South America, someplace like that. Her lawyer, Sterling Foster, had sent him a letter saying probate would take a long time, considering the size of Kate’s estate, so he should just continue to run it as always. But now it seemed there would be some changes.

“Not Kate,” June quickly corrected. “Her heir. Kristina Fortune.”

This was all news to him, although he had to admit that he’d been rather lax as far as things at the inn were concerned. It hadn’t even occurred to him, when he read about Kate, that whoever inherited her half would be coming by to look the place over.

“She’s there?”

“She’s here, all right.” He heard June stifle a sigh. “And she wants to meet with you. Immediately.”

June took everything in stride. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her hurry. “Immediately?” It was a strange word for her to use. “Immediately?”

There was no humor in the small, dry laugh. June lowered her voice, as if she were afraid of being overheard. “Her word, not mine. But I really think you should get here, Max. I heard her murmuring something to herself about knocking walls out.”

That caught his attention. Just who the hell did this Kristina Fortune think she was? He didn’t particularly want the inn, but he didn’t want to see it destroyed, either. It was part of his childhood. The best part, if he didn’t count John and Sylvia.

Covering the receiver, he turned to Paul. “Would you mind if I left you with all this for a few hours?”

Paul grinned as if he’d just hit the mother lode. “Hell, no, I was just wondering how to get rid of you. I love playing boss man.”

Max knew Paul meant it. He took his hand off the mouthpiece. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, June.” He cut the connection.

“Must be great to have a piece of so many different enterprises,” Paul joked. When Max didn’t return his grin, he asked, “What’s up?”

I don’t need this, Max thought. He liked things uncomplicated and this was probably the worse possible time to have problems rear their pointy heads. “Seems that the new partner at the inn has some fancy ideas about what to do with the place.”

Paul poured himself another cup of coffee. “New partner?”

Max nodded, hanging up his hard hat. “Kate Fortune owned the inn with my foster parents. She was killed in a plane crash a while back. June just called to say her ‘heir’ arrived. She thinks I’d better get over there immediately.”

“Doesn’t sound like June.”

Max pulled his jacket on. “She was quoting Kristina Fortune.”

“Oh.” He got the picture. “Better you than me, pal.” Paul saluted Max and then walked out of the trailer, back to the construction site.

“Yeah.” Max bit off the word as he strode out. He wasn’t looking forward to this.

Two

I t had possibilities.

Stepping away from the taxi she had taken from the airport, Kristina had slowly approached the inn. It had no real style to speak of. The photographs she had seen in the brochure had turned out to be flattering and too kind. Still, the inn was rustic and charming, in its own quaint way. But it was definitely run-down. It reminded Kristina of a woman who was past her prime and had decided that comfort was far more important to her than upkeep, but it did have definite possibilities.

With a good, solid effort, and an amenable, competent contractor working with her, who understood what she had in mind, the inn could readily be transformed into a moneymaker.

The forerunner of several more.

Kristina had seized the thought as soon as it occurred to her, and begun to develop it. Her mind had raced, making plans, putting the cart not only before the horse, but before the whole damn stable.

The horse was just going to have to catch up, she had thought with a smile as she walked up the stairs to the porch.

Kristina had done her homework and boned up on the subject. She liked the idea a great deal. Why just one bed-and-breakfast inn? Why not a chain? A chain that catered to the romantic in everyone. If she could make it work here, she could continue acquiring small, quaint inns throughout the country and transform them, until there was a whole string of Honeymoon Hideaways.

Her mood had altered abruptly as she stumbled, catching the handrail at the last moment. Her three-inch heel had gotten caught in a crack in the wooden floor. Kristina had frowned as she freed her heel. Someone should have fixed that.

Fixed was the operative word, as she’d discovered when she went on to examine the rest of the ground floor, finally returning to the front room, where she had begun. The woman who had introduced herself as June had remained with her almost the entire time. She wasn’t much of a sounding board, preferring to point out the inn’s “charm.” It seemed that around here “neglect” was synonymous with “charm.”

Having seen more than enough, Kristina turned now in a complete circle to get a panoramic feel for the room. Ideas were breeding in her mind like fertile rabbits.

Her eyes came to rest on the large brick fireplace. It was dormant at the moment, but she could easily envision a warm, roaring fire within it.

“Fireplaces.”

“Excuse me?” June looked at her uncertainly.

Kristina turned to look at her. “Fireplaces,” she repeated. “The other rooms are going to have to have fireplaces. I’m going to turn this into a place where newlyweds are going to be clamoring to spend the first idyllic days of their life together.”

She ignored the dubious look on the other woman’s face. She made a quick mental note as she continued to scan the room. The coffee table was going to have to go.

June pointed out the obvious. “But there’s no room for any fireplaces.”

“There will be, once a few walls are knocked down and the extra bathrooms are put in,” Kristina responded, doing a few mental calculations.

Placing her escalating ideas on temporary hold, Kristina looked at the woman behind the counter. She’d had one of her assistants obtain information from June’s personnel file before she flew out. She had a thumbnail bio on everyone who worked at the inn.

June had been here for over twenty years. She looked very comfortable in her position. Too comfortable. From the way she talked, June probably would resist change, and that meant she was going to have to go. It would be better to have young, vibrant people working at the inn, anyway. Young, like the idea of eternal love.

The success that loomed just on the horizon excited Kristina.

“I need a telephone book,” she told June suddenly. No time like the present to get started getting estimates. “The classifieds.”

June had a really bad feeling about all this. Kristina Fortune had announced her presence with all the subtlety of a hurricane. The very few, very leading questions that the woman had asked made June believe that the inn was in danger of being torn apart, piece by piece, staff member by staff member. She liked her job and the people she worked with, the people she had come to regard as her extended family. She felt very protective of them, and of Max.

She wondered what was keeping him. She’d called him nearly an hour ago.

Kristina noticed that June gave her a long, penetrating look before bending down behind the front desk to retrieve the telephone book.

It only reinforced Kristina’s intention to replace her. June Cunningham moved like molasses that had been frozen onto a plate all winter.

No wonder this place was falling apart. Everyone moved in slow motion. The gardener she had passed on her way in looked as if he had fallen asleep propped up against a juniper bush.

And there was supposed to be a maid on the premises to take care of the sixteen rooms. If there was one, Kristina certainly hadn’t seen her since she arrived.

June placed the yellow pages on the counter with a resounding thud. “Planning on calling a taxi?” she asked hopefully.

The sentiment wasn’t lost on Kristina. Don’t you wish.

It wouldn’t be the first time she had run into employee displeasure. If she was in the business of trying to make friends with everyone, it would have bothered her. But Kristina had learned a long time ago that most people were jealous of her position in life. Jealous of the money that surrounded her. It had them making up their minds about her before she ever had a chance to say a word. So Kristina ignored the opinions so blatantly written across their faces and did what she had to do. She wasn’t out to make friends, only a reputation.

