Читать книгу The Billionaire's Virgin Mistress - Sandra Field - Страница 9

CAREFULLY Cade steered the Maserati between the potholes in Tess’s driveway. He was twenty-five minutes early. Only, he assured himself, because he’d completed his task, and the paperback novel he’d brought with him had failed to hold his attention.

Nothing to do with Tess, and the itch under his skin to see her again.

He climbed out of his car and knocked on her door. No answer. He knocked again, feeling his nerves tighten. Had he been a fool to take her for granted, and assume she’d be meekly waiting for him? She was no pushover. If she didn’t want to see him again, she’d take measures to put that into effect.

He tried the door, which, to his surprise, opened smoothly. Stepping inside, he closed it behind him. Ella Fitzgerald was crooning on the stereo; the shower was running full-blast.

Tess was home. She hadn’t run away.

It shouldn’t matter to him as much as it did.

Cade looked around, taking his time. Clothes were flung over the chair: a black dress, hose and sleek black underwear that raised his blood pressure a full notch. Dragging his eyes away, he took in the cheerful hooked rugs dotting the worn pineboard floor, and an array of cushions that brightened the sagging chesterfield. Books overflowed the homemade shelves. The room was spotlessly clean.

Absolutely no evidence that she’d ever had any access to Del’s allowance, or to any other substantial source of money, Cade thought. Basically it was the room of someone who lived off a minimal paycheck.

Someone who’d be far from immune to the Lorimers’ wealth.

The CD came to an end. He flipped through a stack of discs, discovering old favorites of his own, intrigued by how eclectic a collection it was. He selected a CD and snapped open the cover.

The shower shut off. As he leaned down to push the play button, a door opened behind him and he heard the soft pad of bare feet on the wooden floor. He turned around.

Tess shrieked with alarm, clutching the towel to her breasts. Her hair was wrapped in another towel, turban-fashion, emphasizing her slender throat and those astonishing cheekbones; her shoulders were pearled with water and her legs went on forever. He wanted her, Cade thought. Wanted her here and now. Fiercely and without any thought for the consequences.

He wasn’t going to do a damn thing about it. For starters, she was Del’s granddaughter and strictly off-limits. Plus—more importantly—he was far from convinced she was as innocent as she looked. Too much money was at stake.

She said shakily, “You’re early.”

“I did knock. The door wasn’t locked.”

“I usually don’t bother locking it. Although I guess I should when you’re around.”

He said hoarsely, “Tess—”

“Don’t come near me!”

The terror was back full force. “Sometime—soon—you’re going to tell me why I frighten you so badly,” he said. “I made a dinner reservation for seven—charming though you look right now, a towel won’t cut it.”

Her heart was still racketing in her chest. Sure, he’d startled her. But it was more than that. In his light gray suit, blue shirt and silk tie, Cade looked formidably sophisticated and wholly, disturbingly male. Not to mention sexy, a word she avoided like the plague.

She was the nearest thing to naked.

Power, she thought slowly, that’s what he breathed; although he was quite possibly unaware of it. Power. Money. Sexual charisma. All three put his danger quotient off the chart.

She didn’t do sex.

To her horror, she heard herself blurt, “If Del Lorimer’s my grandfather, that makes you my uncle.” This all-too-obvious fact hadn’t struck her until five minutes after Cade had driven away from her cabin this morning.

“I’m Del’s adopted son,” Cade said curtly. “No blood relation to your grandfather at all. Or to you.” Just as well, he thought savagely, given the way his hormones were acting up.

Adopted. Not a blood relative. But not her fate, either, Tess thought in a sudden snap of fury. Merely a man who was a total stranger to her, and who would remain just that—a stranger.

Unfortunately her thoughts didn’t stop there. Because she’d grown up in an environment where she could trust nothing, she’d always endeavored to remain honest with herself. If she were to be honest now, relief had been her predominant emotion that Cade Lorimer wasn’t related to her by blood; close on its heels had been utter dismay at all the implications of that relief.

It didn’t matter who Cade was. She just didn’t do sex.

