﻿ What the Millionaire Wants… by Metsy Hingle

He stared at her for a long moment, long enough for Laura to see his enjoyment in sparring with her turn to something else. Something hot. Something sexual.

“I have another idea what the stakes could be,” he said finally. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to like it.”

Laura knew at once what those stakes were. She’d seen it in his eyes the very first time he had looked at her, felt it the other night when he had almost kissed her. That he would even suggest such a thing infuriated her. It also made her stomach tighten, her skin heat. “You’re right. I don’t like it. And despite what you might think, going to bed with you isn’t my idea of a prize.”

He laughed. “That’s a pretty big assumption you’ve made.”

Laura could feel the colour rush to her cheeks. “All right. So what did you have in mind?”

“Forget my idea,” he said, his amusement fading. He inched a step closer. That dark and hungry look was back in his eyes. “I like your idea better.”

Spencer’s Forbidden Passion by Brenda Jackson

He couldn’t deny he wanted her.

Never before had he been so aroused by a woman. And Chardonnay had been fully conscious of the sexual attraction between them, even though in the midst of a business battle they’d attempted to downplay it.

As a plan formed in his mind, Spencer called his lawyer. “Find out which bank plans to loan her the money and let me know immediately.”

He’d have her – one way or another. Chardonnay Russell would be his.

“Yes,” he said through a smug smile. A marriage for love was out of the question for Spencer. But he’d certainly entertain the idea of a marriage for lust…

What the Millionaire Wants…

METSY HINGLE

Spencer’s Forbidden Passion

BRENDA JACKSON

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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WHAT THE MILLIONAIRE WANTS…

by

Metsy Hingle

METSY HINGLE

is an award-winning, bestselling author of series and single-title romantic suspense novels. Metsy is known for creating powerful and passionate stories, and her own life reads like a romance novel – from her early years in a New Orleans orphanage and foster care, to her long, happy marriage to her husband, Jim, and the rearing of their four children. She recently traded in her business suits and fast-paced life in the hotel and public-relations arena to pursue writing full- time. Metsy loves hearing from readers. For a free bookmark, write to Metsy at PO Box 3224, Covington, LA 70433, USA or visit her website at www.metsyhingle.com.

Dear Reader,

What is it about those tall, dark and dangerously sexy men that fascinates us? You know the ones I mean. He’s the guy who walks into a room and seems to stand a little taller, the one who has a bit of a swagger in his step. He’s the one with the mischievous smile and a gleam in his eye that says he knows everything there is to know about pleasing a woman and that he’d be happy to show you. You also know that getting mixed up with such a man would be asking for trouble.

Ever wonder what type of woman is brave enough to tangle with Mr Tall, Dark and Dangerously Sexy? Or what type of woman it will take to steal his heart and make him a one-woman man? I did. That’s how I came up with my new book for Desire. I had a wonderful time creating Jackson Hawke and Laura Spencer’s story. I hope you have fun watching them tangle in the boardroom and bedroom on their way to falling in love.

For a commemorative bookmark or to learn about the next book I’m working on, write to: Metsy Hingle, PO Box 3224, Covington, LA 70434, USA or visit me on the web at www.metsyhingle.com.

Happy reading!

Until next time,

Metsy Hingle

For the City of New Orleans and its people

who continue to inspire me

One

“I am not for sale, Mr. Hawke.”

Jackson Hawke bit back a smile as he stared at the woman across the desk. “I’m not trying to buy you, Ms. Spencer. I’m merely offering to employ you.”

“I already have a job,” she informed him with the cool disdain of a true Southern belle. “I’m the general manager of the Contessa Hotel.”

He had to give her points for moxie, Jack thought. He had expected any number of reactions to the news that he had acquired the defaulted bank loan on the small New Orleans hotel. He had made a career of taking over financially troubled companies, revamping them and turning the once-failing operations into profit centers. In each case, his presence was seldom welcome. More often than not his arrival was met with trepidation or anger, and in some cases both. He had expected no less from the owners of the Contessa Hotel. What he hadn’t anticipated was defiance. And defiant was the only way to describe the woman seated across from him. Unfortunately for Ms. Laura Jordan Spencer, her defiance didn’t change the fact that he now owned her family’s hotel. “True. But given the circumstances, your position here could prove to be temporary,” he countered.

“There is nothing temporary about my position here, Mr. Hawke,” she advised him, a hint of temper coloring her voice. “My great grandfather built this hotel nearly a hundred years ago and it’s been owned by the Jordan family ever since. I’m sorry if you were led to believe that we would consider selling the property. But I can assure you, the Contessa is not for sale.”

“I have a receipt for fifteen million dollars that says otherwise,” he told her.

“Which I’m sure the bank will refund you once I’ve straightened out this…this misunderstanding.”

He leaned forward, met her gaze. “Take another look at those documents, Ms. Spencer,” he said, motioning toward the packet of legal papers he’d presented her, which outlined his acquisition of the hotel via her mother’s defaulted bank loan. “There is no misunderstanding. Hawke Industries now owns this hotel.”

Anger flared in her green eyes. “I don’t care what those papers say. I’m telling you there’s been a mistake,” she insisted and punched the button on the intercom. “Penny, try Mr. Benton at the bank again.”

“You’re wasting your time,” he told her. He already knew from his meeting with the bank chairman the previous afternoon that the man had left town that morning.

“The only one wasting my time, Mr. Hawke, is you,” she fired back.

While she waited for her assistant to place the call, Jack used the opportunity to study her more closely. He noted the almond-shaped eyes, the stubborn chin, the smooth skin and lush mouth. She wasn’t classically beautiful or slap-you-in-the-face sexy. But there was something about her, a sensuality that simmered beneath the all-business exterior. Judging by the quelling look she shot him, his appraisal hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nor had it been appreciated.

At the buzz of the intercom, she grabbed the phone. “Yes. I see,” she said. “Thank you, Penny.”

“Still not available, I take it,” he remarked when she hung up the phone.

“He and his family have left for the Thanksgiving holiday. His office is trying to reach him. When they do, I’ll get this mess straightened out.”

“Talking with Benton isn’t going to change the facts, Ms. Spencer. Your mother pledged this hotel as collateral on a loan and Hawke Industries purchased that note, along with several others, from the bank. Since your mother defaulted on that loan, the Contessa Hotel now belongs to Hawke Industries.”

“I’m telling you, you’re wrong,” she insisted. “There is no way my mother would have ever pledged the Contessa.”

Tiring of her refusal to accept the obvious, Jack snatched the stack of legal documents, pulled out the collateral mortgage note signed by her mother and slapped it in front of her. “Look at it,” he commanded. “That’s a promissory note signed by your mother, pledging her stock in the Contessa as guarantee on the loan. Are you going to deny that’s her signature?”

Something flickered in her eyes as she stared at the damning document. For the first time since he’d arrived and introduced himself to her as the hotel’s new owner, the lady looked uncertain. Just as quickly it was gone and the defiance was back. “I don’t care what that says. Even if my mother had wanted to use the hotel as collateral for a loan, she couldn’t have.”

“And why is that?”

“Because my sister and I each own ten percent of the hotel’s stock. And neither of us would ever consent to her using the hotel.”

“She wouldn’t have needed your consent—not to pledge her own stock. Which is exactly what she did,” he pointed out.

“My mother would never do such a thing. Not without telling me first.”

There was something in her voice, a hint of uncertainty. There was also a flicker of fear in her eyes. It was that fear that stirred something inside him. “Didn’t you say your mother was out of the country on business?”

She nodded. “She and her husband are opening a nightclub in France.”

“Well, maybe she meant to tell you, but just never got around to it,” he offered, surprising himself with this sudden surge of empathy. He frowned. Emotion was something he never allowed to enter into his business dealings. It was his own cardinal rule. In the dozens of takeovers he’d engineered, no amount of tears, pleas or offers of sexual favors had deterred him from his course.

“She has been busy getting ready for the grand opening.”

But he could tell from the lack of conviction in Laura’s voice that she didn’t believe that telling her about the loan had slipped her mother’s mind any more than he did. He had learned firsthand that when it came to money and sex—blood was no thicker than water. Apparently, Deirdre Jordan Spencer Vincenzo Spencer Baxter Arnaud had sold her daughter’s legacy and hadn’t bothered to inform her of what she’d done.

“At any rate, if, and I’m not saying that she did, but if my mother did pledge her shares of the Contessa as collateral on a loan, I’m sure she didn’t understand exactly what that entailed,” she told him.

Her stubborn denial sobered him. Shaking off his uncharacteristic spurt of compassion, Jack reminded himself that this was business. Sentiment had no place in business. He didn’t intend to let a pretty face, a great pair of legs and a mountain of attitude deter him from his plan. “Or perhaps your mother understood exactly what pledging the hotel as collateral meant.”

She stiffened. “Just what is it you’re implying, Mr. Hawke?”

“I’m not implying anything, Ms. Spencer. I’m simply pointing out that if your mother had wanted to sell the hotel, but knew you would be opposed to it, using it as collateral on a loan and then defaulting on that loan would be a means of accomplishing her goal.”

“How dare you!”

“Why don’t we skip the outrage, Ms. Spencer. You strike me as a smart woman. Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind. Your mother isn’t interested in this place. Why else would she have dumped it in your lap and left the country? Not that I blame her. The hotel was barely breaking even when your grandfather was alive. Since his death, it’s been losing money steadily.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I won’t waste my breath asking where you got your information.” Temper laced her voice causing the trace of a Southern accent she bore to be more pronounced. “But apparently your source doesn’t have all the facts. If he or she did, they would have informed you that the hotel has shown a steady improvement over the past four months. Whatever difficulties the Contessa may have had in the past, they’re over. The hotel is doing just fine now.”

“Showing a slim profit on last month’s financial statement is a long way from being fine.”

“I—”

Jack held up his hand. “I’m aware of what you’ve done since you took over the management six months ago. But you and I both know that this hotel is in need of major upgrades. I intend to see that it not only survives, but that it dominates the small luxury hotel market in this area.” He paused, then pressed his point home, saying, “Since you own ten percent of the hotel’s stock and are familiar with its operations, I’m willing to allow you to be a part of those plans. Or not. It’s your choice. Either way, I’m prepared to make you and your sister both a fair offer for your stock.”

