“This traffic’s a nightmare. We’re going to be late.”

“Dad, don’t worry. There’s plenty of time,” Holly Rochester said to her father.

Ralph took no notice of her as he urged his driver to take a different route through San Francisco’s Pacific Heights suburb.

Holly pulled at her skirt, attempting in vain to feel more at ease. Usually she wore pantsuits or cute dresses for work, but today she’d put on a stiff and stuffy gray suit specifically bought for the upcoming meeting. Together with her silk scarf, pearl earrings, and designer purse, she looked conservative, reserved, in control….and totally not her. But that was the whole point. This was the start of the new her. Goodbye to being the black sheep of the family, to fighting the pressure of the Rochester name. Starting today, she was embracing her heritage.

Her grandfather had built the Rochester empire. A ruthless businessman, he’d passed his fortune to his two sons, but Ralph had bowed out of the day-to-day running. Today, the hotel and property management company was run by Kirk—Holly’s brother—and Lex, her cousin. In her younger days, Holly had rebelled against the Rochester fortune, joining protests against their projects, causing her cousin once to suspect her of industrial espionage. Then, a couple of years ago, her older brother had persuaded her to join the company, but she’d never been wholehearted about her role. Until recently.

Ralph turned back to Holly. “Did you study the briefing notes on the Gilberts that I sent you?”

“Yes, Dad. I went over them last night.”

“You only read the report last night?” Her dad raised an eyebrow. “You should’ve done it days ago.”

Holly curled her fingers around her purse, determined not to react to her dad’s criticism. “Sorry, yes, I should have, but I had other things on my mind.”

Like wondering if she’d ever meet a certain man again. A man with black hair, magic hands, and the most incredible, sizzling green eyes. She pushed the image away. Why did he still monopolize her thoughts? More than two weeks had passed. It was just a one night stand, something that never should’ve happened. Why couldn’t she forget him?

“Other things?” Ralph leaned forward, his expression intense. “Holly, nothing’s as important as buying the Halifax Hotel from the Gilberts. Nothing.”

Holly eyed her father. It wasn’t like Ralph to involve himself in the hotel business. After Holly’s mother had died fifteen years ago, he’d devoted himself to the Rochester Foundation and his ever-expanding art collection. So much so that he barely paid any attention to anything else, including his children. But a month ago, he’d learned the eccentric Gilbert family was finally going to sell the Halifax Hotel that had been shut for more than a dozen years, and Ralph had suddenly declared that the Rochesters had to have it, whatever the cost.

“Why is it so important?” Holly asked.

“In its heyday the Halifax was a landmark hotel. It’s an architectural masterpiece, an art deco jewel, and I’ve heard”—Ralph’s eyes gleamed—“all its features are still intact.”

Art. Was that all the Halifax meant to her father? No surprise there. Art was his passion. Art was what he’d turned to when her mother unexpectedly died. It hadn’t left him with much time for her, a bewildered, motherless twelve-year-old. The old hurt prickled deep within, but she brushed it aside, like she always did. Ralph might not have been the most supportive father, but that was in the past, and she was glad to see him so enthused.

“Now, getting back to the Gilberts.” Ralph wagged a finger at her. “Lizzie and Humbert Gilbert aren’t your usual family. They don’t give up anything lightly, including their property. That’s why the Halifax has stood empty for so long. Plenty of people have made them offers, myself included, but they’ve turned everyone down. Putting in the highest bid isn’t going to be enough.”

“Is that why we’ve been invited to their house today?” Holly asked. “They want to vet all the bidders before making their choice?”

“That’s my guess.” Ralph nodded before casting his critical gaze over Holly. “You look good.” She opened her mouth to express surprised thanks but he continued, “But your hair. I don’t know about that blanched white color. Couldn’t you have made it natural brown or something that doesn’t stand out so much?”

Holly touched the feathery strands of her platinum bob that was her signature look. “But, Dad—”

“It’s too late now. But this is a very important meeting. You do realize that, don’t you?”

She swallowed down another retort. “Yes, Dad.”