Deeply grateful he couldn’t read her mind, she said tartly, “So you’re an adopted son. If I’m the newly discovered granddaughter, aren’t you afraid I’ll supplant you?”

“No,” Cade said coldly, and watched her lower her lashes, her face unreadable.

Then she looked up, meeting his gaze in unspoken challenge. “My clothes are on the chair,” she said. “Turn your back.”

Unwillingly admiring her spirit, he tore his eyes from the silken slopes of her bare shoulders and did as she asked. “You okay with this music?”

“Meatloaf, Verdi, Diana Krall,” she said wildly, “play what you like. And I’m not wearing a towel for dinner, I’m wearing a dress. The only one I own, so if it’s not up to your standards, too bad.”

“You’d look gorgeous wearing burlap.”

“Mr. Cade Flattery Lorimer,” she retorted, picking up her clothes and holding them like a shield in front of her.

Suddenly angry, Cade turned to face her. “I mean it. Look in the mirror, for God’s sake—you’re an extraordinarily beautiful woman.”

Her jaw dropped. “I’m too skinny and my hair’s a mess.”

He grinned at her, a mocking grin sparked with so much energy that it took her breath away. “Slender, not skinny,” he drawled. “Although you’re right about the hair—a good cut would do wonders.”

“What is your angle? If money doesn’t work, try sex?”

“What a wildcat you are. Hissing and spitting if anyone gets near you.”

“Whereas you’re like a panther! Sleek and dangerous.”

She hadn’t meant to say that. Only to think it.

“Now who’s pouring on the flattery?” Cade said. “Get dressed and dry that mop of hair, or we’ll be late for dinner.”

Oddly enough, beneath a storm of emotions she couldn’t possibly have labeled, Tess was very hungry. Scowling, she marched out of the room with as much dignity as she could muster when swathed in an old blue bath towel, and shut her bedroom door with more than necessary force. For the first time in her life, she wished she owned a real dress. Something out of Vogue, stunningly simple, reeking of money and sophistication.

With a vicious snap she switched on her hair dryer. She didn’t have time to cut her hair, but she was going to slather on eye shadow and mascara. For courage, she thought, picking up her brush.

Because wasn’t one of the several reasons she’d decided to keep this dinner date the simple fact that running away was the coward’s way out?

In the last few years, she’d done too much running.

Cade had put on Mozart by the time Tess walked back into the living room. Taking his time, he looked her up and down, noticing instantly that her fingernails were digging into her palms, and her jaw was tight. Her dress was a plain black sheath, teamed with sheer black hose and stiletto heels. She’d swept her tangle of hair into a knot high on her head; clustered black beads dangled from her earlobes. Her mouth—his own went dry—was a luscious raspberry-red. He said, “Beautiful’s such an overused word—you take my breath away.”

Her heart lurched in her breast. She said coolly, “I made my dress from a remnant that was on sale. The shoes come from Second Time Around—I only hope the original owner won’t be eating dinner at the hotel.”

“I bet she never looked that good in them.”

“You’re too kind.”

Part of her liked this verbal banter, Tess thought uneasily. Quelling a stab of fear, she took a white mohair sweater from the cupboard, flung it around her shoulders and stalked out the door.

Cade’s car smelled of leather; he drove with smooth competence, making small talk about the scenery. Ten minutes later they were seated in the hotel dining room by a window overlooking the ocean, the applewood in the fireplace crackling cheerfully. Trying not to panic at the alarming array of silverware, Tess took a deep breath and went on the offensive. “Your company—Lorimer Inc.—owns this hotel. And many others, worldwide, all part of the DelMer chain of fine hotels.”

“Del has rather a large ego—he liked the idea of combining his two names. So you checked him out.”

“Him and his adopted son. I’d be a fool not to meet him, wouldn’t I? A rich old man—every woman’s dream.”

“No more shoes from Second Time Around,” Cade said.

“No more hose from the dollar store.” The waiter put a menu in front of her, a thick leather binder embossed with gold. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by a menu, Tess thought resolutely, and opened it to the first page. “Once I’ve hooked up with Del, I could buy the dollar store. A whole string of them.”