Kristina frowned as she flipped through the pages, looking for the proper section. She wondered where she could get her hands on an L.A. directory. This one was relatively small. There weren’t many companies to choose from.

“No, a contractor.” She spared June a cool glance. “This place needs work.”

“Antonio is our handyman,” June told her easily. “He doubles as a waiter.”

That would undoubtedly explain the condition of the inn, Kristina thought. “It’s going to take more than a handyman to fix up this place. It needs a complete overhaul.”

June thought of telling the woman in the crisp teal business suit that Max was a contractor, but decided against it. Max could tell her that in person, when he got here. It could be the icebreaker. And from where she stood, it looked like there was going to be a lot of ice to break, June thought.

Kristina looked around. There was no sign of a telephone on the desk. “Where’s your telephone?” Impatience strummed through her as she marked one small ad. Jessup & Son promised that no job was too small or too large. It was as good a place as any to begin.

The answer didn’t come quickly enough. Kristina waved a dismissive hand in June’s direction. If this was a sign of the service, no wonder there was no one staying here. “No, never mind. I’ll just use mine.”

Kristina opened one of the compartments in her purse and extracted her cellular telephone. Reading the numbers on the ad again, she punched them into the keypad. She raised her eyes to June’s face when she heard the audible sigh of relief. The next moment, the woman was hurrying to the front door.

Phone in hand, Kristina turned to see who had managed to liven the woman up enough for her to actually display some speed.

June hooked an arm through Max’s as she pulled him over to the side. “Max, she’s calling contractors. Do something.”

So this was the other owner of the inn. Kristina flipped the telephone closed. The call could wait. “Home is the hunter,” she murmured, quoting one of her favorite lines.

Slowly her eyes took the measure of the other half owner, from head to foot. There was a lot to measure. Tall, Max Cooper looked, in Kristina’s estimation, like a rangy cowboy who had taken the wrong turn at the last roundup. He was wearing worn jeans that looked as if they’d been part of his wardrobe since he was in high school. They adhered to his frame with a familiarity reserved for a lover. The royal-blue-and-white work shirt beneath the faded denim jacket made his eyes stand out.

Even from a distance, she saw that they were a very potent blue. The kind of blue she would imagine belonged in the face of a Greek god. If that Greek god was smoldering.

From what she could see, the hair beneath his slouched, stained cowboy hat was brown and long. As unruly and unkempt as the inn appeared to be.

Kristina was beginning to see the connection.

The man’s appearance might have impressed someone from Central Casting, as well as a good handful of her female friends, unattached and otherwise, but it didn’t impress her.

Business sense was what impressed her, and he apparently didn’t have any.

She was looking him over as if he were a piece of merchandise to be appraised, Max thought. He did his own appraising.

So this was the whirlwind June had called him about. He’d met Kate Fortune only once, years ago. She’d come out for a long Memorial Day weekend to sign some papers with his foster parents. He remembered the way she’d looked, sitting on the terrace, with the sun setting directly behind her, haloing her head. Even as a teenager, he’d known he was in the presence of class.

Right now, what he felt he was in the presence of was a brat. A very lovely brat, with great lines and even greater legs, but a brat nonetheless.

She had no business here.

He knew he read her expression correctly. Kristina Fortune looked as if she wanted all the marbles and didn’t care who she had to elbow out of the way to get them. Well, half the marbles were his, and he intended for them to stay that way.

Just the way they were, and positioned where they were, without any walls coming down.

Knowing the value of getting along with the enemy, June, her arm still hooked through Max’s, drew him over toward Kristina.

“Max, this is the new half owner.” Kristina heard the way the woman emphasized the word half. June’s smile deepened. “Kristina—”

Not waiting to be introduced, Kristina shifted her cellular phone to her other hand and stepped forward, thrusting her hand into Max’s.

“Kristina Fortune, Kate’s granddaughter. At least, one of them,” she amended, thinking of her half sister and cousins. Kate had treated them all equally, but only she was going to turn her bequest into a shrine for her grandmother.

Maybe I’ll hang her portrait over the fireplace, Kristina thought suddenly.

Yes, that would add just the right touch. She knew just the one to use, too. The one that had been painted on Kate’s thirtieth birthday. Her grandmother had still had the blush of youth on her cheek. Her beautiful red hair had been swept up, away from her face, and she had had on a mint-green gown…

He’d just said a perfunctory “Glad to meet you” and gotten no response. When he dropped her hand, she suddenly looked at him.

He had the distinct impression that she was only partially here. Which was fine with him. He’d like it even better if none of her were here. June and the others did a fair job of maintaining the old place, and he firmly believed in the adage that if it wasn’t broken, it shouldn’t be fixed.

He damn well didn’t want this intruder “fixing” anything. “You look a million miles away.”

Kristina cleared her throat, embarrassed at having been caught. “Sorry, I was just thinking of what I want to hang over the fireplace.”

There was a huge, colorful tapestry hanging over the fireplace now. His foster mother had spent long hours weaving it herself. He remembered watching her do it. Her fingers had seemed to sing over the loom. She was one-quarter Cherokee; the tapestry represented a history that had been handed down to Sylvia Murphy by her grandmother’s people. He was very partial to it.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with what’s over it now?”

It was natural for him to challenge her. She’d already made up her mind that he would resist change. The unimaginative always did.

“It doesn’t fit the motif,” she said simply.

What the hell was she talking about? They hadn’t discussed anything yet. They hadn’t even gotten past hello. “Motif? What motif?”

“The new one I’ve come up with. We’re turning this into a Honeymoon Hideaway.” She watched his expression, to see if he liked the name. He didn’t.

Kristina paused and blew out a breath. Since he was the other owner, she supposed she had better explain it to him, even though she hated explaining herself to anyone. She preferred doing, and letting others watch and see for themselves.

Kristina got the distinct impression that Cooper wasn’t going to be as amenable to her methods as Frank was. “I guess I’m getting ahead of myself.”

Now there was an understatement. Max exchanged a look with June and missed the fact that it annoyed Kristina. It would have been a bonus, as far as he was concerned.

After pushing his hat back on his head, he hooked his thumbs on the loops of his jeans. “I’d say you were getting ahead of just about everyone. What makes you think we need a ‘motif’?”

He said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “Well, you certainly need something.”

He didn’t care for her condescending tone of voice. “The inn is doing just fine.”

“Just fine,” she repeated softly. She gave him a long, slow look, as if she were appraising him again, and this time finding him mentally lacking. He could feel his temper rising. It was the fastest reaction he had ever had to anyone. “I take it that you don’t bother looking at the inn’s books.”

No, he didn’t, not really, but he didn’t care for her inference. “June handles the books.” He nodded at the woman, who was once again safely ensconced behind the counter. “I review them.”

“Not often enough.” Probably every leap year, Kristina guessed.