“It’s a good thing Kirk is coming with us. Just stay in the background and don’t say anything inappropriate.” He held up a hand as she started to protest. “Holly, I know how you can mouth off sometimes. I just don’t want anything going wrong today, okay?”

Luckily, the car had slid to a halt outside Kirk’s house where they were due to pick up her brother before heading to the Gilberts. Holly grabbed at the door handle. “I just want to say hi to Cassie. Won’t be long,” she said over her shoulder even as her dad started complaining about being late.

As she jumped out of the car, she almost collided with a jogger. For a split second his thick black hair and broad shoulders made her breath catch—Arlen, here in San Francisco?—but then she realized his arms were clean of tattoos, and her heart dipped. Damn, was she that caught up about a man that she was looking out for him on every street? They hadn’t talked about where they came from or what they did for a living. They were just two strangers in neighboring hotel rooms in Lake Tahoe who’d hooked up for one night. One earth-shattering night, but she’d have to stop dwelling on him.

Or, she could track him down. The Lake Tahoe hotel did belong to the Rochesters. She could call the manager and ask for the details of a guest. But doing that for her own personal use was totally against company policy, and she was trying to turn over a new leaf.

Shaking her head, she hurried up to her brother’s house.

“Hey, sis.” Kirk greeted her with a kiss before raising his eyebrows at her outfit. “What’s this you’re wearing? Are you going to a charity lunch or a political fundraiser?”

Holly aimed a punch at his shoulder. “Knock it off. This is the new, conformist me, ready to wow those Gilberts with my business babble. Even if Dad doesn’t have much faith in me.”

Kirk gave her a sympathetic smile. “You don’t have to put yourself through this, you know. This schmoozing stuff can be a drag, but I’m used to it. You can skip the Gilbert meeting if you like.”

“Thanks, but I’ve told you I’m finally embracing my Rochester name instead of fighting it. I have to start somewhere, and this Halifax Hotel sounds interesting, especially since it’s got Dad all fired up.”

“You’re sure?” Kirk still looked doubtful. At six years her senior, he’d always been the protective older brother, and, like her father, he had a hard time seeing her as an equal. “You could always stay here and keep Cassie company.”

“I’d love to have Holly’s company,” a tall, heavily pregnant woman said as she shuffled into the foyer, “but she’s going with you, Kirk.”

“Sweetheart, I thought you were resting upstairs.” Kirk hurried to his wife and cupped her elbow. “You want to put your feet up in the den?”

“No, I thought I’d do a few miles on the treadmill.” Cassie paused a couple of seconds before patting his anxious face. “Oh, honey, I was just kidding. Shouldn’t you and Holly get going before your dad has an aneurism?”

“Yeah, sure.” With obvious reluctance, Kirk shrugged on his suit jacket before giving his wife a long, lingering kiss, his hand splayed over her impressive bump.

Holly nibbled on her bottom lip. Honestly, these two were as sappy as a couple of high-school sweethearts, but she had to admit she envied them.

“About time,” Ralph barked when they climbed into the car. After a brief enquiry about Cassie, he launched straight into the Gilberts, aiming all his statements at Kirk.

Holly leaned back in her seat and kept her mouth shut. She knew she hadn’t earned the respect of her family, knew that it would take time. But she was determined to gain that regard eventually. No more acting out, or mouthing off. No more crazy stuff.

Like checking into one of the Rochesters’ hotels in Lake Tahoe under a fake name, flirting with the hot guy in the room next door, and then spending the night with him having crazy sex.

She sighed silently. Yeah, no more nights like that. She’d come to her senses, hadn’t she? That’s why she’d crept out of his room before dawn and checked out of the hotel. No one there knew who she really was.

She could imagine how her brother and father would react if they found out. Just Holly acting out again, like she always does. Doesn’t she know that sleeping with a hotel guest is not only tacky but against our company policy? Let’s face it; she doesn’t have it in her to contribute to the business. She’d lose what little credibility she had, and just when she’d decided to get serious about her role in the family business.

She’d done the right thing. But that didn’t make it any easier forgetting the guy.

