The Tycoon's Seductive Revenge Page 5

  Carter nodded. “Let’s bring it topside.”

  They hurried up the secret staircase, sharing grand visions of the speakeasy’s rehab and laughing about their find. Entering the Great Room, Carter went behind the empty hotel bar and helped himself to two glasses. Lifting the lid of the cooler, he scooped ice cubes into their cut-glass challises. Light golden liquid splashed over the ice.

  “Drink it straight?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Why ruin a good thing?”

  Carter reached over the bar and pulled her lips to his, sucking and tasting her, nibbling on her lower lip. “You are more than any man could ask for.”

  Ellie’s stomach flipped. She licked her lips then held up her glass. “To old times.”

  “To old times,” he echoed. He sent her a sultry stare over the rim of his glass as he drank, draining the entire thing in one gulp.

  Ellie didn’t fare so well. She managed two swigs before she choked and coughed. A trail of fire went from her throat to her gut. She made a horrible face and spat the remainder back into her glass. “I think I’ll take some cola with my rum,” she wheezed.

  “Good call.” He picked up the beverage gun and splashed dark soda into her glass, adding a dash to his own. Then he came out from behind the bar and pulled a stool right next to hers. He set his foot on her stool’s bottom rung, enclosing her between his muscular leg and the gleaming oak bar. “So what do you plan to do with your new-found loot?”

  She drew her lips to one side, considering the possibilities. “Well, it would be a great way to attract tourists, like you mentioned,” she said brightly.

  He peered at her. “You can do a lot more than that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Sell it, would be my recommendation.”

  “All of it?”

  “Keep the hotel stocked with a six-month supply, to get people’s attention. But with a stash like that, you’re better off auctioning it to the highest bidder.”

  Running a hand through her hair, she admitted, “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  Carter dug out his wallet. “I know this broker who might be able to help you. At least he’d be helping somebody,” he muttered like an afterthought.

  Withdrawing a stack of cards that could rival a Fortune 500 CEO’s rolodex, he sifted through them. Ellie noted the discard pile contained plenty of high-profile people in the hotel industry. “Don’t you have someone to keep track of your communications?”

  He continued sorting. “Sure, Mirella is great handling my day-to-day contacts and phone calls. But I’m a hands-on kind of guy.”

  Mirella? How many women did he interact with on a daily basis? She watched him discard several other business cards that had phone numbers scribbled on them, undeniably in female handwriting. How many girls passed him their numbers every night? How many women was he dating?

  Ellie exhaled, appalled with herself. What did it matter? She wasn’t his keeper. He could talk to any woman he wanted.

  “Here we go.” Carter slid a business card across the bar, pocketing the rest. “Call Neville. He’ll get the connection to big-name auction houses like Sotheby’s or Christie’s.” He sipped his drink, while she accepted the broker’s business card. “Tell him you won’t accept less than one million.”

  “Dollars?” Ellie nearly choked. That amount covered all her father’s debts and back-taxes, putting the hotel in the clear. But it wouldn’t include the renovations necessary to bring to hotel back to half of its former glory. “You really think the liquor and wine is worth that much?”

  “Collectors can be rabid when it comes to their obsession. The stash could go for even more.”

  She took a sip of her rum, this one more palatable than the first, and wondered, “Carter, how did you know the secret room was there?”

  “I went down to the basement earlier to inspect the pipes and boilers. At one point I was following this series of pipes along the ceiling when I noticed one pipe separated from the others and disappeared overhead. I didn’t remember a room there. Curious, I dug a space around the pipe since the wood was damp and rotting. I reached up until I hit polished wood floorboards. I figured there had to be a room there.”

  She strove for a nonchalant tone. “You were in the basement?”

  “I poked around for a few hours early this morning, checking the boiler pressure, the condition of the pipes, looking for any leakage.” He frowned.