“I’m not interested in selling my stock. And neither is my sister.”

“Don’t be too hasty, Ms. Spencer. After all, you haven’t heard my offer yet. And neither has your sister.”

“I don’t need to hear it. I don’t—”

“I’ll give you and your sister each two million dollars for your stock. And—”

“I’m not interested.”

“Please, do allow me to finish,” he said pointedly and noted the angry color flooding her cheeks. “In addition, I’m willing to offer you a management contract with the Contessa at a substantial increase in salary. A salary, which, I might add, is far greater than the one you earned when you were working for the Stratton Hotel group or the Windsor,” he added, mentioning the two hotels where his research revealed she had held positions previously.

She hiked up her chin a notch. “Perhaps you should have your hearing checked, Mr. Hawke. As I’ve already told you, I’m not for sale and neither is the Contessa.”

But before he could point out that he already owned the majority of the hotel’s stock, there was a tap at the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Laura,” the perky brunette assistant who had ushered him into the office earlier said from the doorway.

“It’s okay, Penny. What is it?”

“You’re needed downstairs.” She looked over at him, then back at her boss. “You know, for that meeting you scheduled with the kitchen staff.”

“Thank you, Penny. Tell them I’m on my way.”

Jack didn’t miss the look that passed between the two women before her assistant retreated. He suspected it wasn’t a meeting that required Laura Spencer’s immediate presence. More than likely it was another crisis, one of the many that had plagued the hotel in recent years. As beautiful as the Contessa was and the potential profit she would generate for Hawke Industries, age had taken its toll on the structure. The hotel would continue to deteriorate unless it underwent the necessary maintenance and upgrades it so sorely needed. He intended to see that the hotel was returned to its former glory and became profitable—with or without Laura Spencer’s cooperation.

She stood. “As you heard, I’m late for a meeting, Mr. Hawke. So this discussion is over.”

It wasn’t often that he found himself so clearly dismissed and certainly not by someone who was in no position to call the shots. A part of him was annoyed. While another part of him couldn’t help but admire her spirit. Standing, Jack adjusted his gray suit coat. “I suggest you call your attorneys, Ms. Spencer, and have them review the documents I gave you.”

“I intend to.”

“Once you’ve confirmed that Hawke Industries is now the majority stockholder of the Contessa Hotel, I want to meet with you to discuss the hotel’s operations. Preferably, tomorrow morning.”

“I won’t be available tomorrow morning,” she informed him.

“Then the afternoon. Two o’clock okay with you?”

“I’ll be tied up then, too.”

Jack stared at her. Once again, he was surprised by her defiance. His name alone had struck fear in the hearts of many a hardened CEO. Apparently, that wasn’t the case with Laura Spencer. He liked the fact that she wasn’t afraid of him. And he wasn’t averse to the rest of the package, either, he admitted. Under different circumstances he might have entertained the idea of something more personal with her. While he didn’t consider himself to have a specific type, he enjoyed the company of intelligent, attractive women. He knew from her education and work history that Laura Spencer was smart. With her big eyes, soft skin and hair that was some shade between red and brown, she certainly was attractive. The perfect package really—except for her connection to the hotel deal. It was that connection that was the problem. Regardless of how attractive he found her on a personal level, he had no intention of letting it get in the way of business. Reminding himself of the business at hand, he said, “Tomorrow evening then. We can discuss my plans for the hotel over dinner.”

“I already have plans,” she told him.

The intercom buzzed. “Laura, they really need you for that meeting.”

“I’m on my way,” she said. “I have to go.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in suggesting another day or time because you’ll be tied up then, too,” he stated, knowing full well what she was doing. If she agreed to a meeting with him, then she would, in effect, be admitting that everything he had told her was true. Her family no longer owned the Contessa Hotel.

“How perceptive of you, Mr. Hawke. As a matter of fact, my entire week is full and I won’t have a moment to spare.”

“Then I suggest you make time, Ms. Spencer. Because like it or not, you are going to have to deal with me.” And without waiting for her to respond, Jack turned and exited the office.

As she left the hotel’s kitchen, Laura pressed her fingers to her temple. The splitting headache that had started with the arrival of Jackson Hawke earlier was quickly working its way toward a migraine. Nodding to various hotel employees, she made her way across the lobby to the elevators. At least her temperamental chef’s latest emergency—table salt being substituted for kosher salt—had been fixed relatively easily. She’d simply borrowed some kosher salt from a neighboring restaurant so Chef André could finish his masterpiece. Then she had dispatched one of the busboys to the supply house to swap the incorrectly delivered salt. While the celebrity chef she had hired away from a major restaurant caused her a few hassles, the income he generated by keeping the hotel’s dining room filled far outweighed the headaches, she reminded herself. Besides, at the moment dealing with a temperamental chef was the least of her worries. Her real worry was Jackson Hawke. Just the thought of him made the pounding in her head increase.

Laura stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the executive floor. If only the real emergency that Jackson Hawke had dropped in her lap could be solved as easily. Of course, she could always hope that the man was wrong—that her mother hadn’t pledged her hotel stock and that Hawke hadn’t actually bought her note. Laura called up an image of him in her mind’s eye. She thought about the way he’d trained those blue eyes on her, the confidence in his expression, the hard line of his jaw. She sighed. Sure, she could hope he was wrong, Laura told herself. But Jackson Hawke hadn’t struck her as a man who was often wrong about anything.

Stepping out of the elevator, she headed down the corridor toward the block of offices. When she entered the reception area and discovered her assistant on the phone, she retrieved her messages and began to flip through them.

Penny placed her hand over the receiver and mouthed, “Everything okay?”

Laura nodded and motioned for Penny to join her when she was finished with the call. Once inside her own office, Laura snagged a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and walked over to her desk. She opened the side drawer and reached for the bottle of aspirin. After shaking out two tablets, she washed them down with water and then sat in her chair. But five minutes later, Laura could feel the aura starting around the edges of her eyes and she knew the aspirin wasn’t going to cut it this time. She was going to need the pills her doctor had prescribed for the migraines. She hated taking the meds, she admitted. While they knocked out her migraine, they also zapped her energy and made her feel fuzzy for the rest of the day. And today of all days, she needed a clear head and all the energy she could muster.

Shifting her gaze to the credenza, Laura glanced at the framed photo of her with her various half siblings and step-siblings at her mother’s most recent wedding. She looked at the smiling green-eyed blonde beside her—her half sister, Chloe. At twenty-two, Chloe was four years her junior and the product of her mother’s fourth marriage to soap opera star Jeffrey Baxter. An actress living on the West Coast, her sister was into healthy eating and treating the body’s ailments with alternatives other than drugs.

Deciding it was worth a shot to try one of Chloe’s methods before resorting to the pills, Laura began the deep-breathing techniques that her sister had shown her. And because she couldn’t bring herself to chant the mantra aloud without feeling like an idiot, she repeated the words silently.

I can feel my heartbeat slowing. I can feel the blood flowing down my arms, to my fingertips. My fingers are growing warmer. I can feel the tension leaving my body. I am relaxed. I am calm.

Continuing the silent chant, she closed her eyes. But the minute she did so, an image of Jackson Hawke filled her mind. She remembered in vivid detail the cut of the charcoal-gray suit he wore, how the blue in his tie was the exact shade of his eyes. Even seated, he had looked tall and forbidding as he’d told her that he now owned the Contessa. And just thinking of Hawke made her head pound even harder.

“So much for natural healing,” she muttered and opened her eyes. Still reluctant to take anything stronger than aspirin, Laura lowered her gaze to the bottom drawer of her desk.

Don’t do it.

Ignoring the voice in her head, Laura pulled open the drawer and stared at her stash of candy. She had banished the forbidden sweets from her sight two weeks ago in her effort to cut her sugar intake and take off the five pounds she’d been carrying on her hips since Halloween. Biting her lower lip, she recalled the promise she had made to herself only three days ago. No more junk food. That meant no cookies. No candy. No ice cream. No milk-chocolate bars with the gooey caramel inside.

Don’t do it, Laura.

Torn, Laura stared at the tempting treats. Her mouth watered. Still she hesitated. She’d promised herself, no sweets unless it was an emergency. Didn’t Jackson Hawke and a monster headache constitute an emergency? Of course they did, she reasoned. Snatching up the bite-sized chocolate-and-caramel bar, she ripped off the wrapper, bit into the decadent treat and moaned.

“Uh-oh.”

Laura opened her eyes and spied Penny standing in the doorway. She popped the remainder of the forbidden chocolate into her mouth and swallowed. Calories or not, she felt better already, Laura decided.

After taking a seat in the chair across from her desk, Penny glanced at the candy wrapper and said, “Since Chef André didn’t walk out like he keeps threatening to do, I’m guessing that guy Hawke is the reason you deep-sixed the new diet. Who is he, Laura? And what did he want?”

Laura gave her assistant a quick rundown of the situation and the stunned look on the other woman’s face mirrored her own feelings when Jackson Hawke had dropped the bombshell on her an hour earlier. But now that some of the shock had started to wear off, she knew she had to figure out a plan to stop Hawke. “I know this is a shock, Penny. It was to me, too. But I need you to keep quiet about this—at least until I can find out exactly what our position is. If word were to get out, it could cause a panic among the staff and I can’t afford that. It’s been difficult enough getting workers since Hurricane Katrina,” she said, referring to the storm that had nearly destroyed New Orleans in 2005. Not only had the city lost more than half of its population, but the destruction had claimed entire neighborhoods and depleted the workforce. “And any buzz in the marketplace about management changes could set off a run of cancellations, not to mention that we’d probably lose out on any contracts.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” Penny assured her. She paused, worry clouding her brown eyes. “But what if what this guy Hawke says is true? What if he really does own the hotel? Do I need to start looking for another job?”

“Hawke didn’t strike me as a stupid man. Regardless of what happens, he’ll need someone who knows about the day-to-day operations of the hotel, where and who to go to for the emergencies that pop up. And that person is you. I don’t think you need to worry about your job, Penny.”

