CHAPTER TWO
Honor pulled the door of her Midtown office shut with a resounding click, prompting a surprised look from Weston, her PA.
“You’re going home?” he said, making an exaggerated show of looking at his watch. “Now? But it’s only five o’clock.”
Honor lifted an eyebrow. “Thanks for the sarcasm, Wes. You know how much I appreciate it.”
“Anytime. But seriously. You live at the office.”
Tightening the belt of her cashmere trench coat, Honor picked up her briefcase and crossed over to Weston’s desk.
The reception area of St. James Investments was empty, most of her clients long gone, but her PA was still doing some last-minute tasks. He was a workaholic just like she was.
“I’m not going home. I’ve got a meeting.” She placed the folder she’d also been carrying on his desk. “Here’s the Cornwall account info back again. I’m finished with it.”
Weston picked up the folder and filed it away with his usual efficiency. “A meeting? There wasn’t one in your schedule.”
“No, I know. It’s a personal one.” Glancing down at the rose-gold Cartier Tank watch Guy had given her for her twenty-first birthday, Honor checked the time.
She had to be at O’Rourke’s, an Irish pub a couple of blocks from her office, in about twenty minutes, to meet with Eva King, the media-shy CEO of Void Angel, one of the country’s largest and fastest growing technology companies, and she did not want to be late. Especially since they were going to be talking investments.
The pub was a strange place to meet for a technology CEO but really, what did that matter? She hoped the meeting—which she’d only received a text about that afternoon, necessitating a rescheduling of a number of other meetings—was going to yield some results. Eva had been cagey when Honor had put forward the details of Guy’s hotel project and Honor supposed she couldn’t blame her. Putting money into a failing business was always going to be risky.
Then again, Eva’s company had a reputation for taking risks, as well as constantly being on the lookout for new opportunities, which was why Honor had approached her in the first place.
“Oh?” Weston looked interested. “Sounds intriguing.”
Honor just gave him a smile as she turned toward the elevators. “Not really. Need-to-know basis only, Wes dear, and you don’t need to know.” Finding investors for Tremain Hotels was her baby and with the way it was currently going—badly—it wasn’t anything she wanted to crow about.
Besides, Wes didn’t need to know that if she couldn’t find the money to get Tremain out of debt, he’d be out of a job.
And so would she.
“Spoilsport.” Wes pulled a face. “Oh well, have fun.”
Honor’s smile remained in place until the elevator doors shut. Then it vanished because, really, she had nothing to smile about. Not when she thought of the amount of her own money she’d invested in Tremain. Money she’d put in against her better judgment, purely to help Guy save his company. Money she’d lose if Tremain went down the drain.
As the elevator descended, her phone rang. She checked the screen. Guy, again.
“Hey,” she said, answering it. “And no. No news yet.” She debated whether or not to tell him about her meeting with Eva, but decided not to. No point in getting his hopes up when she didn’t have any concrete answers for him.
“Well, you be sure to let me know as soon as you get any bites.” Her stepfather’s voice was level but she could hear the undercurrent of worry in it.
“Don’t worry, I will. Look, I’ve had some interest already. Now it’s just a matter of reeling them in.”
“Who?”
“I can’t say just yet. I’ll give you an update tonight though, okay?”
Guy sighed. “Yes, all right. Your mother and I are at a gallery opening now but I’ll have my phone on me. Call me as soon as you know.”
After he’d hung up, Honor leaned back against the railing that ran around the interior of the elevator and shut her eyes.
She’d used every contact she had in an effort to get more backers for Tremain but every single one of them had refused, using words and phrases like “recession” and “economic climate.”
God. She’d promised Guy she’d help him save the chain. Promised she’d fix his debts. Because that’s what she did—she fixed things. Always had.
But what if you can’t fix this?
No. That wasn’t an option. Guy was the closest thing to a father she had, certainly a hell of a lot better than the bastard who’d been her biological father, and he believed in her. Believed she had the ability to get him out of the financial hole he’d managed to get himself into.
She couldn’t let him down. She just couldn’t. Not with her own financial security and reputation riding on it as well.
Honor opened her eyes as the doors to the elevator opened, clenched her hand tighter on the handle of her briefcase, and strode out through the foyer.
Eva King was her last hope and by God, she’d get the woman, her technology, and most importantly, her money on board if it was the last thing she did.