  Seeing his look of concern, Ellie’s throat tightened. The last time she went down to the basement was with the town’s plumber who’d shared unfortunate news. Tree roots had penetrated the plumbing system. An entire section of piping had to be ripped out and replaced with PVC pipes before a buyer would even take a second glance.

  The pipes hadn’t been replaced. There was no money. And as of now, there was no buyer.

  Unless she convinced Carter that their booze-stocked secret room made it worth buying and renovating the hotel—basement to attic—no one else would see their fun discovery before the structure was condemned. Except Arnoff Applestone.

  She cleared her throat. “I had someone take a look at the plumbing. Everything is supposed to be okay,” she lied.

  Carter set his glass down. “Ellie, everything’s not okay.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” She took a deep swig of her drink.

  “The pipes I followed to that old room were slick, dripping with condensation. It’s the end of November, and while this has been a warmer season for South Carolina, pipes don’t do that in winter.”

  “How do you know?” she asked into her glass, downing another gulp.

  “Growing up with a single mom, I handled a lot of things most kids that have dads don’t deal with. That includes fixing things that are broken.”

  Carter always had a knack for fixing the irreparable. Had she been the broken thing he’d tried to fix? Was she just another one of his projects?

  When they first met he’d rescued her. In some ways she was still adrift—in need of his rescue now more than ever. A thought stabbed at her mind. Had he seen this as an opportunity to play hero? To manipulate her emotions until she was desperate, begging, while he dangled his millions in front of her face?

  Emotions riled, she plunked down her glass. “I’m not as broken as I seem, Carter. I’m not desperate for your money. I don’t need saving.”

  He said evenly, “Don’t you?”

  She met his steady gaze. “You’re here to prove I do.”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  The smoky look in his eyes spoke of seduction, and he answered softly, “You.”

  Heat rushed into her cheeks. “You’re just like the other investor. Here with an agenda.” She downed her drink and scooted her stool back. “While I have to stand by and accept it.”

  Grabbing her elbow, he demanded, “What other investor?”

  She glared at him. “Arnoff Applestone.”

  “The casino owner from Atlanta?” He looked appalled.

  “What does it matter? You’re acting just like him, a rich guy who thinks he’s superior to everybody else and can buy people like commodities. Forget it, Carter. You can go sell that crap somewhere else.”

  Wrenching from his grasp, she stormed away.

  “Ellie.”

  He called her twice more. She ignored him all three times. She wasn’t like the women who worked for him—or any of his women, for that matter—a slave to his commands.

  Steaming mad, she went to her room, threw on a pair of Nike’s, and struck out toward the beach. She needed to walk, to cool her temper. To figure out how far she was willing to go to save her hotel.

  Only this time, she had to make up her mind. Tomorrow was Wednesday. By Friday, she’d know her fate.

  Even if she sold the 1920’s bootlegged treasure, she severely doubted it would go for the value Carter claimed. Still, there was only one way to find out. She retrieved her cell phone, praying it got reception.

  Late
fall wind made the air crisp. She could see her breath fog as she spoke to the man who picked up the other end. “Hello,” she said, “is this Neville? Hi, my name is Ellie Montgomery. I got your number from...a friend.”

  “You own the hotel on El Dorado Island,” the man stated, as if he knew her life’s intimate details.

  She hesitated. “Yes, why?”

  Stammering for a few seconds, he finally said, “You know Carter.”

  “What about him?”

  Silence followed. She thought she lost the call. Then he replied in a clipped voice, “What can I do for you, Miss Montgomery?”

  “I have something I need to sell—at auction. Carter said you could help me.”

  “What kind of ‘something’?”

  “Liquor and wine. Dozens of crates and barrels.” She felt a rush of heat fill her cheeks, hearing how inane she sounded. Who calls someone to sell off booze? “The collection dates back to the prohibition era,” she added weakly, prepared to be hung up on.

  “Is that right?” Interest rang in his voice. “Now I know why Carter referred you. Tell me more.”

  Once she explained, Neville seemed eager to go to auction with her discovery. She wondered, “How much do you think it will go for?”