He’d had just about enough of this. His real business needed him, not the inn. The inn would do just fine continuing the way it had. Without her fingers all over it. “Just what gives you the right to come waltzing in here—”

She had to stop him now, before he got up a full head of steam and wasted both their time. He might have time to kill, but she didn’t.

“I didn’t ‘waltz,’” she corrected sharply. “I walked—nearly breaking my neck on the loose board in the front, I might add.”

He set his mouth hard, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Pity.”

She got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t apologizing for the presence of the loose board, he was lamenting the fact that she’d avoided the injury.

Ignoring that, she continued, getting to her point. “And I’ve had a good hour to look around—”

One hour, and she was passing judgment on his foster parents’ lives’ work. “That makes you an expert.”

She raised her chin as she took up the challenge in his voice. “No, I arrived being an expert.”

God, talk about brass. Hers was glinting in the sun, and could have served as a beacon to guide ships home in a fog. “On inns.”

Kristina ignored the obvious sarcasm. “On profit margins, and how to sell something.”

He took his time in responding, instinctively knowing that it annoyed her. “And what, exactly, is it that you sell?”

She could have slapped him for what he was obviously thinking, but it wouldn’t have gotten them anywhere. After all, she’d come here to work. Even with an insufferable mental midget like him. “I’m an ad executive. I’m responsible for the Hidden Sin campaign.”

He was vaguely aware that she was referring to a perfume. The latest copy of a magazine he subscribed to had arrived in the mail smelling to high heaven, because one of the pages had been impregnated with the scent. “Congratulations. I heard sin came out of hiding.”

“The perfume,” she retorted.

Inexplicably enjoying the fact that he could bait her, Max responded, “Never heard of it.”

If he thought he was getting to her, he was mistaken. “I don’t doubt it. We haven’t found a way to pipe the commercials into people’s sleep yet.”

He heard her message loud and clear. At another time, it might have amused him. But she, and her manner, irked him beyond words. “You’re implying that I’m lazy?”

Kristina crossed her arms before her chest. Her expression congratulated him on finally catching on. “The inn is run-down, the bookings are off,” she pointed out, warming up. “You’re in the red—”

He cut in curtly. “It’s the off-season.” From the corner of his eye, he saw June shaking her head in disapproval. What was he supposed to do, humor this crazy woman?

Right there was the beginning of his problem, Kristina thought. “There shouldn’t be an off-season in southern California.”

He looked at her, completely mystified by her reasoning. “Is this something you just made up?”

She sighed. She was trying to hold on to her temper, but he wasn’t making it easy for her. She’d carried on better conversations with her parakeet. “If you’re going to challenge everything I say, Cooper, we’re not going to get anywhere.”

He took a moment to compose himself. “What makes you think I want to get anywhere with you, Ms. Fortune? I like the inn just the way it is.”

He might, but what he wanted alone didn’t count. She eyed the wide sofa before the fireplace. If it had a style, it might have been Early American. That, too, would have to go.

“Not good enough.” She ran her hand along the floral upholstery and wondered when it had last been cleaned. “I’m half owner.”

He read her intentions loud and clear. Very deliberately, he removed her hand from the sofa. “And you can’t do anything without my half.”

Can’t had never been part of her vocabulary. “I can buy you out.”

Ironic, wasn’t it? He had wanted to sell his ownership in the inn. Ever since his foster parents had given it to him, he’d wanted to sell it and devote himself completely to his business. Now the perfect opportunity was presenting itself, but he wasn’t about to take it.

He wasn’t about to sell his share to her, because that would mean selling out, selling out and abandoning people he’d known for a long time. He had no doubt that within ten minutes of his signing the deed over to her, Kristina Fortune would send the staff packing and hire some plastic people to take their place.

He’d be damned if he was going to let her fire people he had known and liked for years. There was a place for loyalty in this world, even if fancy ad executives with creamy skins didn’t know it.

“No, you can’t,” he told her. “Not if I don’t want to sell.”

He wasn’t making sense. It was clear he didn’t have any interest in the place. If he did, he wouldn’t have let it deteriorate to this extent. She hated things that didn’t make sense.

“I don’t understand. Why would you want to let all this go to waste?”

There was a fantastic view of the ocean from the rear of the inn. People would pay dearly for the opportunity to wake up in the morning to it. Yet the hotel’s bookings were way off, even for the so-called off-season.

People like Kristina Fortune only had one view of things—their own. He’d had experience enough with her kind. Alexis had been a great teacher.

His mouth hardened. “What makes you think it’s going to waste?”

Oh, God, the man was an idiot. Good-looking, but an idiot. She looked at his face again, taking in the rugged lines, the sensual sweep of his lashes. The bone structure that was faintly reminiscent of the tribes that had once walked this land freely. He was probably accustomed to getting by on his looks and nothing more.

But that wasn’t going to cut it here, not with her. Especially not when it got in the way.

“Anyone with half a brain would know—” Kristina began testily.

Having stood on the sidelines long enough, June came around from behind the desk and placed herself between the two of them. She could almost hear the lightning crackling on either side of her. This exchange wasn’t going to get anyone anywhere. They both needed to cool off and begin again. She didn’t care a whit about Kristina and what she did or didn’t want, but she did care about the inn and Max.

“Ms. Fortune, why don’t I have Sydney take you up to your room?” June suggested brightly, as if Kristina had just walked in. Her smile was warm and genial. “You must be tired, after your long flight out here from—” She let her voice trail off as she raised her brow inquiringly, waiting for Kristina to supply a location.

“Minneapolis,” Kristina replied tersely, her eyes never leaving Max’s infuriating face.

June nodded, as if the city’s name had been on the tip of her tongue. “Five-hour flight. Bound to make you tired.” If she had been a bird, she would have been chirping. “Sydney!” She raised her voice, letting it carry to the rear of the inn. The last time she saw the young woman, Sydney had been on her way to the kitchen to see about getting lunch.

Kristina wasn’t tired, but she did appreciate the value of retreating and regrouping. Shouting at this numbskulled cowboy wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She needed a few minutes to freshen up.

And to get a better grip on her temper. She rarely lost it, but this man seemed to have an ability to wrench it from her with breathtaking speed.

“All right,” she agreed. “I can unpack a few things, and then we can get started. I have a lot of notes and sketches I want to go over with you.”

“I can hardly wait,” Max muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

Kristina refrained from answering. This was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. But not impossible. Nothing, she firmly believed, was ever impossible if you were determined enough. And she was.

Sydney appeared, moving in the same unhurried gait that seemed to be prevalent here, Kristina thought. Maybe Frank hadn’t been wrong in his assessment of life in southern California. It was just too slow and laid-back for her.

But she had no intention of moving here. Just of moving things along.

June noted the curiosity in Sydney’s eyes as the young woman looked at Kristina.