Going out through the building’s entrance, Honor shivered as the hard winter cold slid icy hands up her legs, the pavement slippery and wet beneath the heels of her black Louboutins.
She drew her coat tighter around her, but even the expensive wool didn’t seem to have any effect against the biting cold.
The street was crowded with traffic and people hurrying home after a long day at the office and at first, Honor didn’t notice the long black limo parked just along the entrance to her building. At least not until a man in a chauffer’s uniform stepped in front of her. “Ms. St. James? Ms. King has sent a car for you.”
Honor stopped, glancing at the limo in surprise. The windows were tinted, hiding whoever was inside completely from view. “Oh,” she said slightly nonplussed. The pub wasn’t very far away and she hadn’t expected a lift. “That’s very kind of her.”
The chauffer pulled open the door for her and stood there, waiting.
An odd foreboding went through her as she stared into the dark interior of the limo, one that had nothing to do with the cold. As if once she got inside, she’d be taken away somewhere against her will, never to return.
Are you crazy? It’s just a car.
Irritated with herself, Honor shrugged off the feeling. Yes, that’s exactly what it was. Just a car to take her to a meeting. A thoughtful gesture by the Void Angel CEO. No big deal.
Smiling at the chauffeur, she got in, the warm interior of the limo a delicious contrast to the icy evening air.
But it wasn’t until she’d sat down on the plush leather seat that she realized she wasn’t alone.
And it wasn’t Eva King in the car with her.
A man sat on the opposite seat, long legs outstretched, arms folded. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans, worn at the knees, a black T-shirt, and a battered black leather jacket.
A workingman’s outfit, completely at odds with the obvious luxury of the car.
But the male wearing it was not in any way an average workingman.
He was tall, his head almost brushing the car’s ceiling, his legs taking up most of the room in the space between them. Powerful, too. She could tell by the breadth of his shoulders and the way his leather jacket pulled tightly across them, and the cotton of his T-shirt stretched over the contours of his chest. There was something rough about him, something brutal. An aura of menace that, along with his appearance, should have been intimidating.
But Honor wasn’t intimidated. She knew him.
He was Gabriel Woolf, infamous owner of Woolf Construction, one of the biggest and most successful private construction companies in the country.
Yet that wasn’t the only reason she knew him, why every time he appeared in the media she’d stop whatever she was doing and watch. She knew him because he’d been the teenage boy standing next to her brother nineteen years ago. The day her mother had finally tracked Alex down and dragged Honor along to convince him to come home. The last time she’d ever seen the big brother she’d once adored with every breath in her body.
She’d never, ever forgotten.
Catapulted suddenly back into the past, Honor completely forgot about the meeting she was supposed to go to, about where Eva King was and why Gabriel Woolf was here instead.
“Where’s my brother?” she demanded before she could stop herself. “Where’s Alex?”
Gabriel’s eyes were very dark, in stark contrast to the deep, tawny gold of his hair. There was a brutal beauty to his features. God, she still remembered his face from all those years ago—even then he’d seemed hard. And when she’d looked into his eyes, all she’d seen was anger. It prowled around inside him like a caged animal. Back then it had frightened her.
Now she could sense it still, colder, hungrier, but this time it didn’t scare her because he wasn’t the only one who was angry.
He didn’t move. Just stared at her. “Nice to see you too, Miss St. James.” His voice was deep, lazy. A deceptive voice, the note of sensuality of it, the thread of heat, completely at odds with the cold look in his eyes. “It’s been a while.”
Honor folded her hands on top of the briefcase in her lap. “Nineteen years to be exact and you didn’t answer my question.”
“You want to talk about your brother now?”
“Knowing he’s okay would be something.”
He studied her with an oddly detached kind of focus, as if he were looking at the results of an experiment he’d just conducted. It made her uncomfortable. “Yes, he’s okay.”
If okay could be applied to a lifestyle as dissolute as Alex’s was reputed to be. “Where is he?” she demanded again.
“What makes you think I know?”
“You’re his friend, aren’t you?”
“And you’re assuming that why?”
Because once, nineteen years ago …
That doesn’t mean they’re still friends now. Also, do you really care that much about Alex?
He’d left her. Left her and her mother alone after Daniel St. James’s suicide, and hadn’t contacted them. Not once. So no, she didn’t care.