But her assistant’s concern made her realize that if Hawke did take over the hotel, Laura would need to do everything she could to ensure the job security of her employees. It was what her grandfather would have done, what he would have wanted her to do. If only her grandfather were here now, she thought.

“What about you? If Hawke is telling the truth, what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Laura told her honestly. She thought about her childhood, of moving to new places each time her mother married and started a new life. But come summer, she had always returned to New Orleans, to her grandfather, to the Contessa. Even when she’d gone away to college and then had gone to work for other hotels out of state, she had known that the Contessa was still there, waiting for the day when she would return home for good. Only now when she had finally come back, her grandfather was gone. And Jackson Hawke was here, trying to take the Contessa from her. She wouldn’t let him.

She couldn’t. She looked at her assistant. “But I can tell you what I’m not going to do and that’s roll over and play dead. Try Benton’s office again, then get my attorney, my mother and my sister on the phone for me.”

If Jackson Hawke wanted her hotel, then he was darn well going to have to fight her for it.

Two

So far, she’d struck out. Sighing, Laura put down her pen and stretched her arms above her head. She still hadn’t spoken with her attorney or her sister. And her conversation with Benton had not gone well at all. She still couldn’t believe her mother had actually used the Contessa as collateral on a loan and not told her. Benton hadn’t given her much in the way of details. Instead he’d referred her to her mother. Unfortunately, the time difference and distance between New Orleans and France had made reaching her mother difficult. Glancing at the clock, she calculated the time overseas and concluded it was now after two o’clock in the morning in France. Aware of her mother’s love of the night life, Laura tried the number again.

“Oui,” her mother answered on the fourth ring, her voice breathless.

“Mother, it’s Laura.”

“Laurie, darling,” she replied, genuine pleasure in her voice. “Philippe, it’s Laurie calling from America.”

She could hear Philippe shout out a greeting from the background and Laura made the obligatory hello to her mother to give to him. “Mother? Mother?” Laura pressed when her mother began to converse with Philippe in French.

“I’m sorry, darling. Philippe wanted me to tell you how well things are going here with the new club and to see when you can come for a visit. He’s eager to show it off to you and Chloe.” Without waiting for her to answer, her mother went on, “Do you think you girls could come? Why, it’s been nearly a year since I’ve seen you, Laurie. And it would be so lovely to have my babies here for a visit. We could…”

Laura closed her eyes a moment as her mother rambled. She didn’t bother trying to explain to her that at twenty-six and twenty-two, she and Chloe could hardly be considered babies. Finally, she said, “Mother, please. This is important. I need to know if you used your stock in the Contessa as collateral for a bank loan.”

For a long moment, her mother was silent. Then she said, “It was just as a formality. A guarantee, until I paid back the loan.”

Telling herself not to panic, that not even her mother could have spent all that money so quickly, she asked, “How much of the money do you have left?”

At her mother’s silence, the knot that had formed in her stomach when Jackson Hawke had walked into her office tightened. Just when she thought her mother wasn’t going to respond, she said, “I don’t have any of it left.”

Laura felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. There was nothing left? All of the money was gone? Suddenly a roaring started in her ears. Her stomach pitched. Feeling as though she were going to be sick, Laura leaned forward and put her head between her knees.

“Laurie? Laurie, are you still there?”

When the initial wave of nausea had passed, Laura straightened and leaned back in the chair. Lifting the phone receiver she still held in her hand to her ear, she managed to say, “I’m here.”

“Darling, you sound…strange. Are you okay?”

No, she wasn’t okay, Laura wanted to scream. Her foolish, reckless mother had placed the Contessa at risk. And because she had, Jackson Hawke might very well be able to take the hotel away from them, away from her. “You’re sure it’s all gone? There’s nothing left?”

“I’m sure.”

“What did you do with all that money?” Laura demanded.

Her mother explained how she had invested six million dollars into the nightclub that Philippe had been so keen to open in France. “I used some of it to pay for repairs to the hotel that the insurance didn’t cover after the hurricane and the rest of it went to pay the back taxes on the hotel.”

Laura knew the hotel had been underinsured at the time of the hurricane and, as a result, not all of the repairs had been fully covered. But the taxes? “The taxes couldn’t possibly have been that much,” Laura argued. “Since the hurricane, the assessment values have decreased, not increased.”

“The taxes were from before the hurricane…from when your grandfather was still alive and running the hotel.”

Laura frowned. That didn’t make any sense, she thought and told her mother so. “Granddad always paid the Contessa’s bills—even if it meant using his own money to do it. He would have made sure the taxes were paid.”

“Apparently, he didn’t. Or he couldn’t. Evidently, the hotel wasn’t doing well for quite some time before your grandfather became ill and he got behind on some of the bills. The tax assessor came to see me not long after the funeral and told me the taxes were three years in arrears, plus there were penalties. He was going to put a lien on the hotel. So I went to the bank and borrowed the money to pay them off.”

Once again, Laura felt as though she’d had the wind kicked out of her. She’d known the hotel had gone through a rough patch and that her grandfather had hired a marketing firm to help him. But she hadn’t realized things had been that bad. “Why didn’t Granddad tell me? I would have come home and helped him with the hotel.”

“That’s probably why he didn’t tell you, because he knew you would have come rushing home. And that wouldn’t have been good for your career.”

But Laura suspected her grandfather hadn’t told her because he hadn’t believed she was capable of running the Contessa. A sharp sting went through her as she recalled her grandfather dismissing the idea of her working at the Contessa after she’d graduated from college. He’d insisted she was too green to run a property like the Contessa and had told her to take the job she’d been offered by Stratton Hotels. Lost in thought, Laura didn’t realize her mother had spoken until she heard her name said sharply. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I said, how did you find out I pledged my stock to the bank for the loan?”

“Because the bank sold your note, Mother.”

“Yes, I know. To some company with a bird’s name.”

“Hawke Industries,” Laura supplied and she certainly didn’t consider the man for whom the company was named to be some tame, feathered creature. Rather he was a predator—just like his name implied.

“That’s right. I remember getting a notice from them, telling me they owned the note for my loan now.”

“They own more than the note, Mother. You defaulted on the loan and now Jackson Hawke owns eighty percent of the stock in the Contessa.”

Jackson Hawke sat in the penthouse suite of the Contessa Hotel late that evening and waited for the e-mail on Laura Spencer to arrive on his computer. Following his meeting with her, he had had the investigative firm he used compile a complete background check on her. He’d asked for everything—from her favorite flavor of ice cream right down to her shoe size. He frowned as he recalled his assistant’s remark that it sounded personal. It wasn’t, Jack told himself. It was business. Strictly business. And he intended to keep it that way.

As he waited for the file, Jack took a sip of his wine and considered, once again, his earlier encounter with Laura Spencer. While he had anticipated her objections and could even understand her denial at losing the hotel, he hadn’t expected to find her outright defiance so stimulating. If he were honest, Jack admitted, the woman intrigued him. And it had been a very long time since anything or anyone had truly intrigued him.

A beep indicated the new e-mail and Jack clicked onto the file document and began reading the investigator’s preliminary report. Much of the information he was familiar with already, having attained the data during his initial investigation of the Contessa and its principals. But he skimmed through the basics on Laura Spencer again anyway—noting the names of her parents, the schools she had attended, the places she had lived, her employment history. As he perused the information in the file, he paused at the newspaper and magazine clippings Fitzpatrick Investigations had included with the report.

He studied a color photo that had appeared in a soap-opera magazine more than twenty years ago of a young Laura on the steps of a church following her mother’s wedding to an actor. Another photo showed a six-year-old Laura standing with her grandfather in front of the Contessa Hotel as the older man shook hands with the city’s mayor. Even then, there was no mistaking the stubborn tilt of Laura’s chin, the pride in her eyes, the promise of quiet beauty in her features. More clippings followed. Laura graduating as valedictorian from a high school in Boston. Laura in her freshman year at college in New Orleans. Laura making her society debut as a maid in one carnival ball and reigning as queen in another. Laura named as an assistant manager at the Stratton West Hotel in California. He paused at a more recent clipping of an elegantly dressed and smiling Laura on the arm of a man wearing a tuxedo. Jack clenched his jaw as he recognized her escort—Matt Peterson. Just the sight of his stepbrother’s face sent anger coursing through him. And along with the anger came the painful memories, the old hurt. Jack read the caption beneath the picture.

Ms. Laura Spencer and Mr. Matthew Peterson at the Literacy Gala hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Edward Peterson.

How had he missed this? And just how serious was Laura’s relationship with Peterson? he wondered. After dashing off an e-mail to Fitzpatrick Investigations, demanding answers, he considered how Peterson’s involvement with Laura might impact his deal. While his stepbrother didn’t have the money to bail Laura out, Peterson’s old man and stepmother did. And there was nothing the pair wouldn’t do for their golden-boy son.

Bitterness rose like bile in his throat as Jack thought of Peterson’s stepmother—his own mother—who had left her family for her husband’s business partner and best friend. Whether Laura was seriously involved with Matthew Peterson didn’t matter, Jack told himself. All that mattered was the deal. If his stepbrother tried to play knight in shining armor for Laura, it would only make the deal that much sweeter when Jack foreclosed on the hotel and crushed Matthew in the process.

Irritated, but not sure why, Jack shut off his computer. Deciding he needed to stretch his legs and clear his head, he pocketed his room key and exited the hotel suite.

Twenty-five minutes later, he returned to the hotel, carrying a paper bag filled with a large cup of coffee and a chocolate éclair that he’d picked up at a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop located a few blocks from the hotel. While the crisp November air had refreshed him and tempered his restlessness, it had also awakened his appetite. One foot inside the tiny shop and he’d opted for the sugar-laden pastry.

“Evening, Mr. Hawke. I see you found the place I told you about,” the doorman remarked as he approached the hotel.

“I sure did, Alphonse. Bernice said for you to come by and have a slice of apple pie and a cup of coffee after your shift,” Jack said, relaying the message the waitress had asked him to pass on to her sweetheart.

Alphonse grinned, showing a mouthful of even white teeth. “That little girl makes the finest apple pie in all of New Orleans,” he boasted. “You be sure to try some before you head home.”