“Sydney, this is Kate Fortune’s granddaughter, Kristina,” June said. “She’ll be taking Kate’s place. This is Sydney Burnham, the baby of our group.”

Sydney had been working at the inn for only the past four years. Coming to work during the summer between her junior and senior year at college, Sydney had joined the staff permanently after graduation, preferring the unhurried pace in La Jolla to the frantic life of a stockbroker.

Sydney looked around for luggage and noticed the two suitcases off to the side, by the desk. She picked up one in each hand and nodded at the newest guest. “Nice to meet you, Kristina.”

The greeting was entirely too informal to suit Kristina. There had to be distance between management and employees in order for things to run smoothly. “Ms. Fortune,” she corrected.

Max rolled his eyes as he turned his back on Kristina.

June waited until the two women had disappeared up the stairs before saying to Max, “I think I just bought you a little time.”

“I have a feeling a century wouldn’t be enough when it comes to that woman. She’s spoiled, self-centered and pigheaded.”

June laughed at the assessment. “And those are her good qualities.” Time for a little pep talk. “But you’ll find a way to pull this out of the fire, Max. I know you will.”

Max thought of his foster father. The man was a born arbitrator. He could use him now. Max shook his head.

“I’m not John Murphy.”

June had always liked Max’s modest streak. A man as good-looking as he was could easily have been conceited. “No, but he taught you well. You’ll find a way to get along with her, and get her to ease up those grand plans I see forming in her head.”

He had his doubts about that. “At times I think you give me too much credit.”

“At times, I don’t think you give yourself enough.” June looked up the stairs and shivered in spite of herself. There was a lot at stake here. “You’ve got to do something, Max. I get the definite impression that she wants all of our jobs.”

That made two of them. Max frowned. He’d never seen the advantage in lying. “So do I, June. So do I.”

There had to be a way to make Kristina Fortune see reason. The magic question was, how?

Three

K ristina curled her legs under her on the double bed, keeping the telephone receiver tucked between her shoulder and her ear. She made a mental note that the bed needed a canopy to give it a more romantic flavor.

Just outside her window, the Pacific Ocean was having the beginnings of a turbulent discussion with the shoreline. The recessed trees that fringed the perimeter of the grassy expanse just behind the inn were shaking their heads in abject disagreement. A storm was brewing, albeit in the distance.

It was romantic settings such as this that would make the inn’s reputation, Kristina thought. Or at least part of it. The rest would be up to her, since Cooper obviously didn’t seem interested in her ideas. But Cooper could be worked around, she silently promised herself. She was nothing if not resourceful and determined. This place was begging for guidance.

Her aunt’s voice brought her mind back to the conversation. She’d placed a call to her as soon as she got to her room. As always, just the sound of her voice made Kristina feel better.

“I tell you, Rebecca, you just wouldn’t believe this place.”

Rebecca Fortune was her favorite aunt, the one who reminded her most of her grandmother. They were so close in age, Kristina thought of her more as an older sister than an aunt. Even as a child, Kristina had never been about to wrap her tongue around the word aunt when it was in reference to Rebecca. It just wouldn’t have felt right.

“It has such possibilities,” she enthused, warming to her subject and her own ideas. “But right now, it’s all completely mired in a horrid Ma and Pa Kettle look.” Rebecca loved old movies. Kristina knew that the reference to the movie series would get the idea across to her far faster than a whole string of adjectives.

“With a moose head hanging over the fireplace?” There was amusement in Rebecca’s voice.

Maybe she had gone a little overboard in her assessment, Kristina thought. But it was hard not to have that reaction, when the staff reminded her of people straight off some unproductive farm. “Well, not quite that, but close.”

Rebecca laughed with a touch of longing. “Sounds delicious.”

Kristina could see that her aunt relished the image. Rebecca probably found the idea of a secluded house inviting. Maybe it was, but not if that house looked as if it was falling apart.

“That’s only because you’re thinking like a mystery writer, not like a guest.”

There was no argument forthcoming on that count. Rebecca laughed softly at the observation. “Sorry, dear, force of habit.”

There was a momentary pause. Kristina could hear the transformation in her aunt’s voice when Rebecca continued. “I suppose that my thinking like a mystery writer is the reason I can’t accept Mother’s death.” She sighed. “The whole thing just doesn’t hit the right chord.”

Kristina couldn’t help wondering just how much of her aunt’s response was due to her writer’s instincts and how much of it was due to pure denial. It was a given that none of the family were really willing to admit that a force as powerful as Kate Fortune could actually be snuffed out so quickly, without preamble.

Still, she hated to see her aunt torture herself this way. Her grandmother had been piloting the plane herself at the time of the crash. Kristina knew that Rebecca’s hopes were tied to the fact that the body found at the site of the wreck had been burned beyond recognition. But who else’s could it have been? There’d been no one else on the flight. And after all this time there was no other possibility.

“Rebecca…” Kristina began, her voice filled with affection.

“I know, I know. You’re going to tell me to accept it, but I can’t.” There was neither apology nor defensiveness in Rebecca’s voice. She was stating a simple fact. “I want proof, Kristina. Something to absolutely close the book for me. Right now, I feel that it’s just a serial. Like in the Saturday matinees in the forties and fifties. ‘To be continued.’”

Kristina knew there was no arguing with Rebecca. In her own fashion, Rebecca was as tenacious as Kate had been. It was something Kristina had in common with them. “Well, has that detective you and Father hired found anything?”

“Gabriel Devereax is doing his best, but it’s just not enough. He’s also been involved in a lot of the other investigations, including looking for proof of Jake’s innocence. I know he didn’t kill Monica Malone, and soon we’re going to prove it. And then we’ll get back to Mother’s death. I’m not giving up yet.” The change in topic was abrupt. It was a signal that Rebecca didn’t want to discuss Gabriel or her mother any further. “You certainly sound like you’ve got your hands full.” She paused, obviously thinking. “Mother never really talked about the inn.”

Kristina looked down at the quilt beneath her. While still attractive, it had definitely seen better days. A lot of better days. Like the inn, it was worn in places.

“I don’t wonder.” Kristina laughed. “If I owned something like this, I wouldn’t exactly broadcast it, either.”

“But you’re going to change all that,” Rebecca said knowingly.

Kristina sat up a little straighter, as if bracing herself for the battles she knew lay ahead. She thought of Max and immediately frowned. “As fast as I can, provided Cowboy Max cooperates.”

“And that would be—?”

Kristina realized that she had skipped over that small detail when she told Rebecca about the inn. “The other owner.”

“Wait a minute, I thought it belonged to a couple named Murphy.”

“It did.” The phone slipped, and Kristina grabbed it, tucking it back. “But they retired, handing their interest over to their foster son.” She fairly snorted. “I guess they didn’t care what happened to it.”

What was left unsaid spoke volumes. “Sounds like you and he aren’t getting along.”