“You could,” Cade said. “Do you like martinis?”

She’d never had one. “Of course.”

“Straight up or on the rocks?”

“On the rocks. I could buy a car like yours.”

“Several, I should think.”

Her eyes narrowed. She was doing her best to act like the crassest of fortune-hunters, and Cade wasn’t even reacting. If anything, he was laughing at her. Chewing on her lip, she added, “I’d inherit a ton of money when my grandfather dies. Enough to buy diamond earrings and go on a world cruise.”

“Lorimer Inc. owns a fleet of cruise ships—you could take your pick. Stateroom, the works. I’m sure by then you’d have found some diamonds to your taste.”

She’d never liked the look of diamonds. Too cold, too flashy. “Emeralds, to go with my eyes,” she said dreamily.

“Excellent choice…have you decided on an appetizer?”

The menu was in Italian with the English in script below. When she was eleven, she’d spent a year in Rome with Cory and Opal, her wayward mother; Tess said in impeccable Italian, “I’ll have fegato grasso al mango.” She flipped the page. “With stufato di pesce for a main course.”

Each was the most expensive item on the page. Blanking out the actual dollar amount, she said with as much innuendo as her conscience would allow, “How is your grandfather’s health? You mentioned a heart attack.”

“Oh, I suspect he’s got a good many years in him yet. You might have to wait for that inheritance.”

“Or is the inheritance like the support—nonexistent?” she retorted. “If, as you claim, I really am related to him, I could always go to the press. Illegitimate Granddaughter Cheated Of Her Rights—I can see the headlines now, can’t you?”

With a flourish, the waiter put the martinis on the table, and took their orders. Tess loathed olives. She picked up the frosted glass and took a hefty swallow. Her face convulsed. “That’s straight antifreeze!”

“Your first martini?” Cade said innocently.

“They don’t serve them at the chicken takeout.” She grimaced. “I see why—who’d want to eat olives pickled in ethylene glycol?”

Cade signaled the waiter, asked for a brandy Alexander, and said smoothly, “Del hates martinis, too. And loves the ocean.”

“Does he? How nice. You know, if allegedly he’s been supporting me since I was born, he owes me quite a backlog.” She smiled at Cade, batting her mascaraed lashes. “I’d better hire a good lawyer.”

“It would have to be a very good one to take on Lorimer Inc.”

“Then there’s you,” she said in a voice like cream, brushing his fingers with her own, letting them linger until every nerve in his body tightened. “You make Del’s fortune look like small change.”

It was the first time she’d touched him voluntarily; and how he loathed her motive for doing it. Holding tight to his temper, Cade watched her pout her raspberry-red lips, heard her purr, “I’d be a fool to turn my back on you or Del, Cade. But especially you.”

His voice taut, because there was a limit to what a man had to put up with, Cade said, “Do you want to know what I did today? I wandered around the village talking to people about you. People who’ve known you for the better part of eleven months.” The pout was gone, he noticed with mean pleasure, replaced by blank shock. Calmly he kept going. “I’m sure you’d agree with me that the islanders to a man—or woman—are sober New Englanders who don’t go in for flattery. They described you as reliable, honest, frugal, hardworking. Likes to walk the beaches by herself. Hardly ever goes off-island. No friends. No wild parties. No men.”

Tess gripped the edge of the table. “You spent the day gossiping about me? How dare you! And why would they talk to you? The islanders aren’t just sober, they’re closemouthed to a fault.”

“Several years ago, I paid top dollar to buy up ninety percent of the island. Made it into a nature conservancy to protect it from development—the only concession being that I build this place.” Cade waved his martini at his surroundings. “So I’m in like a dirty sock—the islanders love me. You might as well drop the gold-digger act, it’s wasted on me. You can’t fool an islander—if they say you’re honest as the tide turns, I’ll go along with that.”

For now, he added silently.

With exquisite timing, the waiter deposited a creamy drink sprinkled with nutmeg in front of her. She glared at it, trying to gather her wits. She’d just made a total fool of herself. Good job, Tess. What’s the follow-up?