With an effort, Honor made herself relax. “I’m probably assuming a great many things, actually. Sorry, I don’t usually make demands of strangers in cars.”
“Not so much a stranger since you know who I am already.”
“Yes, well. You’re pretty recognizable.” Honor lifted one hand and leaned across the space between them, holding it out. “Nice to meet you once again, Mr. Woolf.”
For a second Gabriel stared at her hand held out like an olive branch as if he didn’t quite trust it. Then slowly he unfolded his arms and enclosed her hand in one of his. “Likewise, Miss St. James.”
Her breath caught as a wave of heat washed over her skin at his touch, her heart suddenly racing. She had to fight to keep the reaction from showing in her face.
Damn, was that what she thought it was? It had been a while since she’d felt anything like sexual attraction to a man, so she couldn’t be sure.
Honor pulled her hand away, trying not to make her shock too obvious. “And that’s as good a question as any to start with. I thought I was supposed to be meeting with Eva King.”
Gabriel leaned back against the seat, folding his arms again. “You were. I’m a friend of Eva’s. She passed on a few details regarding your quest for investors and I decided I was interested.”
Not expecting it, Honor blinked. “You’re interested in Tremain Hotels?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“But … why?”
His dark eyes were watchful as if he was gauging her reaction. “I’m in the construction business, Miss St. James. And green construction is the way of the future. It’s where the money’s at. Of course I’m interested.”
For a minute Honor didn’t quite know what to say. She’d been expecting to meet Eva, not the man she’d forever associate with Alex’s disappearance from her life. But this was a good thing, wasn’t it? If he was as interested as he claimed, then having a company like Woolf Construction as a backer could only be an asset.
And perhaps she might be able to get a bit more information about Alex from him, too. Not because she wanted to make contact—no, he’d burned that particular bridge a long time ago—but something she could take back to her mother, who’d found his abandonment particularly hard to take.
“You look surprised,” Gabriel said.
“Of course I’m surprised. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“You’ll get over it.”
Honor shifted in her seat. “What about Eva then?”
“Don’t worry about her. She’ll be involved with the tech side of things. But I’m going to be handling everything else.”
There was something about the way he said it, so arrogant—so confident—that instantly got her back up. Annoyed and trying not to show it since he was a potential client after all, Honor folded her hands back on her briefcase again. “I see. So, I take it we’re not going to be meeting in the pub then?”
His eyes had taken on a strange glitter. “That wasn’t Eva’s plan. That was mine, but right now I’ve changed my mind.”
Honor found herself gripping her briefcase tightly, a strange little twist of fear curling in her stomach. “Oh?”
“Yes. I think we need a little bit more in the way of privacy.”
“Mr. Woolf—”
Abruptly he sat forward, a sharp movement that made her heart beat fast. “Are you afraid of me, Miss St. James?” The words were soft, but there was an underlying roughness to them that Honor found almost menacing.
Her fingers felt cold against the warm leather of her briefcase, the edges sharp, digging into her knuckles.
Gabriel Woolf. What did she know about him? The rough-edged CEO of Woolf Construction. The man she’d watched over the years—not with any conscious intent, but she’d been aware of him nonetheless. Was he a man to be afraid of?
Oh, there’d been rumors about him, about how he’d gotten the money to start his company so young, especially when he’d grown up on the streets. Rumors that he’d been a drug dealer at some point, with gang links. It was a well-known fact that he’d been the president of an outlaw motorcycle club, a fact the media loved to play up. But he’d never had any charges brought against him, nor did he ever answer questions on the subject.
Yet even without those rumors, he was rather frightening. Tall, clearly muscular, and exuding such a sense of cold, powerful, tightly leashed anger, he was like a coiled spring. Or a loaded gun ready to go off at the slightest touch. So yes, maybe she was afraid of him. And, for some reason, also fascinated by him.
“No,” Honor said. “I’m not afraid of you.” She’d learned a thing or two when it came to dealing with powerful men, the kind of men rife in the world of high finance. One was to never admit to fear.
Gabriel’s dark eyes didn’t leave her face. “You’re in a strange car with a strange man going fuck knows where and you’re not afraid?”
Was he trying to intimidate her? Put her off? He was out of luck in that case. Because the second lesson she’d learned was to never back down.
“No,” she repeated. “Should I be?”