“I’ll do that,” Jack promised as he entered the hotel, his gaze sweeping over the lobby. He noted the magnificent chandelier, the marble floors, the artwork and massive urn of fresh flowers that spoke volumes about the hotel’s quality. As nice and lucrative as the newer chain hotels were, they couldn’t duplicate the old-world elegance and sense of history found in a place like the Contessa.

Despite the toll time and the lack of funds had taken on the hotel, the Contessa still exuded an air of luxury and privilege to those who walked through her doors. It was on the promise of that luxury and privilege appealing to the discriminating traveler, as well as the movie community that had adopted the city, that he had banked fifteen million dollars. It was a good investment, one based on numbers, not sentiment, Jack told himself as he pressed the button for the elevator.

After pushing the button again, he waited for one of the hotel’s two elevators to arrive. Two minutes turned into three, then four. When he hit the button a third time, he took another look at the large dial above the elevator banks that indicated the cars’ positions. He noted that one of the elevators remained on the eighth floor while the other was making a very slow descent from the twelfth floor. When it, too, stopped at the eighth floor, he frowned. Walking over to the front desk, he read the clerk’s name tag and said, “Charlene, I think there’s a problem with the elevators. They seem to be stuck on the eighth floor.”

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir. We’ve been having a little trouble with the elevators lately. I’ll notify maintenance right away and have them check it out. I’m sure they will be operational in a moment,” she advised him and picked up the phone to report the problem.

Making a mental note to add servicing and refurbishing the elevators to his list of immediate hotel improvements needed, Jack headed for the stairs. When he reached the sixth floor where the executive offices were, he paused before opening the door. He told himself he was simply going to check the status of the elevators and find out if they were moving again. But when he reached the elevator bank, he angled his gaze down the hall toward the management offices, where the lights were still burning.

A check of his watch told him it was after ten o’clock—long past quitting time, even for the hotel’s general manager. But as he approached the suite of offices, he didn’t have to wonder who’d be working so late.

Jack looked to his left toward Laura’s office. The door was slightly ajar and he could hear music—a hauntingly beautiful piece that was one of his own favorites. Obviously, he and Laura shared similar tastes in music.

Pausing in the doorway, he saw that Laura was seated behind the mahogany desk, her head tipped back against the massive black leather chair and her eyes closed. He used the moment to study her. The hair that he had classified as a color somewhere between red and brown that morning was a deep, rich red in the lamplight. Her skin was fair and had a smooth, creamy glow. Jack could just make out the faint dusting of freckles across Laura’s nose. His gaze dipped to her mouth. Her lips were bare—no splash of bright color, no slick of gloss—which made her far more attractive in his book. She’d shed the red suit jacket she’d worn earlier to reveal a long, smooth neck and more creamy skin. The white silk blouse gently skimmed her shoulders and draped breasts that were neither large nor small, but just the right size to fill a man’s hands.

As though sensing his presence, she opened her eyes. For the space of a heartbeat, she didn’t move. She simply stared at him. Then suddenly she straightened and reached for the stereo remote. The music died midnote.

“You didn’t have to turn it off. That CD is a favorite of mine,” he told her and stepped into the room.

Ignoring his comment, Laura’s voice was cool as she said, “If you’re looking for your room, Mr. Hawke, it’s on the top floor.”

“Thank you for pointing that out, Ms. Spencer,” he said. So she had discovered he was a guest in her hotel. He’d known that she would. A good general manager made a point of reviewing the hotel’s guest list. She had apparently reviewed hers and found his name on it, which, judging from her expression, had not pleased her. He walked over to her desk and set down the bag with his coffee and éclair.

“The business office is closed.”

“And yet you’re still here,” he pointed out. “I didn’t realize being the hotel GM meant working day and night. I’m surprised your boyfriend doesn’t object to the long hours.”

“Was there something you wanted, Mr. Hawke?”

He paused a moment, considered the loaded question and the woman. Evidently from the way she narrowed her eyes, Laura realized what he was considering had nothing to do with business. Deciding it was best not to go there, he finally said, “Actually, I was taking the stairs up to my room when—”

“Why were you using the stairs?”

“Because the elevators aren’t working.”

When she grabbed for the phone, he reached across the desk and caught her wrist. Gently removing the telephone receiver from her hand, he replaced it on the cradle. “The front desk has already alerted maintenance.”

Laura pulled her wrist free. “I’m sorry you were inconvenienced,” she told him. “I’m sure maintenance will have the problem fixed shortly. In the meantime, if you need to get to your room, you can use the service elevator. I’ll show you where it is.”

“That’s okay. I’m in no hurry. I’ll just wait for the elevator,” Jack told her. Deciding to take advantage of the fact that he had her one-on-one, he sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “But since I’m here and you don’t appear to have any pressing meetings scheduled at the moment, maybe now would be a good time for us to talk about the hotel. I’m assuming you’ve spoken with the bank and confirmed my ownership position of the hotel.”

“Actually, I haven’t confirmed anything other than the fact that you purchased my mother’s note. And until I speak with my attorney and find out what your legal claim is on the property, I see no reason for us to have any discussion about the hotel.”

“All right. We won’t discuss the hotel. But I would like to drink my coffee before it gets cold. That is, if you don’t mind,” he added even as he removed the large foam cup from the paper bag. He took out the chocolate éclair that was wrapped in a thin white pastry sheet. Looking over at her, he noted that her eyes were trained on the treat. “Maybe you’d like to join me? I bought the large-size coffee.”

“No, thank you,” she said.

“Some of the éclair, then?”

“No, thanks,” she told him, but Jack didn’t miss the way she looked at the pastry.

Ignoring her protest, he divided the éclair in two and placed half of the chocolate pudding-filled confection on one of the napkins, then set it in front of her. When she simply stared at it, he said, “Go ahead.”

“I’m not hungry,” she told him.

“What’s hunger have to do with it?” he asked and bit into his half. He didn’t bother to hide his enjoyment. The rich pudding inside the chocolate-iced pastry shell was delicious. “Alphonse was right. Bernice does make the best éclairs.”

“This came from Bernice’s Kitchen?”

He nodded, took another bite, swallowed. “I was looking for a cup of coffee and wasn’t exactly dressed for the dining room,” he said, indicating the casual slacks, sweater and bomber jacket he wore. “Alphonse recommend Bernice’s.”

“Bernice is a genius when it comes to baking.” The wariness in her expression faded, giving way to a look of anticipation as she dragged her fingertip through the chocolate pudding spilling from the torn pastry. “I tried to hire her as a pastry chef for the Contessa, but she turned me down flat. Said she didn’t think it was a good idea for her and Alphonse to be working at the same place, that it might take some of the mystery out of their relationship.”

Jack arched his brow. “I got the impression they were in a…um…long-term relationship.”

“They’ve been dating for fifteen years, engaged for the last four. They don’t want to rush things,” she told him, the hint of a smile curving her lips.

“After fifteen years, I’d say there’s little chance of that happening.”

“It seems to work for them,” she said and brought her finger to her mouth.

There was something inherently sensual about the sight of Laura licking her finger, Jack thought. He found himself wondering what she would look like while making love. Would those green eyes darken with need and heat? Would her lips part, her breathing quicken? Would that smooth, cool skin feel as soft as it looked?

The direction of his thoughts annoyed him, but it didn’t surprise him, he admitted. He was a healthy male who enjoyed the opposite sex and the pleasures to be found in a woman’s body. But when it came to women and sex, he had no delusions. Plain and simple, he believed in lust, not love. And right now he was experiencing a serious case of lust for Laura Spencer.

She scooped another finger full of pudding and as though sensing his gaze, Laura looked up. Her body went still. Her eyes locked with his as awareness sizzled like electrical currents between them.

Jack watched as Laura’s lips parted and when he heard the slight hitch in her breath, he felt another stab of lust. The pudding on her fingertip fell with a splat onto the napkin on her desk. But her eyes remained locked with his. Not bothering to think about what he was doing or how it might impact his business, Jack pushed back his chair and started toward her. He had just reached the side of her desk when he heard the tap at the door.

A disapproving male voice came from the doorway asking, “Am I interrupting something?”

Three

For a moment, Laura couldn’t breathe. The air seemed to have backed up in her lungs as Jackson Hawke stood at the side of her desk looking at her as though he wanted to swallow her whole. And heaven help her, for a moment, she had almost wanted him to.

“Laura?”

Shaking off the moment of insanity that had gripped her, Laura yanked her attention to the doorway where her attorney, Daniel Duquette, stood looking both concerned and curious. “Daniel,” she said, her voice sounding more breathless than she would have liked. She cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”

Daniel strode from the doorway into the office, slanted a glance at Hawke before shifting his focus back to her. “I’ve been tied up in depositions in Baton Rouge all day and just got back. When I picked up my messages, there was one saying that you needed to see me, that it was urgent. The front desk said you were still here, so I decided to stop by on my way home. Is everything okay?”

Everything was far from okay, Laura thought. But now was not the time to go into all that was wrong—not with Jackson Hawke standing there, measuring Daniel with his eyes and on the heels of whatever madness had stricken her. Because it certainly had been sheer madness that had caused her to react to Hawke as she had. The man was her enemy, she reminded herself. “Not exactly. And I do need to talk with you,” she said, hoping Hawke would take the hint.

“I think that’s supposed to be my cue to leave,” Hawke said drily before he shifted his gaze from her to Daniel. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jackson Hawke,” he said and extended his hand.

Daniel shook his hand. “Daniel Duquette,” he replied, his brow creasing. “You wouldn’t happen to be the same Jackson Hawke with Hawke Industries who engineered the takeover of the Wilhelm family’s company last year, would you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

As she witnessed the exchange, Laura had a vague recollection of the small chain of family-owned inns that had been bought out by a corporation. She’d heard that the sale hadn’t been a friendly one, that the two brothers who’d owned the properties that had been in their family for years had been split on whether or not to sell. There had been a great rift in the family because of it and because of the sale. The man behind that had been Jackson Hawke?

“So what brings you to New Orleans, Mr. Hawke?”

“Business.”