Who was he? Where did he live? What did he do? Questions they’d agreed were trivial that night. But now she was left wondering. All she had was a name—Arlen—and an indelible memory of his sea-green eyes, his wide, sensual mouth, and the phoenix tattoo that writhed over his ripped abs.

He could be a motorcycle gang-member or a cage fighter or a CIA operative. He could be anybody from anywhere. Odds were she’d never bump into him again. And that was a good thing because she had to concentrate on being a proper Rochester.

***

Dane Schofield studied the man sitting opposite him in the striped wingback armchair. Apart from the slight jaundice, he didn’t look like a man with advanced stage pancreatic cancer. The hair was grayer, the facial lines deeper, but his stance was still upright, the eyes and jaw as aggressive as always.

Despite himself, a chill settled in the base of Dane’s spine as memories of those pitiless eyes invaded him. He gripped the armrests of his chair. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He wasn’t a victim, an outsider. His father had no power over him now.

So why was he here in his father’s penthouse? Why had he listened when his father had called him out of the blue after a dozen years of complete silence? After everything he’d endured, did he still want to be a part of this family? Yes, he did. For his dead mother’s sake. That was the only reason why he’d met with Martin Schofield and agreed to his bizarre succession plan for the Schofield business empire.

Martin drummed his fingers on the armrest. “Eric will be here soon.”

Oh yeah, Eric, the firstborn, the apple of Martin’s eye. Growing up, Eric was everything Dane wasn’t. Athletic, confident, arrogant. A chip off the old block. He must be spewing that Martin wasn’t handing him complete control of the company like so many people—Dane included—had expected. Still, Eric stood a good chance of gaining that control if Dane failed his father’s test, which, given his lack of experience in the hotel business, was almost inevitable.

A tap on the door of Martin’s study had Dane turning in his chair. But instead of Eric, a teenage girl sauntered in, dressed in ripped jeans and midriff top, earphone cords dangling around her slim neck.

Martin frowned. “Saffron? What do you want?”

The girl pushed away the long blonde hair hanging over her face and glanced at Dane. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi, Saffron.”

His half-sister had been just three when Dane had stormed out of the Schofield mansion following the final confrontation with his father. In the twelve years he’d been away, she’d barely registered in his consciousness, but since he’d been back he’d met her once. On the surface Saffron seemed like the typical, monosyllabic adolescent, more interested in her phone than adults, but Dane wondered how she was faring in this less than idyllic atmosphere, especially since her parents had divorced.

“What is it, Saffron?” his father asked, a rough edge to his voice. “We’re expecting Eric soon.”

The teenager pursed her lips. “I maxed out my credit cards. Can I have a hundred bucks?”

Before Martin could reply, the phone on his desk started ringing. He waved impatiently at his daughter. “Don’t bother me now.”

Biting her lip, Saffron whirled around and stomped out on bare feet. Martin was already talking on the phone. Dane rose to his feet and followed his sister out of the study.

“Hey, wait up,” he called out to her in the hallway.

She paused and turned to look at him, her mouth turned down, her fingers clamped around her earphone cord.

“What do you need a hundred bucks for?” he asked.

Saffron shrugged. “What’s the point in going shopping if I don’t buy something?” She said it in a tone that suggested he was an idiot.

“It’s Friday. Shouldn’t you be at school?”

She looked startled. “Well, yeah, but he doesn’t care.” She jerked her chin in the direction of the study.

“Huh. Sounds a bit like what I went through at your age. The not caring bit.”

Her eyes widened, and her shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, I’ve heard a few stories about you clashing with Dad. You were a total badass.” There was noticeable admiration in her tone.

“Yeah, well, I don’t recommend you follow the same path.” He folded his arms. “Do you still see your mom?”

“Not hardly. She’s somewhere in India aligning her chakras.”

Poor kid. Abandoned by one parent, neglected by the other.

“I know I’m just a boring adult to you, but we could hang out together sometime, if you like” Dane said.

Her face brightened for a moment before she seemed to remember herself. “Yeah, sure, whatevs.” She rested a hand on her hip. “So what were you and Dad talking about?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Dane decided to be open with his half-sister.