* * *
She was lying. He could see it in her stillness. In the flicker of her blue eyes as they regarded him from underneath straight, glossy, black bangs.
Her face was pointed with a sweet little bow of a mouth, long thick eyelashes, and a straight nose. Her fine-grained skin pale and soft.
She looked high-class. Sophisticated in a fancy coat and shoes with distinctive red soles. He knew shoes like that—he’d bought numerous pairs for lovers before.
Expensive. Just like her. She had that perfectly presented, smooth look to her that only the priciest kind of woman had.
The kind of woman that a man with a past like his wasn’t ever supposed to touch.
“Yeah, you should be afraid,” Gabriel said. And he meant it. He was hard. Ruthless. Had done some bad stuff to get where he was today and regretted none of it. The only rule he had—and one he never broke—was to never harm a woman. In fact, when he’d been president of the Angels, he’d become the go-to guy for women having trouble with their boyfriend, or husband, or who’d been menaced by some stranger. Go to Church, they said. He’ll sort it out.
And he had. He’d taken pleasure from it. And if some guys had gotten hurt it was their own fault. Of course, a psychiatrist would have had a field day with that. Would have said he saw his father in each abuser.
The psychiatrist would have been right.
Then again, a little fear never hurt. It was healthy. Guaranteed respect. And sent her fair warning not to screw with him.
Honor raised an eyebrow—a mannerism that was startlingly reminiscent of Alex. “And why is that?”
“Because I’m not a nice man, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart? Oh, please.”
He almost smiled at the look on her face. “Honor, then.”
“That would be preferable.”
“Good to see you, Honor.” He didn’t offer his hand again. He could still feel the warmth of her palm against his from their previous touch. A subtle heat that rested on his skin like a ray of sun. Dangerous. But useful.
Sure, he’d never hurt a woman but he had no problem with using her if it was necessary.
“Nice to see you again, too,” Honor replied with stiff courtesy. She didn’t say his name and he suspected that was deliberate.
Again he had to resist the urge to smile. Had she felt this electricity between them, too? And was she discomforted by it?
He watched her shift around on the seat, her knuckles white where they clutched the handle of her black leather briefcase. Oh yeah, she was.
“So where are we going if we’re not going to the pub? Or do you have a lair you’re dragging me off to?” she asked, again with the raised eyebrow and a certain dry humor. Nervous and trying not to show it, he guessed. Easy enough to tell by the way she was clutching that briefcase.
“I have a private club I’m a member of,” he replied. “I thought we’d go there to discuss your proposal.”
He wasn’t much for fancy restaurants or exclusive bars. That was Alex’s territory, not his. But Honor St. James didn’t belong in a place like O’Rourke’s. With her brother’s coloring, black hair, and blue eyes, she had a delicate, catlike beauty that drew the eye. Drew attention.
And he didn’t want attention. He preferred to get on with the job, not create a fuss.
“Okay.” She patted the top of the briefcase. “I brought along some information you might—”
“I’ve got the information already,” he interrupted. After the meeting with the others two nights ago, he’d got his research team to look into Tremain Hotels, turning up everything they could find.
The chain was, indeed, seriously in debt, which was excellent news from his perspective. And also the basis for the plan he’d been turning over in his head for the past couple of days now. A fairly simple plan when all was said and done—sink money into Tremain. Buy as much stock as he could. Make sure he had the controlling shares. Then maybe he’d bankrupt it. Or maybe he’d keep the lot and make Tremain Hotels part of his own empire.
Whatever he’d do, one thing was certain. He’d take something of his father’s and make it his. And he’d make sure Tremain knew who it was who’d made him pay. And why.
“You have?” Honor blinked. “Oh, right. Of course you have. And I guess you’ve read over the various reports that I sent to Eva?”
“Yes. But I’m not discussing that now. We’ll have plenty of time after we reach the club.”
She opened her mouth. Shut it again. “Perhaps we can talk about my brother then.”
He hadn’t quite decided how he’d tackle her questions, because obviously she would have them. Alex had just shrugged his shoulders when Gabriel had asked him about it. “Tell her or don’t tell her,” he’d said. “I don’t give a shit.”
“I’m still his friend,” Gabriel said, deciding. “If that’s what you want to know.”
Her eyes were dark, like Indian sapphires, the expression in them unreadable. “So you see him then? Regularly?”
“Semi-regularly, yes.”