“Thanks for sharing the éclair,” Laura said, eager to get rid of Hawke and talk to Daniel about the mess her mother had gotten them into.

Hawke held her gaze for several moments. “You’re quite welcome.”

“Good night, Mr. Hawke.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, but Laura didn’t miss the gleam in his blue eyes that told her he hadn’t forgotten what had almost happened between them. “I’ll call your assistant in the morning about scheduling that meeting. Duquette,” he said with a passing glance, and without waiting for a reply he strode out of the room.

The door had barely closed when Daniel asked, “What was that all about? And what’s Jackson Hawke doing here?”

Laura sat down in her chair and released a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “He’s the reason I called you. My mother pledged her stock in the Contessa as collateral for a bank loan and defaulted on the loan. Hawke bought her note and now he’s trying to take over the Contessa.”

Daniel let out a whistle. “Damn.”fv

“My sentiments exactly,” she said. “I spoke with the bank chairman briefly by phone and he wasn’t much help. I’m going to meet with him after the Thanksgiving holidays. I know it’s late, but could you take a look at these documents and tell me if there’s anything I can do to stop Hawke from taking over the hotel?”

“Sure. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Daniel removed a pair of glasses from his coat pocket, slipped them on and began to read through the sheaf of papers she’d handed him. “I assume your mother received notices from both the bank and Hawke telling her she was in default of the loan,” he said as he flipped through the pages.

“She remembers receiving something about the payments being late. She meant to contact them and explain she needed an extension, but because of the time difference and the new club opening, she never got around to making the call.” Laura cringed inwardly as she heard herself repeating her mother’s excuse. It was typical Deirdre behavior, she thought. When confronted with a problem, more often than not, her mother would go into her Scarlett O’Hara mode and plan on dealing with the matter another day. Only she never did deal with the problem. It either took care of itself or it got worse. But this time her mother’s irresponsibility had proven disastrous.

Finally, he removed his glasses and looked up. “It looks legit. Unless your mother can come up with fifteen million dollars in the next thirty days to repay the loan, Hawke Industries can claim the stock she pledged as collateral and take over the hotel. I’m sorry, Laura.”

So was she. But she refused to give up and play dead. Already, a plan was forming in her mind. “In other words, if I can come up with the fifteen million dollars and pay off the loan before the thirty days are up, then Hawke can’t take the hotel. Right?”

“Right. But where are you going to get fifteen million dollars?”

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly. “But I’m not going to just hand over the Contessa to Jackson Hawke without at least trying to save her.”

* * *

He had given her enough time, Jack decided. It hadn’t been easy, but he had made himself wait three days—until after Thanksgiving had passed. Since his mother had walked out on him and his father all those years ago, holidays had been just like any other day as far as he’d been concerned. On those few occasions when his father had attempted to make Thanksgiving or Christmas some warm, fuzzy family event, it had invariably ended with Samuel Hawke pining for the woman who’d run out on them both, then drowning his heartache in a bottle of whiskey. Once his father had died, Jack had been able to stop pretending that holidays were some special family affair.

But something told him that that was just what they were for Laura Spencer—special, warm and fuzzy family affairs. He couldn’t help wondering how she had spent her Thanksgiving. He knew her mother was in France and that her father lived on the East Coast. He also knew she had a slew of step and half siblings scattered across the country. Evidently, she hadn’t traveled to see any of them since she was already at the hotel on the Friday morning following the big turkey day.

Or had she canceled her plans because of him? It was a strong possibility that she had, he conceded. Pushing aside a twinge of guilt that he might have caused her to spend Thanksgiving alone, Jack assured himself that Laura would make up for it at Christmas. She’d probably fly to France and spend it with her mother, he reasoned. Unless, of course, she was planning to spend Christmas with his stepbrother, Matt.

Jack considered that a moment, recalled one of the few times he had visited his mother, her new husband and stepson. The visit had been at Christmas and the entire scene had been something out of a Norman Rockwell painting—only it was a picture in which Jack hadn’t belonged. Laura would belong though. He frowned at the image of Laura with Matt and his family gathered around a Christmas tree, opening gifts, drinking eggnog. According to Fitzpatrick Investigations, she and his stepbrother had been seeing each other for more than a year and it was rumored they’d been seriously involved when she had moved back to New Orleans.

Jack frowned. He knew Matt Peterson. The man thought far too highly of himself to restrict himself to any one female. A leopard didn’t change its spots and neither would his stepbrother. Laura might think that she was the only woman in Peterson’s life, but Jack would bet his vintage Corvette that there were several someone elses. But if Peterson had devoted a year to Laura as the report indicated, his stepbrother had done so for a reason. More than likely that reason had something to do with the senatorial race Peterson was rumored to be considering. Jack considered that angle for a moment. Laura was pretty, smart, well educated and poised. While her parents might be maritally challenged, her family tree was a good one and Laura herself was scandal-free. She would definitely be an asset on a senatorial candidate’s arm and help him to get votes. Her return to New Orleans would have put a kink in Peterson’s plans, but Jack doubted the man had abandoned his goal. He might have shelved it for a while, but Peterson didn’t like losing any more than Jack did. It had been one of the few things they’d had in common. According to Fitzpatrick’s report, the pair had supposedly remained “close” friends despite her move. Just how close were they? he wondered. How many times had Matt tasted her mouth, touched that soft-looking skin, felt her body beneath his?

Envy sliced through him like a scalpel, swift and sharp. Annoyed by the stab of jealousy, Jack reminded himself that his stepbrother had nothing that he wanted. All Jack wanted was to get down to business. Determined to do just that, he entered the executive offices of the hotel. “Is she in?” he asked the receptionist, his voice sharper than he’d intended.

“Yes, but—”

Ignoring her attempts to waylay him, he marched into Laura’s office. “Good morning,” he said as he approached her desk.

“It was.”

Dismissing the barb, Jack met her gaze. Her eyes were the same clear green as the waters in St. Thomas, he decided, and damned but he couldn’t help wondering what it would take to make those eyes turn dark and smoky for him. Irritated with himself and her, Jack decided there was no point in dancing around his reason for being there. His voice was cold, brusque, as he said, “I assume you’ve had an opportunity to speak with your attorney by now.”

“I have.”

He put down his briefcase and withdrew the management contract he had prepared for Laura, along with the purchase agreement for her stock. He also pulled out the letter of resignation he’d had drawn up in the event it was needed. While the transition would be simpler for him if she stayed on at the hotel, he was prepared for her to quit and to buy out her stock. “Then you know that my purchase of your mother’s note is legal.”

“Legal, maybe. But certainly not ethical.”

Refusing to debate her, he continued, “Then you also know that by defaulting on the loan, she forfeited the stock that she pledged as collateral on the loan. Which means Hawke Industries now owns the controlling interest in the Contessa.”

He paused, waited for her to respond. But Laura remained silent. Her demeanor remained unchanged.

Keeping his voice level, he said, “My plan is to turn the Contessa into a five-star property again and recapture the market share it’s lost. As I’ve already told you, I would prefer that you stay on at the hotel as the general manager. But if you choose not to stay, then I’m prepared to accept your resignation and purchase your stock.” He slid both agreements and the resignation letter across the desk so that they rested in front of her. “It’s your call, Ms. Spencer. Are you going to stay? Or are you leaving?”

Laura didn’t even look at the documents he had placed before her. Instead, she met his gaze. There was something hard and determined in her eyes as she said, “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Hawke.”

The news surprised him. After their previous conversations, he had been sure she would turn him down flat. The fact that she hadn’t both pleased and concerned him. He was pleased because it would be good for business to have her stay on. It concerned him because he had the hots for her, he admitted. And she was more than likely sleeping with his stepbrother, he reminded himself. The thought of Laura with the golden boy his mother had chosen as her son over him chafed at Jack, made him feel raw. He couldn’t help wondering how Peterson would feel to come out on the losing end for once. Irritated with himself for allowing his thoughts to stray from the business at hand, he tapped the documents on the desk. “In that case, I’ll need you to sign a new management contract with Hawke Industries. It’s pretty straightforward, with all the standard clauses and the increase in salary I mentioned earlier.”

“I’m sure the contract is fine.”

He nodded. “Still, you may want to have your attorney look it over anyway.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It’s your call,” he told her.

“Yes, it is.”

Jack wasn’t sure why, but her agreeable demeanor seemed off. “There’s also a purchase agreement for your stock, if you should change your mind about selling it. My previous offer of—”

“I won’t change my mind.”

Something was off, Jack told himself again. Instinct, some unexplained ability that told him if a venture would be a hit or a flop, kicked in now. The woman was up to something. He felt it in his gut, felt it in his bones. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re just itching to throw those contracts in my face?”

She picked up the contracts, fingered them. Looking directly at him, she smiled and said, “Because I am.”

There was a confidence in her smile, a spark in her green eyes that he found intriguing. Intriguing and sexy as hell. “I admire your honesty. But you might want to think twice before you do that.”

“Why? Because it would be an unwise career move on my part?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

“You’d probably be right—if you were my boss and had the authority to fire me,” she began. Obviously too edgy to sit, she stood and paced behind her desk. She paused, turned and looked at him. “But you don’t.”

“The last time I checked, owning eighty percent of the stock in a company constitutes the controlling interest, which does make me your boss and gives me the authority to pretty much do whatever I damn well please.”

“That would be true—if you owned the stock. But you don’t own it. At least not yet,” she informed him triumphantly.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so. You see, that note that you so cleverly got the bank to sell you gives me thirty days to cure the default on my mother’s loan. Once I do that, my mother keeps her stock in the Contessa and your deal, Mr. Hawke, is null and void.”

So that was her plan. Jack would have laughed were it not for the fact that this stunt of hers would cost him both time and money with delays. He didn’t intend to allow her to cost him either—not without a price. “You think you can go out and find fifteen million dollars like that?” he asked with a snap of his fingers.

“I didn’t say it would be easy.”

“Try next to impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible,” she fired back at him.