  He paused. “I’d have to do some research. Off the top of my head, I’d guess five-hundred thousand.”

  “Oh.” Her hopes deflated. Although that was a lot of money, the sale proceeds alone wouldn’t clear the hotel’s debts. “Well, something’s better than nothing. Would you be interested?”

  Neville agreed, said he’d be in touch after she shipped the stock to him. She hoped her faith wasn’t misplaced. The last thing she needed was some stranger making off with her last source of income. But did she have any other choice?

  Furious that things had degraded to this point, she paced the jagged line where the ocean caressed the sand. Wasn’t anything easy or simple? Why did her dearest wishes have to come at a price?

  Miscalculating the currents, she side-stepped too late. A fresh wave rolled over her tennis shoes. Cursing, she moved higher on the beach. Clumps of wheat-colored grasses whipped back and forth in the wind. The moon hid behind a patch of clouds. A lone loon called its haunting tune into the night.

  “Thanks, I needed that,” she muttered, scowling in the loon’s direction.

  Miserable, with cold water squishing through her toes, she wondered if maybe she’d miscalculated her life in many ways. She looked up at the moon rising above the inky waves as the clouds dispersed. The sphere looked close enough to touch, as if she could walk ten feet out onto the water and catch the radiant orb that hung just beyond her reach.

  Present circumstances were not what she’d pictured for herself, but perhaps the time had come to release her dreams into the shadows and accept reality. The reality that some things were simply beyond her control.

  Silver wisps of moonlight sparkled on the crests of waves. Every wave contained beneath its surface secrets she would never know, secrets she hadn’t formed the courage to face.

  But on one thing she did not waver. She’d never leave the island. It was no longer a question of why, but when—and how—she would play mistress to Carter’s millions.

  Chapter 5

  You’re not a quitter , Ellie told herself, rationalizing what she was about to do. This is for a higher cause. You have no other choice .

  Tugging on the short hem of her pink-pinstriped skirt, she wheeled a breakfast cart toward Carter’s room. The hotel’s chef, the highest-paid worker on their meager payroll, had outdone himself.

  She knew this elegant breakfast was a precursor for later that night. Ellie and Uncle Russert were hosting a dinner party for the town’s mayor, councilman and District Attorney, possibly the police chief—if she were so unlucky.

  The chef, Pierre, had planned the entire five-course meal a month ago, and had been preparing it for the past seventy-two hours. The dinner must be exquisite, because over the span of the evening the Montgomery family would plead for the high-profile men to abstain from slapping hefty fines on them for not repaying the County Re-Development Act loans the hotel owed to the island’s city council coffers for lending her father money to improve the hotel. Which Ellie still couldn’t afford.

  Positioning the cart in front of Carter’s door, she knocked. “Carter, breakfast is here.”

  Early this morning Matilda revealed that her uncle invited Carter to the dinner. Why Russert wanted a potential investor to overhear potentially incriminating political innuendos, she couldn’t fathom. However, Carter’s astute mind would likely deduce the information whether he was present or not. Maybe the more inglorious part of the negotiations would take place behind closed doors, after lots of martinis.

  “Carter?” She knocked again, waited.

  He didn’t answer.

  Ellie bit her lip, unsure if she should wheel the cart back to Pierre’s kitchen and endure his Iron Chef explosive mood swings. Or remain to see if Carter had overslept. She checked her watch. It was only fifteen minutes after the wakeup call Carter requested.

  Anxiously tapping her nails on the cart’s handle, she knew Pierre would have a fit if she didn’t deliver the hot smorgasbord beneath the lids of these silver platters. She needed the cranky kitchen commando to stay serene so dinner prep would go smoothly.

  Nothing will ruin tonight, Eleanor. Not even you . Her uncle’s words resounded in her mind like cymbals crashing in an echo chamber.

  “Where is Carter?” She raised her fist to knock again.