“It’s like this. You know Martin cut me out of his life years ago, but I guess with his cancer he’s had a change of heart. He’d like me to be part of the family business, but first I have to prove myself. Martin wants me to win the bid to buy this rundown hotel. I don’t know anything about hotels or winning bids. I don’t even know if I want to be part of Schofields.”

“So why do it then?”

He ran a hand over his hair. Why do it? Because before his mom had died she’d extracted a promise from him never to turn down a chance to make peace with Martin. She must’ve guessed he’d quit home as soon as he could. Even when he couldn’t get far enough away from him he’d tried to keep that promise. A few times each year he’d sent a postcard, never getting a reply, never expecting one either. In the meantime, he’d built his own business, amassed a fortune through sheer hard work. He was a genuine, self-made millionaire now. And then, a month ago, out of the blue, his father had contacted him, asked him gruffly to come to San Francisco. Dane’s first reaction had been to tell him to get stuffed. But he had a promise to keep.

“Because my mom would like it,” he said, deciding his sister didn’t need to know the bitter details. “This hotel bid, it’s Martin’s way of offering reconciliation without coming off as weak. I think we both know I don’t have a hope in hell of getting it, but I’ll go through the motions to keep him happy.”

With the help of the Schofields’ finance department, Dane had come up with a reasonable bid proposal, but he still had to sell it, and that’s where his inexperience in the hotel business was likely to let him down.

Saffron shook her head. “Don’t know why you’re bothering. You’re rich and free. You could do whatever you want, go wherever you choose.”

“I know.”

Instead of pandering to his dad, he could be out there searching for his mystery woman. Olivia. She was out there somewhere; she could even be strolling outside his dad’s building right this minute. The night they’d spent together was branded in his mind forever. One sizzling night of sex and laughter and connection. The next morning he’d woken to an empty bed. The plummeting of his stomach still lingered.

The hotel where they’d stayed naturally refused to hand out information on their guests. He had a PI working on the case. So far, no luck. As soon as Dane was finished with this hotel bid, he’d get back to tracking his woman down. Sure, there was always the chance that meeting her again would be a letdown, but she was worth the risk. And besides, he’d never be able to rest until he’d found her.

“I hope you win,” Saffron said, breaking into his thoughts. “It’d be cool if Eric wasn’t in charge of everything.” She grimaced as she fiddled with her earphones. “Dad says when he goes, Eric will be my guardian. Ugh. Can’t think of anything worse.”

Dark memories clawed at Dane. Memories of Eric crowing over him, shoving him, punching him. Loser. Jackass. Mommy’s boy. His gut clenched. He could understand why Saffron didn’t want Eric controlling her life.

The front door to the penthouse opened. His brother Eric strolled in and smirked at them.

“Hey, it’s Dumb and Dumber.”

Dane cocked his head. “Hey, it’s The Biggest Loser.”

Saffron smothered a giggle. Eric threw her a poisonous glare before returning his attention to Dane. “Watch your tongue, shrimp.”

When Dane was a boy, he’d never stood a chance against his larger, stronger brother. But in the twelve years since he’d left home, he’d gained several inches and a whole lot of muscle. He was heavier and taller than Eric now. Plus, he’d been in enough bar brawls to know how to take care of himself.

“Or what?” Dane spread his feet apart and folded his arms. “You’re gonna give me one of your special noogies again?”

Eric puffed out his chest. Go on, Dane silently dared him. Take a swing at me. Just one.

“Don’t need to,” Eric snapped. “I’m going to enjoy watching you fall flat on your face all by yourself today. You don’t stand a chance of winning the bid.”

Something about the arrogant shithead loosened Dane’s tongue. “Oh yeah? Care to put a bet on that, bro?”

“Betting? Is that how you scrape by these days?”

“I scrape by okay. Is fifty grand too rich for you?” Jesus, what was wrong with him? He never bet on anything, but Eric always knew how to get under his skin.

Eric gave a scoffing laugh. “You’re on.”