Kristina caught herself grinning. She could have said the same thing about Rebecca and the detective she’d hired. “There’s that witty understatement at work again.” She thought of their first encounter. “We’re more like a couple of junkyard dogs fighting over a bone.”

“That doesn’t sound too good. Make sure you take care of yourself,” Rebecca cautioned.

Kristina dismissed Rebecca’s concern. “Not to worry, this junkyard dog’s got clout.”

And Kristina meant to use every bit of her pull. She could get the advertising department to mount a campaign for the inn once she had it fixed up the way she wanted. The way it should be. She’d already drawn up a tentative schedule for the renovations. If things got rolling immediately, they would be concluded in six to seven months—just in time for the middle of summer.

“All Cowboy Max has is a sexy smile and cotton for brains. I can certainly handle that,” she said with confidence.

The telephone slipped again when she heard the knock on her door. Kristina glanced at it impatiently.

“I’ve got to go, Rebecca. There’s someone at the door. I’m going to be very busy, so I probably won’t call often. Let the family know I’ll be in touch, okay?”

“Sure, but I’ve got a little snooping of my own to tend to. We’ve got to get Jake free.”

“Yes.” And she didn’t believe, for one minute, that her uncle had killed that dreadful woman. Uncle Jake, austere, reserved, was a rock. He would never be capable of killing anyone.

“Well, things are going to be rather hectic around here for a while. We’re all doing what we can to get to the bottom of this. Everyone knows that Jake wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Kristina heard the knock again, and her impatience mounted at the interruption. “Everyone but the law. Do they have a trial date set yet?”

“Beginning of March.”

That would cut her time here short, but she knew the importance of a show of unity. She was just going to have to speed things up, that was all.

“I’ll be back by then,” she promised. “Good luck, Rebecca. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

A third knock echoed, this time more insistent. Probably that big oaf. It sounded like his knuckles banging on the door. She had no doubts that they had gotten large and callused, dragging around the ground like that.

Hanging up the telephone, she leaned over to the nightstand and replaced it beside the lamp. A hurricane lamp should be there, she thought.

Kristina gathered together the notes and sketches she’d spread out on her bed and deposited them beside the phone. “Come in.”

Curbing his annoyance, Max turned the knob and walked in. He’d caught a piece of Kristina’s conversation before he knocked. Cotton for brains, was it? He was going to enjoy showing her just how worthy an adversary cotton actually was.

As soon as Max entered, Kristina felt a wave of discomfort enter with him. There was something about his presence in her room that made her feel uneasy.

Swinging her legs off the bed, Kristina stood up. Without her heels on, the top of her head barely came up to Max’s shoulder. It gave him an unfair advantage. Nudging her shoes upright with her toe, she quickly slipped them on.

What was he doing here, anyway? She hadn’t sent for him. Though she tried, she couldn’t read anything in his expression.

She hazarded a guess. “Afraid I’d get started without you?”

Max hooked his thumbs on the loops of his jeans and gave her a long, studying look. Patience around this woman seemed to be in short supply, but for everyone’s sake, he tried to exercise it.

“The thought did cross my mind.” Cottony though it is.

There was something unfathomable in his eyes that contributed to the uneasy feeling wafting through her. The same kind of feeling she would have experienced by sticking her hand into a hole in the ground, not knowing if she was going to be bitten, or just find the hole empty.

“So why are you here?”

June’s words of caution rang in his ears. He chose his words carefully. “I thought maybe we got off on the wrong foot.”

Was he trying to apologize? Was that what she saw in his eyes? Discomfort? It didn’t look like discomfort.

“Wrong foot? That’s putting it rather mildly.” Kristina waited for him to continue, anticipating an apology. It made sparring with him earlier almost worth it.

She had an irritating air about her. Max had come up to her room hoping to start over, to get her to understand how he felt about the inn. Strangling her wasn’t part of the plan, though it would have been a definite bonus. He could always claim she had bitten herself and died of poisoning instantly.

Max forced a smile to his lips. “I’d like to ask you to dinner.”

Well, he had certainly done an about-face. She eyed him warily. “Where?”

The woman looked as if she expected him to jump her bones. “Here.”

“All right. I was planning on sampling the food anyway.” Kristina decided to make the best of a bad situation. “We might as well discuss business while I do it.”

The idea was to get her to relax a bit, to mellow out. If all they did was talk business, he could see another argument erupting. That wouldn’t help to smooth anything over or generate the right atmosphere.

Max moved closer to Kristina, cutting the distance and, inexplicably, the air supply between them, at the same time. “I was just thinking more along the lines of us getting to know each other.”

A crack of thunder made her jump. She looked at the window, fully expecting to see that it had shattered. Lightning streaked the sky like the mark of an expert swordsman. Kristina let out a breath and turned, only to find herself brushing up against Max.

Lightning of a different sort jolted her.

It took her a moment to refocus her mind on the conversation. She pressed her lips together and asked, “Why?”

He hadn’t been prepared to be challenged over such a simple suggestion. “Don’t you get to know the people you do business with?”

He was up to something—she could smell it. She could also smell his cologne, which was musky and male and would have clouded her mind if she let it. She didn’t like distractions.

“If I have to.”

It was obviously something she would not do by choice. “You make it sound real inviting,” he commented dryly.

David had been exceedingly charming. She had trusted him, believed his words. And he had taken advantage of her. Nothing like that was ever going to happen to her again. Romantically or otherwise. Unless she missed her guess, Max Cooper probably fit into the same category, only the junior league.

“I didn’t come here to socialize, Cooper. I came here with a purpose.”

Riding on a broom, no doubt.

He wondered if she enjoyed irritating him. Trying another approach, he brusquely took her arm and ushered her out of the room.

Surprised, Kristina tried to yank her arm away and found that she couldn’t. “Hey.”

Max ignored her protest and tightened his hold. His voice was polite, if strained. “I think that once you become familiar with the surroundings, with the people, you’ll see that—”

She knew what he was going to say, but it wouldn’t change anything. She’d already made her plans, and she was going to see them executed. “I’m sure all the people you have working here are lovely, but this isn’t their home. It’s a place of business. And I intend to see that it’s run like one.”

He didn’t want to create a scene. Releasing her arm, he waited until an elderly couple had made their way down the stairs, then continued what he knew was an argument in the making.

“You’re wrong.”

Of course. He had to say that. Men like Cooper were contrary about everything. “About what?”

Taking her arm again, he politely but firmly marched her down the stairs. He hadn’t wanted to really get into an argument yet, but he should have known better than to think he could avoid it.

“This is a home. Their home. The staff lives on the premises. And it was my home, too, when I was growing up.”

Well, that would explain some things. Kristina was unaware that her voice had taken on a patronizing tone. “And I’m sure that to the boy you were, it was a great place, but—”

Max felt his temper flaring. This wasn’t why he had sought her out. Not to argue, but to convince, and if that failed, to compromise. It didn’t look as if it were heading in that direction. Max surprised her again, this time by abruptly placing his finger to her lips.