“Trying to block my purchase of this hotel is,” he assured her. Standing, he walked around to her side of the desk, a deliberate move on his part to intimidate her. Instead he found himself far too aware of her, of the way the office light caught the copper in her hair, the way her black silk blouse curved over her breasts, the way the scent she wore reminded him of exotic islands and sex. Desire hit him like a one-two punch. He wanted her. Maybe part of him wanted her because she belonged to his stepbrother. But another part of him wanted her because he sensed a fire in her and he wanted to be the one to ignite it.

“Why? Because you’re so rich and powerful?”

“Yes.” Leaning closer, he lowered his voice and said, “And because I never lose.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Jack didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “And you think that you’ll be the one to beat me?”

“I don’t think I can beat you, Hawke. I know I can.”

“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

“I am,” she insisted.

Before he could quell the impulse, he countered, “Sure enough to wager on the outcome?”

“You mean a bet?”

“That’s right. You say you can stop me from taking over the hotel. I say you can’t. Are you willing to put your money where your mouth is?”

“I am, if you are,” she told him.

“Oh, I am. I most definitely am.”

She was insane to have dared the man the way she had, Laura admitted. But blast him, he had been so smug, so sure of himself. The fact that he had been standing so close to her hadn’t helped, either. She had hoped those moments of heightened awareness between them in her office a few nights ago had been a fluke, that stress and thoughts of spending the Thanksgiving holiday without any of her family had caused her sexual chemistry radar to go askew. But if it had, then her radar still wasn’t working because she’d felt those same ripples of awareness when he’d entered the room, that same quickening of her pulse each time he drew closer.

“So what are the stakes?”

“The stakes?” she repeated, doing her best to shake off his effect on her nervous system.

“Yes. You know, the prize that you’re going to fork over to me when you lose our bet and I foreclose on the Contessa.”

Laura sobered at his cocky remark. Taking a step back, she said, “You mean the prize that you’re going to fork over to me when I beat you at your own game.”

His lips twitched. “So what are the stakes?”

“Dinner,” she suggested. “The loser pays for a seven-course meal at the restaurant of the winner’s choice.”

“Dinner?” he scoffed. “That’s your idea of a bet?”

“What do you expect me to offer? My car? My condo?” she tossed back at him, and suddenly felt queasy at the thought of losing either.

“I don’t have any use for a three-year-old BMW and you don’t have enough equity in your condo to make it worth my trouble.”

Anger bulldozed right over any misgivings she’d had about challenging the man as she realized he had had her investigated. Temper driving her, she put her hands on her hips and looked him square in the eyes. “And just what are you going to give up when you lose and I win?”

“I have a Jaguar that you’d look good in,” he said with a smile that lit up his eyes and made his face go from handsome to dangerously sexy.

“Far be it from me to take away your little toy and force you to be driven around in a limo.”

“And I’d hate to have to see you hoof it to work in those high heels or be forced to sleep on the couch in your office,” he countered.

He didn’t think she could do it, Laura realized. He honestly didn’t believe she could outmaneuver him and save the hotel. She could see it in those blue eyes, sense it in the way his muscles had tightened when she’d challenged him. She could feel it in the way he was watching her now—like a hawk with a helpless mouse in his sights. The realization that he thought she’d already lost only fed her temper. And it was her temper that had the words falling off her tongue as she declared, “Believe me, I won’t be the one hoofing it to work or sleeping on a couch, Hawke.”

“You won’t have to. After all, it really wouldn’t be fair of me to foreclose on your hotel, then take your car and home, too.”

Suspecting that he was trying to bait her, Laura kept a rein on her temper, determined not to let it get her into any more hot water. With a nonchalance she was far from feeling, she said, “Well, since you ruled out dinner, I guess the bet’s off.”

“Not necessarily,” he said.

“We can’t agree on the stakes,” she pointed out.

He stared at her for a long moment, long enough for Laura to see his enjoyment in sparring with her turn to something else, something hot, something sexual. “I have another idea on what the stakes could be,” he said finally. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re not going to like it.”

Laura knew at once what those stakes were. She’d seen it in his eyes the very first time he had looked at her, felt it the other night when he had almost kissed her. He wanted to have sex with her. That he would even suggest such a thing infuriated her. It also made her stomach tighten, her skin heat. “You’re right. I don’t like it. And despite what you might think, going to bed with you just isn’t my idea of a prize.”

He laughed. “That’s a pretty big assumption you’ve made.”

Laura could feel the color rush to her cheeks and cursed her fair skin. Refusing to back down, she said, “All right. So what did you have in mind?”

“Never mind my idea,” he said, his amusement fading. He inched a step closer. That dark and hungry look was back in his eyes, in his voice, as he said, “While it’s not what I had in mind initially, I like your idea better. A lot better.”

“The bet was a stupid idea in the first place. Let’s just forget the whole thing,” she told him, hating the fact that just having him move closer made her heart start racing again.

“Why? Don’t think you can pull it off after all?”

Pride had her spine stiffening and the words firing from her lips. “I know I can pull it off.”

“Then the bet stands. When I win, you spend the night in my bed.”

Laura’s pulse scattered. “And what do I get when I win?” she demanded, wishing she had never started this thing, wishing she could figure a way to get out of it without losing face…or something more.

“Your mother’s promissory note—free and clear—and you get to keep or return the money you borrowed.”

Laura blinked. “You can’t be serious. That would mean you’d lose the fifteen million dollars you paid for the note.”

“I won’t lose,” he assured her.

His words set her competitive juices stirring once again. She so wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. “Like I said, there’s a first time for everything.”

He grinned. “If you’re right, then you have nothing to worry about. But if you’re wrong and you can’t come up with the money in time, then I foreclose on the hotel and I get you—in my bed for an entire night.”

It was crazy. No, it was beyond crazy, she thought. It was insane. He was insane. Because only a madman would make such a bet. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. But don’t you think the stakes are a bit lopsided? At least for you. I mean, it hardly seems fair that I stand to have a fifteen-million-dollar loan wiped out whereas all you stand to gain is a night of sex.”

He ran his eyes down the length of her in a way that made her skin feel as though he had touched her. “I’m satisfied with the stakes.”

“I should think a man with your ego could satisfy his sexual needs for a lot less money,” she tossed back, annoyed by her reaction to him.

“Oh, but I’d much prefer to have those needs satisfied by you, Ms. Spencer,” he said, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper that sent a shiver along her nerve endings. “So, do we have a deal?”

For a moment, Laura said nothing. She was every bit as crazy as he was to even consider such an outrageous thing, she reasoned. The man was a corporate shark. Every article and interview she had been able to dig up on him all proclaimed his genius as a businessman. He hadn’t lied. He seldom lost. When it came to doing business—or in the Contessa’s case, engineering a hostile takeover—Jackson Hawke would be a lethal opponent. And regardless of how good she was at her job, she’d be lying to herself if she thought that finding the money she needed to cure the defaulted loan would be easy. At best it was a long shot. But if she could pull it off, somehow raise enough money in time, she would win the bet, get the Contessa and be able to pay back the loans. “You’re really serious? You’d risk fifteen million dollars against a night…a night of sex?”

“A night of sex with you,” he amended. “And, yes, I’d risk it.”

Still, she hesitated. She’d be a fool not to accept the deal he was offering her. And if she lost?

“Of course, if you’re ready to concede that you can’t come up with the money and dispense with the thirty days so I can foreclose, we can call off the bet.”

Laura yanked up her chin. “I’ll do no such thing. You’ve got yourself a bet. And if I were you, Hawke, I’d get ready to lose fifteen million dollars.”

He smiled, a knowing smile that made the air in her lungs grow shallow. “And if I were you, Spencer, I’d get ready to spend a night in my bed—without the benefit of sleep.”

Four

Jack stood on the corner outside the restaurant where he’d gone for dinner and waited for the light to change. Still restless despite the long walk, he hit the speed dial for Fitzpatrick Investigations. When it went to voice mail, he grimaced. “It’s Hawke. I need you to get me whatever you can find on Matthew Peterson, both personal and business. And I need it ASAP. Send whatever you find to my e-mail address.”

Hitting the off button, he considered calling his assistant at home, then opted against it. Unless it was an emergency, Dotty would not be at all happy to have him calling her at home on a Sunday night. As she’d told him often enough, weekends were for family.

Instead, he holstered his cell phone and when the light changed, he headed back down Saint Charles Avenue in the direction of the hotel. The air was cool, but not cold like New York. Not that you could tell by the way the people were dressed with their gloves and heavy coats, he thought. And given the number of red-and-green scarves he’d seen, people were already into the Christmas frenzy. December was still a few days away, but the storefronts and restaurants were already trimmed in lights. Christmas trees filled several windows and wreaths hung from doors. Even the lobby of the Contessa sported pots of red and white poinsettias and a huge tree.

Jack frowned as he thought of how all the Christmas craziness was going to impact him getting business done. He hated the distraction the holidays caused almost as much as he hated weekends. And he really hated weekends, Jack admitted. Nobody wanted to work on weekends and unless you were in the retail or service end of business, nobody did. That meant there were no stock deals to be done, no bank transactions to be made, no business brokering to negotiate and no attorneys or board of directors available to draw up contracts and vote on his deals. He hated that. He hated wasting time and he hated waiting for the hours to tick by until Monday morning rolled around and he could get back to work.

Sidestepping a couple with a baby stroller, Jack continued toward the hotel. Despite what his assistant claimed, he was not a workaholic who needed a wife. He had all the female company he wanted. As for work, it was mastering the game that drove him. That and the need to win. And having Laura in his bed was a bet he was looking forward to winning. He was thinking about all the delectable ways he intended to enjoy Laura when he neared the hotel and spied her standing under the porte cochere with her back to him and a cell phone at her ear. As he drew closer, he caught the tail end of her conversation.

“No. It’s just that I was hoping we could go tonight to see the Celebration in the Oaks together.”

He knew from the doorman that the Celebration in the Oaks was some big Christmas thing at the park. Was she talking to Peterson? he wondered. Was he in town? Was Peterson the reason he hadn’t seen Laura at the hotel all weekend? Jack clenched his jaw as he thought about Laura spending the past two days with his stepbrother. He had never liked Matt Peterson. Even when their fathers had been partners and friends, the two of them had never gotten along. Two years older than him, Peterson had been a manipulative bully who had gotten his kicks by getting Jack into trouble. Later, when his mother had run off with Peterson’s father, Matt had delighted in taunting him, calling him and his father losers.