“Good. When I win, I’ll give your fifty grand to Saffron. She can buy a Merc with your dough.”

Saffron chuckled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Eric took a menacing step toward his sister, but she scampered away, still grinning. “That little bitch—”

Dane interrupted him. “Jesus, Eric, she’s your sister!”

“Half-sister, and she’s still a bitch.” Eric wiped his mouth. “When Dad goes I’m going to enjoy making her life miserable.”

Dane stared at his brother. Shit. Eric had everything—money, power, position, and the lion’s share of their father’s approval. But it wasn’t enough. He’d bullied Dane, and now he’d turned his attention to Saffron, and she had no one to protect her. Except for Dane. He could talk to his dad, try to get him to show an interest in Saffron. But first he had to impress Martin by clearing that hurdle he’d set him.

Suddenly, there was a lot more riding on this Gilbert bid than Dane had anticipated, and he wasn’t sure he was up to it.

***

As they approached the Gilberts’ mansion, Dane tugged at his cuffs and cricked his neck. He wasn’t used to suit and tie. When he was running his motorcycle retail business back in Texas, he’d show up to work in jeans, leather jacket, and boots. But now, as a representative of the Schofield empire, he wore a hand-tailored, charcoal gray suit with a white dress shirt and silk tie.

“You should have had a shave,” Martin said, sitting opposite him in the chauffeured limo.

Dane fingered the stubble on his jaw. He kept his two-day-growth carefully trimmed, but of course to his dad it just looked like he was too lazy to bother. Maybe the Gilberts, who were in their seventies, would think the same thing. Damn.

Seated next to his dad, Eric gave him another smirk.

“At least your goddamn tattoos are covered up,” Martin continued to grumble. “Don’t want the Gilberts thinking my son is some gangster.”

“Tattoos are pretty mainstream these days,” Dane said.

His father shook his head. “The Gilberts don’t live in the real world. They do things their own theatrical way. That’s why they’ve invited all the bidders to their house, and in secret, too. We won’t know who we’re up against until we get there.”

“We?” Eric turned to his father. “What’s this ‘we’ business? Dane has to get the Halifax Hotel all by himself. That’s the challenge you set. You can’t help him.”

Martin waved off his son’s objections. “Yes, yes. Dane’s on his own. But I’m curious to see who the competition is.”

“Plenty of people want to get their hands on that hotel.” Eric smiled at Dane. “I’d say your chances of winning are less than one percent.”

Dane smiled back at him. “Get your checkbook ready, bro. I’m not losing today.”

But as they walked up to the Gilberts’ mansion, he wondered what he’d let himself in for. A butler greeted them at the front door and showed them through to a huge reception room hung with enormous chandeliers and gloomy portraits of long dead ancestors. It felt like he’d walked into Downton Abbey, Dane thought as a server offered them crystal flutes of sparkling champagne. About thirty people mingled in the reception room, all of them in formal suits, the women included.

The Gilberts came up to welcome them. The septuagenarian brother and sister were small and spry, Lizzie wearing a long floral dress, white gloves, and ropes of pearl necklaces, while Humbert sported a cream suit, cream loafers, and white Panama hat.

“Oh, my.” Lizzie peered at Dane’s stubble after they’d shaken hands. “That’s an interesting look, young man.”

“Lizzie, he might be one of those hippy fellows,” Humbert said.

“Really! How interesting.”

As soon as the Gilberts moved on, Eric said to Dane, “I don’t think they’d be happy selling their precious hotel to a ‘hippy fellow.’”

Dane was about to answer back when his father nudged Eric. “Look over there. It’s the Rochesters. Why do they have to turn up? Damn Rochesters.”

Following the direction of his father’s scowl, Dane saw two men standing on the opposite side of the room. They were both tall and immaculately dressed, exuding success and confidence.

“So those are the Rochesters,” Dane said. “Our mortal enemies, right?”

Eric turned on him. “Don’t joke. The Rochesters are a bunch of hyenas always stealing from under our noses.”