  Suddenly two hands cinched her waist from behind. Carter’s low, sensual voice rumbled in her ear. “Bringing me breakfast in bed?”

  Flushing, she whirled around. “What are you doing up?”

  “Went for a jog.” He looked delectable all disheveled, his damp sleeveless shirt revealing mounds of sexy arm muscles, his forehead beaded with sweat, blondish hair tousled like the morning after an erotic all-nighter.

  “I see.”

  “Good timing. I’m starved.” He wiped his forehead with the towel around his neck then slid his key card into the door.

  Ellie pushed the breakfast cart in behind him. “I’m surprised to see you awake this early.”

  He shrugged. “Pretty normal for me. When you caught me in the shower Sunday,” he reminded, a grin sliding onto his lips, “I’d been up late Saturday night dealing with my personal life before I hopped the jet to get here. Sundays are my day to sleep in.”

  “Dealing with?” she repeated, as she set the cart beside the dining table.

  “Women issues,” he said absently, lifting the lid off one of the platters. “God, this smells good.” Aromatic spices filled the air. Fresh rosemary, oregano and thyme from the omelets and sausages mingled with the syrupy sweetness of buckwheat pancakes and strawberry-filled crepes.

  For some reason the hint to his personal—and sexual—life made Ellie’s skin blaze. He’d said women . Did that mean he was seeing more than one?

  Tumultuous emotion crept up on her like a storm on a clear day, suddenly shocking her with lightning-bright jealousy. She swayed under the jolt of it. Just like she had when Carter was still a lifeguard and women draped themselves all over him, right in front of her.

  To be fair, they didn’t know she and Carter were crazy in love. No one did. They hid their relationship so her father wouldn’t find out. That didn’t mean watching other girls fawn over his sexiness was less excruciating. They got into plenty of fights because of it, but Ellie always knew one thing for sure—Carter was as smitten and devoted to her as any man alive.

  And I gave that up...for what? A ruined hotel, tons of debt, and a heart full of regret?

  “Earth to Ellie. Are you with us?”

  She pulled herself into the present. “Sorry, I guess I spaced out for a second.”

  “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine.” She loosened her grip on the china plate in her hand as she dished out spinach soufflé.

  T
he plate was barely in front of him before he stabbed his fork into the fluffy texture. His eyes rolled back in his head. “This is heaven.”

  What did she have to be jealous about anyway? She added rosemary-spiced pork sausage patties to Carter’s dish.

  After all, she was the one who got engaged a year after he left. To the man her father had approved of. The man who managed to shred one-hundred years of the hotel’s thriving glory into a heap of bad advertising investments. All for greed.

  “Please,” Carter said, gesturing to the chair next to him, “share breakfast with me.”

  As she hovered over the morning meal, she thought of Steven Jacquard. How could she have ever believed Steven would replace Carter? He’d used her to get to her father’s wealth. Only he found out Daddy was already deep in debt, so Steven wouldn’t marry into the millions he’d expected.

  “Ellie,” Carter said, raising an eyebrow, “it’s rude to ignore an invitation.”

  “Right.” She sank onto the chair cushion as despair washed over her.

  “Where has that beautiful mind escaped to?” he asked, sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear.

  Forcing a laugh, she assured, “Nowhere important.”

  His fingers slid down to cup her chin. “You think after all the time I loved you, I don’t know when you’re upset?”

  Involuntarily, she pressed her hand against his. Their fingers separated, making room for the other’s grasp, and closed together in perfect synchronicity. “Why do you have to do that?”

  “What?”

  “Keep referring to our past.” Her lashes lowered. “I feel torn right every time you do.”

  Expression indecipherable, he squeezed her fingers. “You’re in good company. Biscuit?”

  With a quick laugh, she nodded. He released the tongs and the pastry dropped onto her plate. She couldn’t help thinking their simple exchange was the most honest they’d been with each other in almost thirteen years. It felt right, deep down in the place where she privately believed she and Carter had always been meant for each other.