“Yes. Of course I understand. Business should come first.”

For a moment, Jack heard his mother’s voice in his head, admonishing him for eavesdropping when he’d overheard her making plans to meet his father’s partner. He didn’t care if it was wrong or rude, he decided, and dismissed the memory. He remained where he was, several feet away from Laura, but close enough to listen to what she was saying. Although he made a show of studying the firs that had been draped with white lights near the hotel’s entrance, his focus remained on Laura and her conversation.

“I know. It’s just that it’s been a while since I’ve seen you and I was looking forward to us spending some time together.”

The disappointment in her voice had envy curling in his gut. The fact that he was fairly sure it was his stepbrother she was pining over made the uncharacteristic jealousy he was experiencing all the more difficult to swallow. It also made him angry—with her and with himself—and all the more determined to wipe every memory of Peterson from her mind when he claimed her as his prize. The admission sent a stab of guilt through him. Just as quickly, he dismissed it. He was not using Laura to exact revenge on Peterson, he told himself. The chemistry had been there between them even before he’d known she was involved with his stepbrother. The fact that he would be taking her from Peterson when he bedded her would simply be an unexpected bonus.

“No. Don’t worry about picking me up. I’m just going to take a taxi home and call it an early night.” She paused. “You, too.”

After she flipped the phone closed, she turned around and stopped cold when she saw him. “Hawke, what are you doing out here?”

“I was on my way into the hotel when I thought I recognized you standing over here. I wasn’t sure it was actually you at first since this is the first time I’ve seen you in jeans—which, by the way, look great on you,” he added. It was the truth. Those long legs of hers were made for skirts, but they looked every bit as sexy in the snug-fitting jeans.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Judging by her body language, Jack could see that he was making her nervous and he wasn’t sure if that pleased him or not. He wanted her nervous with anticipation about being in his bed, not nervous because she was afraid of him. “I haven’t seen you around the hotel the past couple of days and was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

“I decided to take the weekend off and catch up on some personal stuff.”

Personal stuff like hooking up with his stepbrother? he wondered and felt that envy burning his gut again. “Have you told your boyfriend about our little bet yet?”

“I haven’t told anyone about our bet,” she informed him.

“Why not? Afraid he won’t like the idea of you sleeping with me?”

“I don’t like the idea that there’s even the remote possibility that I might have to sleep with you. So I’d just as soon no one else know that I agreed to something so stupid.”

Irritated by her response and his need to prove her a liar, Jack inched a step closer. He wanted to haul her up against him, kiss her senseless until she was begging him to make love to her. And because his own need was so great and he feared he wouldn’t stop with a kiss, he did neither. Instead, he reached out and drew the back of his fingers gently down her cheek. His gaze never left her face and he watched her eyes widen, darken at his touch. Then slowly, very slowly, he rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip. Her lips parted. He heard her gasp, felt the warmth of her breath against his fingertips. He was reconsidering kissing her after all when Laura stepped back.

“I need to go,” she said and started to leave.

“Laura, wait,” he called as he followed her toward the hotel’s entrance.

He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d called her by her name or if she heard the regret in his voice, but she stopped, turned. Before he could apologize for coming on like a Neanderthal, she held up her hand and said, “No, you wait. I don’t know if you’re trying to intimidate me or seduce me, but it isn’t going to work because I’m not going to sleep with you. At least, not unless I have to.”

“Fair enough.”

“I—” Evidently surprised by his answer, she fell silent, leaving the rest of what she’d planned to say unfinished. “Then I guess there’s nothing more to say except good-night. So if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go grab a taxi and head for home.”

“What about the Celebration in the Oaks?” Jack asked as he fell into step beside her. When she slanted a glance his way, he explained, “I couldn’t help overhearing. Sounded like your boyfriend canceled on you.”

He waited for her to confirm or deny his statement. She did neither. Not until they stopped at the end of the line for the taxi stand did she say, “Something came up. I’ll just go another time.”

The disappointment in her voice was also in her expression. And, once again, Jack found himself irritated by the notion of her with Peterson. A burning need to wipe his stepbrother’s memory from her mind and replace it with his spread through him. “Alphonse said this Celebration in the Oaks is some kind of Christmas-lights display in the park. He said that it’s worth seeing.”

“It is,” she assured him as a gust of wind blew down the street. Pulling up the collar of her denim jacket, she brushed the hair away from her eyes. “The gates open at dark every night from now until the end of the year. You should go see it while you’re here.”

“You still here, Ms. Spencer?” Alphonse said as she reached the front of the taxi line. “Evening, Mr. Hawke.”

“Alphonse,” Jack said.

“I thought you were over at City Park looking at the pretty Christmas lights with your—”

“Something came up and we had to cancel,” she told him. “But I’m going to need a taxi to get home.”

“No problem,” he said and whistled for the next cab to come forward. “Sorry you didn’t get to go see the Oaks, ma’am. I know how much you loved going to see them with your grandfather.”

“Thanks, Alphonse. But I’ll just go see them another time.”

The taxi arrived and Alphonse opened the door. But before Laura got in, Jack caught her arm and said, “Why wait? Why not go now? With me.”

Laura still wasn’t sure what had possessed her to agree to accompany Jack to view the Celebration in the Oaks. Granted, her moods had been all over the place for nearly a week now—ever since Jackson Hawke had walked into her office and pulled the rug from beneath her high heels. Her emotions had run the gamut—from anger to despair and fear, from hatred to outrage and lust—and every one of those emotions had been ignited by Hawke. But of all of them, it was her attraction to the man that worried her the most. When she’d found herself wanting him to kiss her, she’d realized just how dangerously close she’d come to making a monumental mistake.

The man was her enemy, she reminded herself. He was a thief out to steal her legacy. And whether she won or lost the foolhardy bet they’d made, she’d be an idiot to risk losing her heart to the man. Yet, when he’d asked her to come with him to the Celebration in the Oaks, there had been something in his eyes, a loneliness, that had touched something deep inside her. She’d remembered the staff telling her that he’d ordered room service and spent Thanksgiving Day alone in his room. It made her realize how fortunate she’d been because she’d never spent any holiday alone. It was one of the advantages, she supposed, of her parents’ multiple marriages. There was always family somewhere and she was always welcome. Last year had been one of the few times she hadn’t celebrated Thanksgiving with her own family, opting instead to join Matt and his family.

She thought of Matt, realized she hadn’t called him back as she had promised. And while she had used her sister, Chloe’s, visit as an excuse for cutting the conversation short, the truth was she hadn’t wanted to go another round with Matt. While she cared deeply for him, she didn’t love him—at least it wasn’t the kind of love that her grandparents had shared, the kind of love that she wanted. And despite his claim, she didn’t believe that Matt really loved her that way, either. If he did, he would have understood why the Contessa meant so much to her. He didn’t. Nor did he understand why she’d left California and returned home to try to salvage the hotel. He certainly wouldn’t understand her desperation now to save it from falling into the hands of Jackson Hawke.

Shifting her glance, she took advantage of the dimly lit backseat and studied Hawke. In the jeans and bomber jacket, he seemed far less forbidding, she thought. With his black hair mussed from the wind and the beginnings of a five-o’clock shadow darkening his jaw, he was, surprisingly, even more handsome. But even dressed casually, there was an air of alertness, a fearlessness and determination that exuded power. There was also something inherently sensual about him that told her this was a man of passion, a man of strong appetites. The fact that he’d made it clear he wanted to indulge those appetites with her should have appalled her. And it did. But it also ignited a longing inside her that had desire curling in her belly whenever she was near him.

Embarrassed by the admission, Laura stared out of the taxi window and warned herself what a mistake it would be if she were ever to let Hawke know just how tempting she found him. Her silent warning was still ringing in her head when the taxi swerved to avoid a pothole and sent her body careening sideways, nearly into Hawke’s lap. Pressing her hands against his chest to right herself, Laura looked up and made the mistake of glancing into his eyes. The heat simmering in them set off a tingling sensation inside her. Suddenly aware that his arms were cradling her, she straightened and scooted back to her side of the seat. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“No problem,” he told her, the husky timbre in his voice only adding to the charged atmosphere.

“Sorry about the rough ride, folks,” the driver said, his eyes meeting theirs in the rearview mirror. “These here streets took a real beating in Katrina, and being under water for all those weeks didn’t help.”

“We understand,” Hawke told him, but his gaze remained fixed on her.

“The streets weren’t in the best of shape even before the storm and now they’re a whole lot worse,” she commented, trying to diffuse the moment. As though to prove her point, the car hit another rut that had her body bumping against his again. He made no comment as she returned to her side of the taxi and this time, she held on to the hand grip above the door.

“She’s right,” the taxi driver commented, apparently oblivious to the tension. “A lot of the streets are still a mess. But the people are starting to come back. And mark my words, New Orleans is gonna be just fine. It’s just gonna take more time than most folks thought.”

While the driver answered a call from his dispatcher, Jack said, “He’s right about it taking longer for the city to recover. I imagine leaving a hotel like the Stratton West to take over operation of the Contessa wasn’t an easy decision.”

“It was for me,” she said, grateful that he was focused on business and not on her.

“Really? Most people in your position wouldn’t have given up a big paycheck with a growing operation so easily.”

“I’m not most people,” she informed him.

“No, you’re not. Maybe that’s why you intrigue me, Laura Spencer.”

Unsure how to respond, Laura chose to remain silent and spent the final minutes of the drive looking out the window, trying to ignore the man seated beside her. Eager to escape the intimacy of the darkened car, she was already unbuckling her seat belt as the taxi pulled up to the entrance of the park.

“This is as far as I can take you, folks,” the driver informed them as he parked the car. “No driving tours allowed anymore, not since Katrina.”

After paying the taxi driver, Jack joined her in line.

“Since you paid for the taxi, I’ll take care of the entry fees.”

But before she could even open her wallet, he handed the admission clerk a crisp fifty-dollar bill. “I’ve got it,” he said. “You can buy us coffee later.”