“Why don’t we table this for a while? Let’s just go to dinner. We can continue negotiations over a good steak.” He saw a smug, superior look enter her eyes. They would have been beautiful eyes, but for that. Think it’s all settled, don’t you? Well, think again. “Or are you a vegetarian?”

By the way he posed the question, she knew he didn’t think very highly of that persuasion. Kristina was tempted to say that she was, just to annoy him. There was something about him that pushed all her buttons in a perverse way. Maybe it was his attitude toward her, as if she were a little girl, playing games. Or maybe it was just that he was so damn good-looking, the way David had been.

Actually, if she was to be impartial, Max was better-looking than David. But that wasn’t going to get in the way of anything. All it would do was solidify her resolve. If he thought he was going to use his looks to get her to change her mind, he was in for a surprise, she thought confidently. Her mind was made up.

Kristina’s eyes held his. “No, steak’ll be fine. Rare.” It was what she considered one of her few weaknesses.

It was his turn to be surprised. Her answer coaxed a smile to his lips. “Finally, we agree on something.”

It was a very sensual smile. Her own lips seemed to tingle where he had touched them.

Kristina tossed her head. It was an action depicting arrogance and defiance. Yet, just for a brief moment, Max thought it was tinged with an element of insecurity. Probably his imagination.

“We’ll agree about this,” she told him, gesturing about the front room as they walked through it. “Eventually.”

He smiled at her without saying another word. When pigs fly jet planes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw June watching them. Like a mother hen, he thought, concerned that the wolf was going to eat the chicks. Not this wolf. Not if he could help it. He nodded at June as they entered the dining room.

The spacious room, with its polished wooden floor and knickknack-lined shelves, was at the rear of the inn. It had a fantastic view of the ocean through large adjacent bay windows. Though the meals here were excellent, they were considered secondary to the scenery.

Kristina had made note of the view as she took her quick tour of the inn. Now, as a brooding storm hung over the distant sky, it struck her as magnificent.

Max saw the look on her face and interpreted it as a point in his favor.

“Like the view? Or would you like to improve on that, as well?” he couldn’t help adding.

Her jaw tightened. She had developed her present sharp-tongued way of dealing with people because she’d discovered that no one bothered to listen to her opinions or follow her suggestions if she voiced them politely. They thought of her as “Kate’s granddaughter,” or “Nathaniel’s little girl.” She was that, but she was so much more. She was her own person, and if it took a heavy hand to make her point, then a heavy hand was what she had to use.

“Only by making sure the windows were cleaner. They could stand a washing,” she attested casually.

Max wondered if killing her now would make the other guests lose their appetite, or if they would wind up applauding him.

Sydney approached their table. Sydney, like Antonio, doubled as a waiter during meals. Max nodded toward her. “Tell Sam we want two filets mignons. Rare.”

“Anything to drink?” Sydney asked, placing an order of bread in the middle of the table.

He could do with a Scotch, a double, right about now. But he knew he was going to need a clear head to take on this woman fate had seen fit to saddle him with. “Just water. Two.”

Kristina bristled at his presumption. “I can order for myself, Cooper.”

He raised his hands, as if pulling them away from a sacred artifact he shouldn’t have touched. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to tread on your territory. Go ahead.”

“Iced coffee, please,” Kristina told Sydney as she took her seat.

“How appropriate,” Max muttered under his breath. Their eyes met and held. He saw a flash within hers, and felt a measure of satisfaction. “Given the warmer turn of the weather,” he added.

For the moment, Kristina said nothing. Sydney turned toward Max. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, just see if Sam can hurry it up.” The chef had a tendency to let guests linger over their drinks. Now that he was sitting opposite Kristina, he wanted this over with as soon as possible.

Sydney gave Max a wide smile. “Sure thing, Max.” The smile turned frosty as she nodded politely at Kristina. “Ms. Fortune.”

Kristina spread her napkin across her lap. Not waiting for Max, she cut a slice from the loaf. The bread should have been warm, she noted. She glanced up at Max, then thought better of bringing the fact to his attention. Minor details like that would be lost on him.

Others, however, had to be made known. “You know, you really shouldn’t let her call you Max.”

He tore off an end of the loaf, a little abruptly, though his tone remained mild. “Funny, I was just thinking that you shouldn’t insist on being called Ms. Fortune.”

Kristina’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t take criticism well, especially if, in her opinion, it was unwarranted.

“Why?”

He would have thought that it was self-evident. But maybe not to someone like the ice princess. “Puts distance between you.”

She still didn’t see what he was driving at. Delicately she pushed aside the bread. Never a big eater, she wanted to leave room for the main course. “That’s exactly my point.”

Max took a deep breath. He was stuck with her. That meant he was going to have to try his best to educate her. She obviously had no experience in dealing with people who didn’t have silver spoons in their mouths.

“You want them doing their best for you, not just thinking that it’s a job.”

His reasoning was so flawed, it took her breath away. “But it is a job. And their incentive is their paycheck—and bonuses if they perform well.” After all, she wasn’t heartless—she knew it was difficult to make it in this world.

He dropped the bread, and with it, the last of his appetite. “That makes them sound like trained seals.” Leaning forward so that his face was inches from hers, he observed, “You have a very strange way of putting people off, Kristina. Is it a gift, like everything else you own?”

No, she wasn’t going to enjoy working with this idiot. Kristina squared her shoulders. “You don’t like me very much, Cooper. Fortunately for me, no pun intended, that doesn’t matter. We can work together without liking each other.”

He didn’t have to read between the lines to know what she was saying to him. “As long as I do things your way.”

“If my way makes sense…” Kristina let her voice trail off, leaving him to reach the conclusion that her way did make sense on his own. If the man had any brains at all.

His mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “As in ‘Dollars and—’ Correct?”

She didn’t care for the way he was talking down to her. If he didn’t like the idea of turning a profit, why was he hanging on to the inn? “Most people go into business to make money. This is a business.”

Sydney returned with their meals before he could respond. He waited until Sydney receded again. He didn’t miss the sympathetic look in her eyes as she left.

He nodded toward the plate in front of Kristina, taking advantage of the small diversion. “Eat your steak, Kris.”

She hated nicknames. “The name,” she told him, enunciating every syllable, “is Kristina.”

The name is Pain, he thought, resigning himself to a very arduous evening. “Eat your steak, ‘Kristina,’” he said deliberately.

Looking as if she had won a small victory, Kristina cut a piece of the thick steak on her plate. She had to admit that it did look appetizing. But the serving itself could be improved upon. Smaller portions, more artistically arranged. Honeymooners weren’t all that interested in food, anyway.

