What The Millionaire Wants...: What the Millionaire Wants... / Spencer's Forbidden Passion. Brenda Jackson
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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.
Five
Seated in the dining room of the Contessa Hotel, Jack kept his eyes trained on the doorway and awaited the arrival of Chloe Baxter. Fitzpatrick had managed to locate Laura’s half sister—in New Orleans, where she had been since Thanksgiving weekend. Funny how Laura had failed to mention the fact that her sister was visiting. But then, she had studiously avoided him since that night they’d gone to see the Christmas lights in the park. On those occasions when their paths had crossed, she had been all business. It was as though the woman he had laughed with and kissed in the park had never even existed.
Only he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that woman. It was difficult for him to look at her and not remember how sweet she had tasted, how good she had felt in his arms. Even more difficult was wondering if his stepbrother was the personal business she’d left town for two days ago. Jack closed his fist around the glass of Scotch as he considered that possibility. According to the detective, there had been no record of Peterson booking a flight in or out of New Orleans last weekend. But knowing Peterson’s tastes and ability to manipulate, he could just as easily have gotten someone to fly him in on a private plane. Maybe one of his rich college buddies or someone in the moneyed crowd his father was so tight with. Or maybe even one of the corporate idiots that Peterson had conned into backing his political run.
Or maybe he’d been wrong and Peterson had never been in town after all. Had Laura gone to see him? It certainly would explain her sudden leave on personal business. According to Fitzpatrick Investigations, she had booked a flight to San Francisco with a stop in L.A., and there were no hotel reservations anywhere in her name. But then, why would she need a hotel room if she was sleeping with his stepbrother?
A white-hot anger seethed inside him at the image of Laura with Peterson. He tossed back a swallow of Scotch, but it did nothing to soothe the gnawing in his gut. If she was with his stepbrother, it wouldn’t be for much longer, he assured himself. He knew through his sources in the financial arena that her attempt to secure a personal loan from the bank by pledging her own stock as collateral had been turned down. With only twenty days left on the thirty-day proviso, she was running out of options quickly. Once the designated time to cure the default was up, the hotel—or at least eighty percent of its stock and the controlling interest in it—would belong to him.
And so would Laura.
He would win their bet. And once he had her in his bed, he would wipe any trace of his stepbrother from her body, from her mind, from her soul.
Jack frowned. He was competitive. No one did what he did for a living without possessing a strong competitive streak. The truth was he enjoyed a challenge, thrived on taking risks. The higher the stakes, the more exciting he found the game. And he’d be lying to himself if the thought of taking Laura from Peterson didn’t appeal to him on a very personal level. It did.
But it was more than that, Jack admitted. Even before he’d known about her connection to his stepbrother, she had set his competitive juices flowing and his hormones into a state of lust. Just remembering how she’d looked that night in the Carousel Gardens with her cheeks flushed, her eyes filled with desire and her body taut sent adrenaline pumping through his system. She’d been like some wild creature and every male hormone in his body demanded that he capture and possess her.
Disturbed by the admission, Jack shoved the images from his mind. Laura had been right. Making that bet with her had been crazy. He had been crazy. To offer the note he’d paid fifteen million dollars for against a night with her in his bed had been insane. It didn’t matter that she stood little chance of winning the bet. The fact that he had even agreed to the terms had been flat-out reckless. Worse, it had been the act of a man making a decision guided by his hormones instead of by sound business sense.
So why did you do it, Hawke?
Because he wanted her. And he fully intended to have her.
“Would you like another Scotch, Mr. Hawke?”
Jack glanced down at his empty glass, then up at the waitress who stood at his table. Dressed in a crisp black-and-white uniform and wearing a name tag with Tina written on it, she gave him a friendly smile. Reasoning that he had no farther to travel than the elevator to his room, he said, “Sure.”
“I’ll be right back,” she told him and wove her way through the busy restaurant toward the kitchen.
Shaking off his disturbing thoughts about Laura, Jack glanced around the restaurant. There was a nice crowd, he noted. Laura’s decision to open the dining room on weeknights to draw from the local business clientele leaving work had been a smart move. So had extending the dinner hours on the weekends. Both were moves he would have implemented himself. Some well-placed advertisements and a few local TV and radio spots to capitalize on the popular chef’s affiliation with the Contessa would fill the remaining tables. He made a mental note to discuss a series of print and TV ads with Laura. Of course, that was assuming she agreed to stay on as general manager when she lost the bet.
The bet.
Had Laura been thinking about those stakes