“Does he know…” She stopped, looked down at her hands. “Does he know you’re meeting me?”
“Yeah, he does.”
“I see. I don’t suppose…” She trailed off again. “No, don’t answer that question.”
“Did he want me to pass a message on to you?” Gabriel finished for her. “No, he didn’t.” Brutally honest perhaps, but it was better to know these things straight up.
Honor’s posture stiffened a little but her expression remained neutral. So she had armor. He supposed a woman like her must need it, working as she did in such a male-dominated industry. “Well,” she said, a thin film of ice coating her words, “I didn’t expect him to. Not after nineteen years of silence.” Her blue eyes were very direct. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that, did you?”
“No. That was all Alex’s decision.”
“Ah, okay, then.” She looked down at her hands again. “That answers pretty much all my questions in that case.” The cold had bled out of her tone, leaving behind it a hint of pain.
Gabriel studied her. He’d never judged his friend for leaving his mother and sister after his father’s death. Mainly because he’d known a man driven by demons when he saw one and Alex seemed driven by the entire population of hell. So when Alex had told him he’d left home and wouldn’t go back, Gabriel had accepted it. Who was he to judge anyway? After the things he’d done? If Alex needed to leave to survive whatever was eating him up inside, then Gabriel had no problem with that.
Yet looking at Honor now, hearing the echoes of an old pain in her voice, he couldn’t help wondering at his friend’s continued refusal to make contact.
It’s not your business. And you can’t afford to get involved.
No. He couldn’t. The only thing that mattered was taking down Tremain. Honor’s stepfather. That was the extent of it.
He had to stay on target and that meant finding out more about her relationship with the guy. About why she was trying to save his company. Look for any weaknesses that could be exploited.
The car began to slow, coming to a halt outside the Second Circle Club.
Honor stared out the window, her eyes widening a little. She glanced at him, then back at the elegant old building outside. “Here?”
He rather enjoyed her look of disbelief. Part of him would always get a kick out of shocking people who judged him on his past and the streets he’d come from.
“Yeah, here. Pretty good for a working stiff like me, don’t you think?”
Her blue eyes flicked back to him. “You? A working stiff? I think you haven’t been a working stiff for a long time, Mr. Woolf.”
“Gabriel.”
“When I’m ready, Mr. Woolf. When I’m ready.”
A small thrill of unwelcome anticipation went through him at her resistance. Smooth, sophisticated women had never been his thing. He preferred earthier women. Women with no hang-ups, who could look after themselves and didn’t mind if things got a bit rough. Who had no expectations of anything more than a couple of nights of good, dirty fun.
Not women like Honor St. James, in other words.
Yet there were sparks in those blue eyes of hers. Sparks that promised a man a challenge. A good fight. And if there was one thing he enjoyed, it was a good fight.
Still, he needed to play it cool here because there were too many variables he didn’t know about. Before he made any move he had to do some more research. Into Tremain. Into Honor. Into the relationship between them and whether he could exploit that as well as this investment opportunity.
Guy Tremain had to pay for what he did. For what he had taken.
And the only one who could make him pay was Gabriel.
* * *
Honor didn’t know much about the Second Circle other than it was one of New York’s most exclusive private members’ clubs and getting your name on the list was supposed to be next to impossible. Well, that and the fact that her brother owned it. Not that that meant a damn thing to her.
She was surprised Gabriel Woolf was a member though. He didn’t look like the type who’d value such exclusivity. In fact, he was renowned as much for his down-to-earth business approach as he was for the fact that he never wore suits. She’d often heard the media make a big deal about how he was still a regular Joe—apart from the rumors about his past, of course—but looking at him now, Honor couldn’t understand how on earth they could have assumed that because he didn’t look like any workingman she knew.
She watched him as they entered the club, nodding a wordless greeting to the doorman, striding past the concierge in the foyer who murmured something about a table being ready for them in the restaurant.
A rough, brutal kind of power clung to him. An uncivilized, bad-boy charisma only enhanced by the jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket he wore. Honor found it mesmerizing. The way he moved, with such innate confidence, as if the world was his to bend to his command and if it didn’t, then he’d make it. Perhaps with a baseball bat.
There were a lot of confident men in the financial sector. Men in expertly tailored suits with clean-cut college good looks and the arrogance to match. But in comparison to Gabriel they suddenly all seemed like little boys playing at being men. Playing at being dangerous.
