Читать книгу Playboy's Ruthless Payback - Charlene Sands - Страница 11

Four

Mac had hoped Olivia Winston would be moderately attractive. After all, it would make his goal a little easier and more pleasant to achieve if the woman he was going to seduce was decent-looking. Unfortunately this woman was miles past decent—circling somewhere around blistering hot. She was also intelligent and passionate and pushed sugar. And if he had any hope of seeing his plan through to the end, whenever he looked at her he was going to have to force himself to remember the he and her father were at war. And that her unhappiness and disappointment and permanent scarlet letter would be his justice.

He slowed his car to a comfortable seventy miles per hour as he exited the freeway. But seeing her as an enemy to be taken down wouldn’t be easy. Damn, the way she’d looked at him with those fiery coffee-colored doe eyes, as though she couldn’t decide if she was intrigued by him or wanted to follow her father’s advice and toss him right out on his ass. Mac turned onto Third Street, Minneapolis’s restaurant row. Eyeing the line of cars in front of Martini Two Olives, he backed into an open parking space with one effortless movement. Light snowflakes touched down on his windshield as he spotted a tall, cool blonde through the window of the packed restaurant.

She smiled warmly at him as he walked through the doorway. Mac gave her a kiss on the cheek, and above the din of celebratory restaurant patrons, he said, “Hello, Avery.”

“Well, Mac Valentine, it’s been way too long,” she practically purred.

They took a table at the bar and ordered drinks. When a scotch neat was set before him, Mac asked, “How’s Tim? You two still in love?”

Avery blushed and smiled simultaneously. “Blissfully. And planning on starting a family next year.”

Mack leaned back in his chair and took a healthy swallow of scotch. “I’m a damn fine matchmaker. My best buddy and my firm’s geeky ex-lawyer.”

“Hey, watch it with the geek stuff. That was years ago. I’m a knockout now.”

He grinned. “Yeah. You’re all right.”

She laughed. When her laughter eased, she grew serious, her pale blue eyes heavy with sincerity. “You are a great friend, and you did a good thing. We owe you.”

“Yeah, well, I never thought I’d have to collect on that debt, but times are a little…unsure.”

“Tim mentioned something…”

“He always sucked at discretion.”

“What do you need? Anything at all.”

“Do you still represent the DeBolds?”

She nodded. “My favorite clients.”

“I’ve heard they’re shopping for a new financial firm, and I’d like to show them what I have to offer.”

Her fingernails clicked on her glass. “They might’ve heard the rumors, Mac…. And you know how they are about family, or lack of. They don’t want to deal with—”

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m planning to be everything they’re looking for and more.”

She looked unconvinced. “Five-star restaurants and over-the-top gestures won’t impress them. If you really want them to take the firm seriously, you’d need to do something—”

He put a hand up to stop her. “Let me tell you what I have in mind, then you can decide to set it up or not.”

“All right,” she said and lifted the glass of red wine to her lips.

Given the kind of man he was, Olivia had expected Mac Valentine to live in a sleek, modern type of home made of glass or stainless steel or something impervious to warmth. So it came as somewhat of a shock to find that the address he’d given her belonged to a stately, though charming, mansion on historic Lake of the Isles Parkway.

After parking in the snow-dusted driveway, Olivia darted up the stone steps and rang the bell, noting with a smile the lovely way winter’s ravaged vines and ivy grew up one side of the house in a charming zigzag pattern. The wintry November breeze off the lake shocked her with a sudden gust, and she was thankful when the door opened. A tall, thin man in his late sixties ushered Olivia inside. He explained that he was the handyman, then told her Mac would be down in a minute. Then the man disappeared down a long hallway.

Olivia stood in the spacious entryway of Mac’s home, staring at a beautiful, rustic banister and staircase, and wondering why it felt only slightly warmer inside the house than out.

“Good morning.”

Coming down the stairs like Rhett Butler in reverse was Mac Valentine. He was dressed simply in jeans and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Awareness stirred in her belly. She liked forearms, liked the way the cords of muscle bunched when a man gripped something, or someone.

“Find the place all right?” he asked when he reached her.

“Perfectly,” she said, noticing that not only did he look good, but he smelled good, too. As if he’d showered in a snowy, pine forest or something. Realizing her thoughts had taken an idiotic turn, she flipped on her professional switch and said, “Shall we get started?”

His eyes lit with amusement, but he nodded. “Come with me.”