“Try your drink,” Cade said, giving her the full benefit of his smile. One of his women had called it lethal; another, dynamite. It was a weapon he wasn’t above using when it suited him.

But instead of blushing in confusion or smiling back, Tess said furiously, “I’ve never laid eyes on one red cent of your grandfather’s money.”

His smile faded. “That was the next item on my agenda.” He waited while her antipasto was put in front of her. “I talked to Del today. He’s a stubborn, cantankerous old man, who likes control and claims he’s mislaid the investigator’s report—”

“You haven’t seen it?”

The emotion in her face was unquestionably relief. Cade picked up his fork. “No. But I did get out of Del—by sheer bloody-mindedness—the investigator’s discovery that ever since your father died six years ago, your allowance has been siphoned off the account by your mother. Opal Ritchie. I can only presume Cory took it prior to that.”

Briefly Tess shut her eyes. Opal and Cory. Her parents. Cory with his unpredictable rages, his drug-induced highs. Opal, wild, willful, never to be trusted. The rooms, she thought. Oh God, those awful rooms…

“What’s wrong?” Cade demanded.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in the elegant dining room, with its high-arched windows and vaulted ceiling, its polite murmur of conversation; and a pair of stormy-gray eyes boring into her soul. “I’m fine,” she said flatly, and with superhuman effort pulled herself together. The brandy Alexander, which was delicious, slid down her throat. The array of silver looked a little less intimidating. Carefully she selected the mate of the fork Cade had used and took a bite of mango, chewing thoroughly, tasting nothing. “You called me a liar back at the cabin.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Cade said curtly. At least with regard to Del’s monthly support, he shouldn’t have. But he still had plenty of other questions about the all-too desirable and highly enigmatic Tess Ritchie.

The tight knot in her chest easing somewhat—for hadn’t he more or less apologized?—Tess said shrewdly, “You still wish I was a thousand miles away from Del, don’t you? So you and I are on the same wavelength. The distance’ll be forty miles, not a thousand—but forty miles is plenty. Because I don’t care about the Lorimer money. His or yours. I like my life here on the island, it’s all I want and I’m not leaving here. You can tell my grandfather I’m grateful he did his best to support me—it wasn’t his fault that I never saw the money. But it’s too late now. I don’t need his support anymore.”

Her green eyes blazed with honesty. Disconcerted, Cade discovered in himself a contrary and ridiculous urge to take her words at face value. To trust her.

He’d never trusted a woman in his life other than Selena, his mother, whose every motive had been on the surface for all to see. Tess wasn’t Selena. Tess was mysterious, fiery and unpredictable.

Trust her? He’d be a fool to be betrayed by a pair of emerald-green eyes.

He’d been holding a weapon in abeyance. Deciding now was the time to use it, Cade said coolly, “Del told me something else today—that the investigator drew a complete blank for the year you turned sixteen. The year your father died. What happened that year?”

Her skin went cold. A roaring filled her ears. She couldn’t faint again, she thought desperately. Not twice in one day. She shoved the fork in her mouth, and concentrated on chewing. She might as well have been eating cardboard.

She’d slept wrapped in cardboard for over two months.

Forcing herself to swallow, desperate to change the subject, she said jaggedly, “Where does my grandfather spend his winters?”

Cade sat back in his chair, gazing at her, his brain in overdrive. Mysterious was a euphemism where Tess was concerned. She was secretive and closemouthed, a woman for whom terror was a constant companion. What had she done at sixteen—or what had happened to her—to induce that blank-eyed stare, those trembling fingers?

He shoved down an unwelcome pang of compassion, allowing all his latent distrust to rise to the surface instead. She’d been a model of good behavior ever since she’d arrived on Malagash Island. But preceding that? What then?

“Are you in trouble with the law?” he demanded.

“No,” she said. But her gaze was downcast, and her voice lacked conviction.

Fine, he thought. I might just do some investigating on my own behalf. Del likes to think he holds the reins, but I’m the one in control here.