Because this guy was the real deal. And why she should like that, she had no idea.
What she did know was that letting her fledgling fascination with him show would be a mistake.
“I’m not a nice man, sweetheart…”
No, she suspected he wasn’t. But part of her dearly wanted to find out just how bad he really was.
Gabriel showed her into the restaurant and she had to fight not to stare. The place was beautiful. High ornate ceilings with chandeliers that glittered like ice crystals, low booth seats upholstered in red velvet, and circular tables of dark wood surrounded by red velvet armchairs. Some of the tables had curtains and here and there were groups of people she recognized. Politicians for the most part, but she also spotted a couple of well-known actors and their entourages, a singer with a group of admirers.
It was just the kind of place she would have loved to have been a member of simply because of the luxury factor. Nice things were Honor’s guilty pleasure. The one weakness she allowed herself, harmless and easily controllable. Designer labels and quality fabric, velvet pillows on her bed and expensive French Champagne in her fridge.
It was kind of shallow, she knew that, but still, she liked knowing that everything she had was hers, that it had been paid for with her own money and could never be taken away from her. Unlike all the things the debt collectors had repossessed when she’d been a kid, when her father’s gambling debts had come to light.
Gabriel gestured to a table set in a secluded part of the restaurant, the lighting low and intimate, giving the illusion of privacy. A waiter hovered, indicating that he’d take her coat. Honor took it off and handed it to him but kept hold of her briefcase, sliding into the booth, the red velvet smooth against the backs of her legs.
She tensed when Gabriel, instead of sitting in the armchair opposite her, slid in beside her. He wasn’t sitting particularly close and yet, Honor found herself aware of the distance between her body and his all the same.
An awareness she didn’t particularly want.
Annoyed with herself, she put her briefcase down on the seat between them, demarcating a clear line. “So, Mr. Woolf,” she began. And no, she wouldn’t give him his first name just yet. Withholding it had clearly irritated him and she had the feeling she’d need the advantage when it came to cutting a deal. “I take it you’re genuinely interested in investing in Tremain Hotels?”
He leaned back against the red velvet of the booth, the battered leather of his jacket creaking as he folded his arms. “What’s your connection?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve read some of the info you gave Eva. Tremain Hotels isn’t a client of your firm and you don’t have a stake in it. Their debts are also massive. Letting it go under would probably be the best thing and yet you’re not. Why?”
There was no point in hiding her connection. It was easy enough to find out anyway. “Guy Tremain is my stepfather. He’s poured a lot of his heart and soul into the eco-resort idea, and I think the returns on it could be good. Especially given the interest in eco-tourism these days.”
Gabriel’s dark eyes on her were sharp, focused. “But it’s not just about the returns, is it?”
A vague sense of threat gripped her. She didn’t want to reveal her stake in it just yet. It would give him a potential weakness to exploit and, of course, he would take advantage of it. He was that type of man. Careful not to let her unease show, Honor gave him a cool smile. “Please, Mr. Woolf, I’m in finance. Returns are everything.”
He stared at her for a long minute until the waiter came with the drinks list and diverted his attention.
Honor allowed herself a small, quiet breath. She didn’t know why he unnerved her quite so much. But something about the look in his eyes made her feel as if he’d stripped away her armor. Turning her back into that eight-year-old girl, holding her mother’s hand and staring at her brother as they’d confronted him all those years ago. The brother who’d once been the golden boy of the family, the brother she’d once adored and who’d left her without even a good-bye.
She still remembered the fact that Alex hadn’t looked at her. Not once. But Gabriel had. Stared at her with that same detached ferocity as he was right now. Back then she’d hated him, deciding with the logic of a child that he was the one to blame for taking her brother away.
Hated him and yet feared his cold, dark stare at the same time.
All these years later, she still felt the echoes of those same emotions, still felt the anger, the hate, and the fear.
You can’t let it affect the deal. You know you can’t.
No, she couldn’t. She had to approach this the way she approached every problem. Keep cool and calm and logical. This had nothing to do with the past. This was all about the future. Her future and Guy’s. Anything else was unimportant.
The waiter handed Honor the wine list and she ordered something, she didn’t remember what, her attention consumed by the man sitting next to her. The way the muted light of the restaurant turned his hair a deep, rich gold and gave his eyes the dark, depthless quality of a quiet lake at midnight. Softened the raw beauty of his face, making him seem approachable. Less dangerous. Almost normal.