As Olivia followed him through the house, she noticed that each room she passed was more warm and inviting than the next, with wood paneling, hewn beams and rustic paint colors on the walls. But there was a glaring problem that Mac didn’t mention as they walked—every room, from bathroom to living room to the fabulous gourmet kitchen, was bare as bones. There were no furnishings, no artwork, no tchotchkes—no nothing. It was the oddest thing she’d ever seen. It was as though he’d just moved in.

“I’m sensing a theme here,” Olivia said with a laugh as they stopped in the kitchen. “You, Mr. Valentine, are a minimalist of the first order.”

“Not totally.” He gestured to a massive stainless steel contraption on the counter. “I have an espresso machine.”

Two perfect cups of steaming cappuccino sat on the counter beside it. Olivia took one and handed the other to him. “And that’s a good thing, but it barely strikes the surface of a family home.” Her hands curled around the hot cup, feeling warm for the first time since she left the car. “I have my work cut out for me. What’s up with all this?”

He shrugged. “I never got around to buying furniture.”

It was more than that, she thought, studying him. It had to be. He hadn’t put his stamp on anything. Maybe he hated permanence or didn’t trust it. Whatever it was, it would be her first order of business. “How long has it sat empty like this?”

“I bought the place three years ago.”

She nearly choked on her cappuccino. “That’s just wrong. Where do you sleep? Or more importantly what do you sleep on?”

“I have a bed,” he said, leaning against the countertop. “Would you like to see it?”

“Absolutely. It’s my job to make sure it has that stamp of family charm on it.”

“What do you think is stamped on it now?”

“Debauchery?” she said quickly.

He grinned. “There’s one more room down here, and in this one, I did put down a few roots. Two, to be exact.”

Curious, Olivia followed him down a short hallway and through a heavy wood door. She stopped when she saw it and just stared. The room was, in a word, fantastic. Olivia walked in and stood in the middle, thinking she could hear music playing. One wall was made entirely of glass and she felt instantly at one with the white wonderland outside. Snow fell in big globs off the many tree branches and landed in pretty little tufts below. Birds hopped in the snow, making three-pronged tracks, and squirrels passed nuts back and forth. Inside, to her right were a pair of comfortable-looking navy-blue leather arm chairs that sat before a massive stone fireplace. Mac sat in one of the chairs and motioned for her to do the same.

“So once in a while you force yourself to relax?” she asked, as the heat from the blazing fire seeped into her bones and called upon her to relax.

“A man needs a refuge.”

“Well, this is great.”

He glanced over at her. “Do you think you can do something with this house?”

“I believe so.”

“Good.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out a card and handed it to her. “Get everything. From sheets to picture frames. I don’t care what you spend just make it warm and family friendly.”

She stared at the platinum card. “You want me to furnish the whole house?”

He nodded.

“Every square inch?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you want your stamp on it at all? Choices in artwork? Television?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand. Don’t you want to feel comfortable here?”

“I don’t like feeling comfortable—too much can happen to a person when they get comfortable.”

“I’ll try and remember that,” she muttered.

His voice grew tight and cold. “All I want is the DeBolds, signed and happy.”

Olivia was tempted to ask him just where he’d gotten such a desperate need to win, but it wasn’t her place to care. He looked so serious, so raw, so sexy as he stared into the fire. Just his presence made the muscles in her belly knot with tension, and she knew that no matter what she told her father, after today, the truth was she was attracted to Mac Valentine. Not that she was going to do anything about it, or allow him to use her in any way, but the attraction was undeniably there.

“I’ll do my best to set the stage, sir,” she said with just a hint of humor.

He looked over at her then, his eyes nearly black in their intensity. “I hope so.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. It was a lush, cynical mouth and for a moment she wondered what it would feel like against hers. She turned away. “You need to understand something,” she said as much to herself as to him.

“What’s that?”

“I know you didn’t hire me because I’m a dynamite cook.”

He snorted. “That’s a little self-deprecating.”

“No, it’s the truth.”

He didn’t reply.

“You’re looking for revenge. I’m not entirely sure how you’re going to go about making me pay for something you believe my father did, but be forewarned…”

“Okay.”

She forced herself to look at him. “I’m not going to fall under your spell.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “Instead, I’m going to watch you.”

“Watching me…I like that.”

“And if you get out of line, I’m going to shove you right back in.”

“Olivia?” He raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“What if you get out of line?”

The question stopped her…from thinking and from a quick reaction. Mac saw her hesitate, too, and his dark eyes burned with pleasure.

“I think social hour has come to an end,” she said tightly, standing. “I have a lot to accomplish in a short amount of time, so let’s get to work. Show me the bedrooms.”

“All of the bedrooms?” he said with a devious smile.

“Yes.”

He stood, shot her a wicked grin and said, “Follow me.”