With equal certainty Cade knew that if he didn’t bring Tess Ritchie back to Moorings, Del would order the chauffeur to drive him to the island and find her for himself.

He said casually, “You speak very good Italian.”

“When I was twelve, I lived for a year in Rome.” She glanced up, her eyes shuttered. “I also speak German, Dutch, French and a smattering of Spanish. A European upbringing has its advantages.” Which, she thought bitterly, really was lying.

“Favorite artist?”

“Van Gogh. I don’t see how anyone could live in Amsterdam and not love his work. Rembrandt and Vermeer close seconds.”

“Your tastes in music are eclectic and you like espionage novels.”

“You should be the investigator,” she said nastily. “I also like medieval art, lavender soap and pizza with anchovies.”

Lavender, he thought, remembering the fragrant, misty rows of blue in the fields of Provence. It was an unsophisticated scent, earthy and real, that somehow suited her. Trying to focus, he said at random, “Which university did you attend?”

Her lashes flickered. She said edgily, “There are other ways of getting an education.”

“Where’s your mother living now?”

She dropped her fork with a small clatter. “I have no idea.”

Her main course was put in front of her. Tess grabbed the nearest knife and fork and started to eat. Red wine had been poured in her glass, the firelight dancing like rubies in its depths. In sudden despair, exhausted by memories she only rarely allowed to surface, she craved to be home in her little cabin, the woodstove burning, a mug of hot chocolate on the table beside her.

And the clock turned back, so that she’d never met Cade Lorimer; never heard of a putative grandfather who lived only forty miles away.

Cade said, “I’ve upset you.”

“You’re good at that.”

“I’d noticed. I’ll book myself into the hotel and get in touch with Del tonight—we’ll go see him tomorrow morning. The library’s closed Sunday and Monday—I checked.”

“I’m sure you did. I’m not going.”

No point in arguing now, Cade thought. But at least there was some color back in her cheeks.

What had she done at sixteen? Quelling a question he couldn’t possibly answer, he began talking about the Vermeers he’d seen at the Metropolitan Museum, segueing to the political scene in Manhattan; and discovered she was well-informed, her judgments acute, occasionally slanted in a way that fascinated him. Then, of course, there was the play of firelight in the thick mass of her hair, the shadows shifting over her delicate collarbone and ivory throat.

Wanting her hadn’t gone away; it had, if anything, intensified. Good thing he was known for his willpower; he was going to need all of it. Because to seduce Tess Ritchie would be a very bad move.

They were sipping espressos when his cell phone rang. “Excuse me a minute,” he said, and took it from his pocket. “Lorimer,” he barked.

Tess straightened her shoulders, trying to work the tension from them unobtrusively. In half an hour she’d be home, her door locked, her life resuming its normal, peaceful pattern.

Peace was all she wanted. Peace, order and control.

Then, abruptly, her attention switched to Cade’s side of the conversation. “He’s what?” Cade was saying. “How bad? So you’re at the hospital now. Okay, I’ll be on my way in five minutes. I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc. Thanks.”

He pushed the end button and thrust the phone back in his pocket. The color had drained from his face, his jaw a tight line. He said flatly, “Del’s had another heart attack. A minor one, according to his family doctor.” He waved to the waiter. “We’ll leave as soon as I’ve paid the bill.”

So Cade loves his adoptive father, Tess thought, and felt emotion clog her throat. Cory hadn’t loved her. Ever.

She never cried. Couldn’t afford to. So why did she feel like crying now? She forced the tears down, watching Cade pass over his credit card.

What if Del Lorimer had another heart attack in the night, and died? She’d never meet him. Never find out if he really was her grandfather, or if this whole farrago was the product of an overeager investigator. But if Del was, by any chance, truly her grandfather, blood of her blood, shouldn’t she see him, find out if he was a replica of Cory or someone entirely different?

We…Cade had said a few moments ago. We’ll leave…she thoroughly disliked the way he’d taken it for granted that she’d go with him.

It was her choice, and only hers.

Stay or go.