After the waiter had gone, he said, “You’re pretty clever, little girl. But you don’t fool me.”
No, he wasn’t approachable. Or less dangerous. And she must be sure never to make the mistake of thinking he was.
There was a cut crystal water tumbler on the table in front of her so she picked it up, using the movement to cover her deepening unease. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s not the returns. You’re doing it for him, aren’t you?”
Something in his posture, in the way he was looking at her, made her feel exposed. Leaning on one elbow, she turned fully to face him. “He’s my stepfather. I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions.”
“Trying to rescue him from his own bad debts?”
“I’m trying to help him, yes.”
“Uh-huh.” Leaning his head back against the red velvet of the booth, Gabriel shot her a look from beneath surprisingly long, dark lashes. “Why don’t you tell me about it, baby? In the interest of full disclosure.”
Honor’s jaw tightened at the underlying note of command in his voice. And the patronizing pseudo-endearments. Little girl. Baby. What the hell was that all about? Putting her in her place or something? She wanted to tell him where he could stick it but of course, if she wanted to make sure Tremain Hotels remained viable, she had to keep Gabriel as a potential investor happy. She had to keep her personal emotions out of it.
“He’s new to the eco-tourism market,” she said crisply, annoyed that she had to explain. It made her aware of the fact that she’d invested quite a bit of her own money in something she wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot pole in the normal scheme of things. “There were a few errors in his research.”
“Must have been some pretty major errors given the debt.”
“Forgive me for asking, Mr. Woolf, but how does this concern you?”
“I’m looking at investing a fair amount of money into his business. His failing business. I’d say that concerns me quite a bit.”
Of course it did. And she was being overly defensive. Mostly because the whole thing worried her, too.
At that point the waiter arrived, bringing Gabriel’s beer and the glass of red wine she’d apparently ordered. Another chance to take a much needed breath.
“Dinner?” Gabriel asked her as the waiter brandished a menu.
But she wasn’t feeling very hungry or keen on spending more hours than were strictly necessary in Gabriel Woolf’s disturbing presence.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I have a few things to do tonight.”
Since when did you let a man get to you like this?
Honor sipped at her wine as Gabriel waved the waiter away, uncomfortable with the thought. Never, that was the answer. Oh, there had been plenty of men over the course of her professional life who’d thought she was an easy target. They saw someone young, feminine, and thought they could take advantage. She’d proved them wrong, of course. She’d had to.
Without respect she was nothing.
But Gabriel Woolf wasn’t like any of them and she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with him.
“You want to save him? Your stepfather, I mean.”
Honor met Gabriel’s dark gaze. “Yes,” she said flatly. The confession revealed another weakness but she knew dissembling wouldn’t work with this man.
“Why?”
“That definitely isn’t your business.”
“If you want me to give you money, little girl, then it most certainly is my fucking business.”
“Stop calling me that. I’m not a little girl.”
“Aren’t you?” The look in his eyes was steady. As if he could see right down to her soul. “A little girl trying to save her daddy. Yeah, that’s what you are. And what do you think he’ll give you in return? A car? A house? A sparkly new dress?”
The aura of danger coming off him had become even more intense though he hadn’t moved. Not even to pick up his beer.
“I’m not sure what you find so offensive about it.” She put her hands in her lap so he wouldn’t see them shake. “But my motives should have nothing whatsoever to do with your decision regarding investing in Tremain Hotels.”
“Then perhaps I won’t invest after all.” He reached out, picking up his beer. Taking a leisurely sip. “Perhaps I’ve found something better to do with my money.”
Oh, crap. If she wasn’t careful, this opportunity might slip away and then she’d be left with nothing. Then Guy would be left with his business folding and her mother once more neck-deep in debt along with her husband.
Along with herself. Wouldn’t that be a great reputation breaker? The hot-shot investor who bankrupted herself because of a bad business deal. An emotional investment.
“Fine,” she said. “Guy Tremain was more of a father to me than my real father ever was. And now that he’s counting on me to help him get this off the ground, I’m not going to fail him. Does that clear things up a little for you?”
Gabriel took another sip of his beer and put the glass down, leaning back against the red velvet of the seat. “In that case, count me in.”