She looked up and saw that Max was watching her. “Just look around you. The inn has sixteen bedrooms. Only five of them are filled.” All five couples were in the dining room now. The room fairly echoed with her voice, reinforcing her point about the poor attendance.

The steak was done to perfection, but his appetite had completely waned. “And what you propose would fill them.”

“Yes.” Her eyes fairly glowed as she leaned forward, energy vibrating through her affirmation. “We’ll have bookings two months in advance.”

She knew nothing about the business. How could she be so certain of her ideas? “Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

There was no hesitation in her voice. “Yes.”

He pinned her with a look. “Why?”

Hadn’t he been listening? “Because I’ve got a good sense of business.”

She was unbelievable. Had anyone bothered checking her for a pulse? “Is that all it is to you, just business?”

“Of course it is.” She looked at him incredulously. “What else could it be?”

Patiently, like a teacher talking to a backward child, Max began again. “I mentioned earlier that it was a home—”

Did he really think she was being taken in by his smoke screen? “Spare me the sentiment, Cooper. It’s just another excuse you’re using not to do anything. I’m sure you’re very comfortable this way. Well, you don’t have to worry. I will handle everything. I’m accustomed to that. You can go on just napping.” Disgust filled her eyes. “We’ll try not to make too much noise for you, especially not when I slip you your share of the profits.”

He’d tried it June’s way. He’d tried being polite. This woman wouldn’t understand anything but a show of force. “Tell me, because I’m new at this—does walking around with a wallet where your heart is supposed to be require any extra care on your part?”

Her head jerked up. How dare he! “I can’t talk to you if you’re going to be abusive.”

That was a laugh. “Talk to me? Lady, all you do is talk at me, not to me.” He raised his voice, for once unmindful of the people in the dining room. “I don’t think you know how to talk to a person so that he’d listen of his own free will.”

Kristina rose, throwing down her napkin. She didn’t have to listen to this, and she certainly wasn’t going to sit here trading insults with him while others listened.

“Tell the chef that the steak was delicious. The company, however, was not. It left a great deal to be desired.”

With that, she walked out of the dining room.

Like the others in the room, Sydney had been looking on. She came forward now to clear away Kristina’s plate. “Don’t let it get to you, Max. If I’d been in your place, I would have decked her.”

Max sighed. Sydney meant well, but that didn’t alter the fact that he was going to have to find some way to work with this infuriating woman.

“Thanks, but you’re not in my place, and decking her wouldn’t have helped, anyway.”

Max looked down at his plate. It was a damn good steak. He wanted to finish his meal, but he knew there was damage control to attend to. With a sigh, he rose, leaving his napkin on the chair.

“Tell Sam this is nothing personal. The steak is great.”

He went after Kristina, aware that the other guests were all looking at him. God, but he wished he was back at the construction site. Steel and concrete were things he knew how to handle. Stuck-up, gold-for-blood rich witches were in a league all their own.

A league Alexis had been quick to join, he recalled, jilting him and running off to marry that fancy executive of hers. When he thought of it, the man Alexis had described to him was a male counterpart to Kristina. No wonder he didn’t like her, he thought.

Max passed June at the front desk. Instead of saying anything, the older woman just pointed toward the door. He sighed and hurried out.

He was in time to see Kristina heading toward the beach.

Good. With any luck, she’d drown herself.

Not that he could let her.

Cursing roundly under his breath, he rushed after her.

Four

D amn stupid woman. With his luck, she’d probably walk straight into the water and get pulled under by a strong riptide. Then he’d be stuck explaining the situation to the local police.

“Hey!” Max called after Kristina as he hurried to catch up.

She made no effort to stop, and didn’t give any indication that she’d even heard him. If anything, she seemed to quicken her pace.

Max swore as he broke into a run. The wind stole his words away, scattering them over the water. As if he didn’t have enough trouble on his hands already with construction deadlines, now he had to deal with a rich, spoiled brat set on doing everything her way.

“Hey!”

Catching up to her, he grabbed Kristina by the arm and swung her around to face him. Even in the limited moonlight, he could see the storm clouds passing over not just the face of the moon, but her face, as well. It was a sensual face, a face he might have been attracted to. If it didn’t belong to Kristina.

But it did, and he had less than no use for someone like her.

“Don’t you know that it’s dangerous to run off in the dark when you’re not familiar with the area? The surf’s heavy this time of year. Some of those waves could wash you out to sea before you had sense enough to scream for help.”

As if that actually concerned him, she thought, annoyed at being manhandled.

“I can take care of myself,” she retorted. “And for your information, I’m not about to wander into the water like some dazed Ophelia. I always know exactly where I am.”

And so do I. In hell.

“What is it with you?” Max could only see one reason for her acting so unreasonably—that something had hurt her to the nth degree. He remembered the way he’d felt after Alexis. But that still didn’t give her an excuse for wielding her bad temper like a sword, slicing away at everyone within range. “Did somebody dump you or something?”

The assumption made her jerk her head up and glare at him. That hadn’t been the case, of course. It was she who had left David. But it was David who had never really wanted her in the first place, only her money. Only her position.

Kristina’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits that glinted with anger. “Why? Don’t you think a woman can be angry unless there’s a man involved?”

“Well…” He pretended to seriously consider her question. He saw that the thought annoyed her. Maybe someone had walked out on her. Not that he could blame him. A guy would have to be crazy to be involved with the likes of her. “No.”

She blew out a breath, dragging her hand through her hair. The pins that had held it so securely in place were scattered now, victims of her quick pace and the wind. The latter plucked away the last of them.

He was watching her, waiting. Looking at her as if he could see something beneath the lines of her face.

Making her uncomfortable again.

“In this case,” she conceded, “you’re right, but no one’s ‘dumped’ me, as you so eloquently put it. But there is a man involved. You.” She saw a hint of surprise enter his eyes. The egoist probably misunderstood. Well, she’d just squelch that misunderstanding. “I just wanted to get away from you.” She frowned at him, the same way she might have at a stain that refused to respond to treatment and remained embedded in the weave of a favorite dress. “I didn’t seem to succeed very well.”

He wasn’t going to let her draw him into another argument. He refused to allow that to happen—but it damn well wasn’t easy, not when he wanted to wring her neck.

Putting out his hand to her, he made the ultimate sacrifice. “How about a truce?”

She looked at his hand. It was a strong hand with calluses on it. A hand that belonged to a man who wasn’t afraid of working and getting dirty. So maybe he wasn’t all that lazy, she conceded. Just pigheaded.

Still, she ignored the offer, looking directly up into his eyes.

“How about talking reason for a change?” she countered. Kristina raised her voice to be heard above the sound of the pounding surf. She held up her index finger. “Fact—the inn isn’t making money.” Another finger joined the first. “Fact—you have a very valuable piece of property.” A third bounced up. He had the uncontrollable urge to shove her hand down to her side. Another urge, far less sensible than that, was beginning to surface, as well. He ascribed it to the fact that she had churned up his emotions. “Fact—I have the money that’s necessary to make this into something unique. And fact—”

She stopped abruptly as Max closed his hand tightly over hers and pushed it to her side. Undaunted, she said through gritted teeth, “I am half owner.”