Too eager to see the display to argue with him, Laura said nothing. Once they had their hands stamped, they walked into the park and she entered a virtual wonderland of lights. She tried to take in everything at once—the towering oak trees dripping with white lights that looked like stars, the Christmas trees and storybook characters fashioned from lights, the delight on the faces of the children as they spied Santa Claus.

“Is it like you remembered it?”

Laura glanced to her side and realized Jack was watching her. “Yes. And no. A lot of it’s the same, but it’s different, too. There used to be more trees, more lights,” she explained as the two of them began to walk through the park. “There was a road over there where cars could drive through and see all the lights. On the really cold or rainy nights, that’s what a lot of people did. There were also horse-drawn carriages you could take the tour in. When Chloe and I were younger, we used to sing ‘Jingle Bells’ and pretend we were riding in a one-horse open sleigh.”

“A sleigh, huh?”

She didn’t have to look at him. She could hear the smile in his voice. Laughing, she shrugged. “What can I say? We’re snow-deprived Southerners.”

He laughed.

The sound surprised her. It was the first time she’d actually heard him laugh. Unable to resist, she sneaked a peek up at him. He was smiling, and not just that slight twitch at the corners of his mouth, but an honest-to-goodness smile that revealed perfect teeth and radiated in his eyes. For the first time since she’d met him, Jackson Hawke actually looked happy, she thought. And she wasn’t sure why, but knowing that she was responsible made her feel warm inside.

“Is that a train I hear?” he asked.

“Yes,” Laura told him, suddenly enjoying herself. “There’s a miniature train ride that goes through the park and there’s this huge elevated train exhibit that has these tiny replicas of the streetcars and historic buildings and landmarks around New Orleans. It’s like a mini-version of the city. Come on, I’ll show it to you.”

Laura showed him the train exhibit. She showed him Storyland. She showed him the vintage rides in the Carousel Gardens, sadly pointing out that several were no longer working because of the damage they’d sustained in the storm. She showed him the gallery of Christmas trees decorated with handmade ornaments made by local schoolchildren that lined the walkways of the Carousel Gardens. Finally, she showed him her favorite part of the exhibit—the antique wooden carousel. “It’s more than a hundred years old,” she told him and explained how the severity of the storm and the exposure to water had left the carousel inoperable. “I know it doesn’t look all that great now because the paint is faded and chipped and so much of the gilding still needs to be redone, but you should have seen it before the storm. It was beautiful.”

“I’m sure it was. It’s amazing it even survived the storm.”

“It’s a miracle. I just hope they’ll be able to get the funds they need to restore it. Since the park doesn’t get any state or federal funding, the only money for repairs has to come from donations and admissions. With the population half of what it was pre-Katrina, there’s less money.” She sighed. “It would be such a shame if other little girls and boys never got to ride on it like I did.”

“Boys, don’t run,” a harried-looking and very pregnant woman called out to the twin boys wearing green jackets and matching hats who were streaking toward them. “Please, would you catch them for me?”

“Whoa,” Jack said, reaching out and corralling them. “Hey, buddies, what do you say we wait for your mom?”

“You’re big,” one of the boys said. “Are you a Saints football player?” he asked, referring to the city’s beloved team.

“Afraid not. But you guys are so fast, I bet you could play for them when you get big.”

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said as she reached them. She smoothed a hand over her stomach. “Their little sister makes keeping up with them harder than it used to be.”

“Not a problem,” Jack told her. “We were just chatting about football. I think you’ve got yourself two running backs in the making here.”

The woman laughed and ruffled their heads. “Their daddy would love that. In fact, he’s home watching Sunday-night football right now. I must have been out of my mind to not make him come with me.”

“We’re going to see The Cajun Night Before Christmas exhibit,” one of the boys said.

“Are you now?” Jack replied.

Both boys nodded. “It’s supposed to be just like the book. If you want to see it, you just need to follow this road.”

“Over there?” he asked, pointing in the direction they’d indicated.

“Yeah.”

Still hunkered down beside the boys, Jack lowered his voice and said, “You know, I could have sworn I saw one of Santa’s elves hiding up in one of those trees over there.”

Both boys’ eyes grew wide as they looked toward the trees. “Really?”

Jack nodded. “I figure they must be here, checking out the boys and girls and reporting to Santa which ones are extra good. You boys might want to walk with your mom so they can tell Santa how good you two are.”

“Come on, Mom. You’d better hold our hands and take it slow.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t run. You might trip or something,” the other twin added.

“Thanks,” the woman mouthed as she and her sons headed in the direction of the trees with the elves.

“That was really sweet of you. I’m sure their mother was very grateful,” Laura told him, touched by his actions.

“Hey, I was telling the truth. I think I did see an elf in those trees,” he said, smiling once again.

“Which tree?”

“That one right over there,” he said and, grabbing her by the hand, he brought her several yards back from the road and pointed up to a huge oak. “That one. I saw a pair of little green eyes peeking out of those branches.”

Laura peered up at the branches in question. “I don’t see anything,” she told him and when she turned to look at him, the smile dissolved on her lips. He was still holding her hand and he was watching her with an intensity, with a longing, that stole her breath.

She didn’t know how it happened. She didn’t know if he took another step toward her or if she moved toward him. Then his mouth was on hers. The kiss was gentle, slow, just a simple brushing of lips against lips. Then she felt the tip of his tongue. Sighing, she opened her mouth to him. Heat exploded inside her and just when her senses hit overload, he was easing back, ending the kiss. Still dazed and wondering why he had stopped, she heard the voices. A family was approaching on the path near them.

“I didn’t think you would want an audience,” he said simply.

He was right. She wouldn’t and it embarrassed her that she had been so engrossed in the kiss that she hadn’t heard them. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. For a moment there, I considered not stopping,” he told her as he brushed his thumb along her jaw.

Confused and shaken by his effect on her, Laura stepped back and in doing so pulled her hand free. She walked back over to the carousel to take another look at it before leaving.

Jack followed and stopped beside her. “So tell me about the carousel.”

“What do you want to know?”

“About the history of it. How long it’s been here. How old you were the first time you came to see it.”

Laura filled him in on the history, or as much of it as she knew. She told him how it had been her grandfather who had first brought her to see it. “I was four at the time,” she told him. “My mom was married to Jeffrey Baxter, the soap star, then, and we were living in California. She had just had Chloe and was finding a four-year-old and a newborn a lot to handle. So she sent me down here to visit my grandfather. I was feeling a little homesick, so he took me to see the Christmas lights in the oaks to distract me. And the minute I saw the carousel, I fell in love with it.”

“Which one was your horse?” he asked.

Laura looked over at him, surprised at his perceptiveness. “The palomino over there, with the red saddle,” she said, pointing out the horse she had always ridden. “I named him Pegasus.”

“The flying horse, huh?” he remarked because it was one of the horses crafted with its legs in flight.

“Yes,” she said and laughed at herself. “I really did think he could fly. In fact, I had myself convinced that the carousel was enchanted and that when everyone left for the night all the horses and animals would come to life.”

“Ever test your theory?”

“Yes,” she admitted proudly and smiled at the memory. “When I was six, I snuck away from my grandfather just before closing time and went and hid in the carousel house.”

“What happened?”

“None of the carousel animals came to life, but everyone else did. My grandfather and the security guards and staff were looking for me. My grandfather thought I’d been kidnapped and everyone was upset. I got in a lot of trouble with my granddad and wasn’t allowed to have any desserts or treats for an entire week after that.”

He let out a whistle. “No desserts for a week? That must have been really tough,” he said, but from the grin on his face, it was clear he didn’t think it had been tough at all.

“Trust me, it was torture,” she assured him with a laugh. “I’d have sooner given up my favorite doll than give up dessert for a week.”

“Have a sweet tooth, do you?” he teased.

“I was six,” she pointed out. Then recalling how his appearance had caused her to hit her candy stash, she amended her answer by saying, “I’ve gotten better.” But the memory of why she’d hit the candy stash in the first place brought reality crashing back. The man she had been sharing such tender moments with was Jackson Hawke. Her enemy. The man who was trying to foreclose on her hotel. The man with whom she’d made the crazy bet and agreed to sleep with if she lost. “It’s getting late. I’d better see about getting a taxi and heading home.”

“What about the rest of the exhibit?” he asked.

“I think we’ve seen everything.”

“What about that new one—that Cajun story one.”

“The Cajun Night Before Christmas. It’s an animated children’s story by a local author and artist. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested,” she said honestly. In fact, she wouldn’t have thought he’d be interested in any of the exhibits, but he’d seemed to genuinely enjoy himself. And if she were honest, she had enjoyed sharing them with him.

“I wouldn’t have thought I’d be interested, either, but I am.”

The man confused her. He was a mass of contradictions. Just when she had him pegged as a rich and arrogant man who would wager a fifteen-million-dollar note against a night with her in his bed, he spendt an evening looking at Christmas lights with her and listening to stories about her childhood. On the one hand, she despised the businessman who threatened to take away a part of her heritage. On the other hand, she liked the kind man who had been so gentle with the little boys and considerate of their mother. She liked the man who had laughed with her, the man who had made her first visit to the carousel since her grandfather’s death a happy one.

“Laura?”

The sound of him calling her by her first name snapped her out of her reverie. “Yes?”

“You zoned out there for a minute. Either that or I shocked you into silence. Which is it?”

“Both,” she admitted.

“So what do you say? Do you want to see that other exhibit with me?”

Laura hesitated. Spending more time with this man wasn’t a good idea, she told herself. She was beginning to like him, feel drawn to him. The last thing she could afford was to lose her focus when the Contessa was at stake. “I think I’ll pass. But you go on ahead.”

“Maybe another time, then,” he said. “I’ll head back to the hotel.”

But when the taxi arrived, Jack insisted on sharing it with her. He also insisted the driver take her home first. Once they reached her place and she’d tucked her share of the cab fare into his hand, she said, “Good night.”

He touched her arm. “Laura?”

She paused, turned to face him. “Yes?”

“Thanks for tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And in the morning, he would be her enemy again, she reminded herself as she quickly exited the taxi and raced up the steps to her house.

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