Since Dane had returned to San Francisco, he’d heard plenty of grousing from his father about the Rochesters. Their rivals ran a very successful business, which was why he’d checked into one of the Rochesters’ hotels in Lake Tahoe under a false name two weeks ago. To see what the opposition was doing so right. Only problem was, the sultry woman in the room next door had completely distracted him from his mission.

“Huh, Ralph Rochester.” Martin shook his head. “Didn’t realize he was getting involved again. And that’s his son, Kirk.” He turned to Dane, rubbing his hands. “Well, this puts more fuel in the rocket. If the Rochesters are in this race, then you definitely have to win it for us.”

“You don’t stand a chance,” Eric scoffed.

“Be quiet, Eric. I’m talking to Dane.”

What was happening? His father favoring him at Eric’s expense? Surprised, Dane focused his attention on his father. “Why don’t you like the Rochesters? Is it personal?”

“No time to go into that now.” Clapping a hand on Dane’s shoulder, Martin lowered his voice. “Just remember you’ll be doing me a huge favor if you get one over them, son.”

Dane’s chest tightened. His father was practically hugging him and calling him ‘son’. When last had that happened? Never. Things were changing, and all because of this challenge.

If he beat the Rochesters and won the bid, then he’d gain Martin’s approval. He’d be able to honor his mom’s dying wish. He’d also be in a better position to help Saffron. And he might even be able to build that bridge between himself and his father. He’d always thought he didn’t need any relationship with his father. But the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder showed him he was wrong. No matter how far he’d come, no matter how independent and rich he was, he was still that son who wanted to please his dad.

“I’ll try my best.”

The two Rochesters were staring at them across the room. The older one—Ralph—muttered something to his son while he glared at them, his face mottled, his teeth bared. Jeez, did people hate the Schofields that much? Dumb question. He knew firsthand how ruthless his father and brother could be. Turning back to Martin, he saw the same antipathy scoring his cancer-hollowed face.

All this conflict. Did he really want to be part of it? Old instincts kicked in; the only way he knew how to survive. He stepped away from his family.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and, before they could protest, he spun around and walked away.

He was pushing past a knot of people, when a flash of platinum blonde hair caught his attention. He halted, all his attention locked onto the petite woman walking away from him, her short, silky hair gleaming like frosted silver. He sucked in a breath. That hair, that figure, that swing of her hips. It had to be…

“Olivia.”

She kept on walking. He strode forward, his head buzzing, his footfalls heavy. Seeming to sense his presence, she glanced over her shoulder, then stumbled to a halt. Blue eyes widened as pure shock washed over her face.

“Arlen?”

His ribs ached as he sucked in a breath. He couldn’t believe it. Here, of all places…

People were glancing curiously at them, but he had eyes only for her. Fine, delicate features emphasized by the feathery, pixie haircut. A slim figure, supple as a dancer. Gray suit, gray pumps, and pearl earrings. Somehow the clothes didn’t look right on her, not the woman he knew from that one, unforgettable night.

Her gaze swept over him. “Wow, you look, um, different.” She wore the same dazed expression he must have. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” But the answer was already dawning on both of them. “Are you…”

Before he could complete the question, two men appeared behind her.

“Holly?” one of them asked her. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Holly? Was that her real name? What the hell was going on?

A soft flush rose in her cheeks. “Sorry, Dad. I, er, got distracted.”

Dane tore his gaze away from her to glance at the men.

Oh, fuck no. This could not be happening. Ralph and Kirk Rochester stood on either side of her. The woman he knew as Olivia. The woman he’d been searching for, the woman he couldn’t forget.

“Holly,” he said, eyes locked onto hers. “Is that your real name? Holly Rochester?”

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “Yes.”

“And you are?” Ralph asked abruptly. His lowering brow told Dane that he’d already spotted him with Martin and Eric.

His stomach clenched, but he lifted his chin. “Dane Schofield, sir. I’m here with my father and brother, Martin and Eric Schofield.”

Ralph made a guttural noise in his throat before he put his hand on Holly’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get some clean air somewhere else.”

Holly threw a puzzled glance at Dane but didn’t protest as her father and brother led her away.