“And fact—you are one hell of a pain in the neck.” Max let go of her hand, curtailing the desire to give it one extra, hard squeeze.

Very gingerly, she flexed her fingers. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of wincing. He wasn’t just pigheaded, he was a Neanderthal.

“With the money this place will make once I’m through with it, you can afford to buy yourself an electric massager—or a masseuse, if that’s too complicated for you to operate.”

He was standing toe-to-toe with her on one of the most beautiful spots in the state. It wasn’t a place meant for shouting, or for escalating tempers. Why couldn’t she just shut up and let the place work its magic on her? It already was on him, and he didn’t even want any part of it.

Or her.

He tried again. “Why don’t you try to enjoy this place for a little while before deciding to make any changes?”

He didn’t get it, did he? Progress was obviously a dirty word to him. Lucky for him she’d come along when she did.

“I don’t have to enjoy it,” she insisted, “to know that this place has potential that is not being utilized.” Frustrated, she gestured around at the beach, as if he’d never seen it before.

Max shoved his hands deep into his back pockets and began walking along the shoreline. She fell into step beside him. He felt a little like Lee on the eve of Appomattox, facing the inevitable and trying to come to grips with it. If nothing else, he wanted to make certain that his soldiers retained their swords.

“If there are changes, there’s one thing I want to make perfectly clear at the outset,” Max warned her. “I don’t want any of the staff ‘outplaced,’ or whatever the popular term for being fired is these days.”

His concern did soften the edges of the image he projected, but cold facts were cold facts. “If they’re not doing a good job—”

Max stopped walking, his eyes riveted to hers. “They’re doing a good job.”

The rugged face looked almost malevolent, she thought, startled by the intensity of the feeling she saw there. But not startled enough to back down. She intended to do everything she had planned to do on the plane. She couldn’t allow sentiment, or a stubborn, sentimental half owner, to get in the way.

“But if—”

“This isn’t negotiable, Kristina,” he informed her harshly. “I gave my word to my foster parents when I took over the inn that no one who worked for them would be released. They would all have a job for life, if they wanted it.”

This man did not belong in business. She was surprised that he hadn’t been eaten by the sharks yet. While the attitude he espoused sounded noble, in reality it was just another excuse for not taking control.

“Yes,” she allowed patiently, “but surely your foster parents wouldn’t want you to—”

He didn’t want to hear any more of her work philosophy. It wouldn’t make any difference.

“My word, Kristina,” he said, cutting in. “My word. Do you know what that means?” His eyes pinned her. “That means I made them a promise, and I always keep my promises.”

Max felt the last of his temper fraying as he looked down into her stubborn, unrelenting face. How could anyone so beautiful be so damn heartless?

And then he remembered Alexis and had his answer.

“Not ever,” he emphasized. “And certainly not for spoiled brats who come riding in on their brooms, ready to sweep everything and everyone out of their way.” He drew himself up, and he was a good foot taller than she was. “That might be the way you do it in Minneapolis, but that isn’t the way it’s done out here.”

Oh, puh-leeze. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, right—Californians are the last word in truth and fair play.”

He had sounded pretty high-and-mighty, Max thought, annoyed with himself for giving her something else to ridicule. He raised his voice, shouting above the growing howl of the wind.

“Maybe not, but I am.” He lowered his mouth to her ear, so that his words wouldn’t be swept away before she heard them. “Now, if you have any sense in your head, which I doubt, you’ll go back to the inn.” He clamped a hand on her shoulder and turned her roughly around to face the darkening sky. “There’s a storm coming. We wouldn’t want to take a chance on having lightning strike you, now, would we?”

His tone told her exactly how he would feel about it.

With that, Max turned and walked away with long, hurried strides, as if he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

Frustrated, angry, Kristina looked around for something, anything, to throw. There was a piece of driftwood sticking up a few feet away from her. Yanking it out of the sand, she hurled it at Max before she could stop to think what she was doing.

The small piece struck him squarely in the back. Surprised, Max swung around just as the driftwood landed beside his foot. He spared it one look, then strode back to where Kristina was standing.

The look in his eyes was dark and forbidding.

Surprised at the level of her outburst, uncertain of what to expect from him, Kristina still refused to back down. Instead, she lifted her chin, daring him to retaliate.

Max grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her one strong shake that very nearly rattled her teeth. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“You,” she shot back. She blew out a shaky breath, refusing to tell him to release her, even though he was hurting her. “You make me lose my temper faster than anyone I’ve ever met.”

He realized that he was holding her too hard. Letting her go, he saw the dark prints of his fingers on her upper arms. Damn it, he wasn’t a savage, even if she was a shrew.

Annoyed with himself, with her, he scowled. “Well, we’ve got that in common, too. Steak and tempers. A hell of a combination.” He shook his head. “This isn’t going to work out.”

Her bravado escalated to a fever pitch. “It’s not a marriage, it’s a business arrangement.”

“It’s more than that,” he replied. “It’s hell, right here on earth.” And he was smack-dab in the middle of it, thanks to her.

A string of curses ran through his mind as he looked down into her face. Without fully realizing he was doing it, he pulled her back into his arms.

Emotions churned within him like the sea caught in the grip of a typhoon. Max felt himself on the verge of giving in to the almost overwhelming magnetic pull he felt when he looked into her eyes. It didn’t make any sense to him, but then, pure sexual attraction probably never did. And that was what this was. Pure, raw sex.

In the moonlight, with the wind whipping her hair to and fro, making her look like some kind of siren, wrapping her scent around him, he felt a gut-level reaction that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

He wanted her.

Whether to make love with or to strangle was a toss-up. But he did want her.

Kristina’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t nearly as sure of herself now as she had been a moment ago. With Max’s steely fingers holding her in place and his brooding eyes on hers, she could feel her very insides quaking.

She had no idea what he was capable of. And no idea why the danger in his eyes fascinated her so. But she knew she didn’t like the power it had over her.

His head inclined, and now his mouth was only a breath away from hers. Kristina could feel her heart pounding against her rib cage, bruising it as surely as his fingers had bruised her arms.

Like a cornered animal, she dug deep for courage and attacked. “You kiss me,” she swore, “and I’ll make you pay for it.”

She would, too, he thought. And he didn’t know if the price would be worth it. Maybe it would.

He laughed at her threat, and made the situation all the more worse.

“I bet you would, Kristina. Well, don’t worry, I won’t risk it. I haven’t had my shots yet.” With that, he let go of her, releasing her a bit more roughly than he had intended. He felt shaken, as well, and had no way of hiding it from himself. “Now walk ahead of me.”

She didn’t trust him. “Why?”