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“Bernice is a genius when it comes to baking.” The wariness in her expression faded, giving way to a look of anticipation as she dragged her fingertip through the chocolate pudding spilling from the torn pastry. “I tried to hire her as a pastry chef for the Contessa, but she turned me down flat. Said she didn’t think it was a good idea for her and Alphonse to be working at the same place, that it might take some of the mystery out of their relationship.”
Jack arched his brow. “I got the impression they were in a…um…long-term relationship.”
“They’ve been dating for fifteen years, engaged for the last four. They don’t want to rush things,” she told him, the hint of a smile curving her lips.
“After fifteen years, I’d say there’s little chance of that happening.”
“It seems to work for them,” she said and brought her finger to her mouth.
There was something inherently sensual about the sight of Laura licking her finger, Jack thought. He found himself wondering what she would look like while making love. Would those green eyes darken with need and heat? Would her lips part, her breathing quicken? Would that smooth, cool skin feel as soft as it looked?
The direction of his thoughts annoyed him, but it didn’t surprise him, he admitted. He was a healthy male who enjoyed the opposite sex and the pleasures to be found in a woman’s body. But when it came to women and sex, he had no delusions. Plain and simple, he believed in lust, not love. And right now he was experiencing a serious case of lust for Laura Spencer.
She scooped another finger full of pudding and as though sensing his gaze, Laura looked up. Her body went still. Her eyes locked with his as awareness sizzled like electrical currents between them.
Jack watched as Laura’s lips parted and when he heard the slight hitch in her breath, he felt another stab of lust. The pudding on her fingertip fell with a splat onto the napkin on her desk. But her eyes remained locked with his. Not bothering to think about what he was doing or how it might impact his business, Jack pushed back his chair and started toward her. He had just reached the side of her desk when he heard the tap at the door.
A disapproving male voice came from the doorway asking, “Am I interrupting something?”
Three
For a moment, Laura couldn’t breathe. The air seemed to have backed up in her lungs as Jackson Hawke stood at the side of her desk looking at her as though he wanted to swallow her whole. And heaven help her, for a moment, she had almost wanted him to.
“Laura?”
Shaking off the moment of insanity that had gripped her, Laura yanked her attention to the doorway where her attorney, Daniel Duquette, stood looking both concerned and curious. “Daniel,” she said, her voice sounding more breathless than she would have liked. She cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”
Daniel strode from the doorway into the office, slanted a glance at Hawke before shifting his focus back to her. “I’ve been tied up in depositions in Baton Rouge all day and just got back. When I picked up my messages, there was one saying that you needed to see me, that it was urgent. The front desk said you were still here, so I decided to stop by on my way home. Is everything okay?”
Everything was far from okay, Laura thought. But now was not the time to go into all that was wrong—not with Jackson Hawke standing there, measuring Daniel with his eyes and on the heels of whatever madness had stricken her. Because it certainly had been sheer madness that had caused her to react to Hawke as she had. The man was her enemy, she reminded herself. “Not exactly. And I do need to talk with you,” she said, hoping Hawke would take the hint.
“I think that’s supposed to be my cue to leave,” Hawke said drily before he shifted his gaze from her to Daniel. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jackson Hawke,” he said and extended his hand.
Daniel shook his hand. “Daniel Duquette,” he replied, his brow creasing. “You wouldn’t happen to be the same Jackson Hawke with Hawke Industries who engineered the takeover of the Wilhelm family’s company last year, would you?”
“Guilty as charged.”
As she witnessed the exchange, Laura had a vague recollection of the small chain of family-owned inns that had been bought out by a corporation. She’d heard that the sale hadn’t been a friendly one, that the two brothers who’d owned the properties that had been in their family for years had been split on whether or not to sell. There had been a great rift in the family because of it and because of the sale. The man behind that had been Jackson Hawke?
“So what brings you to New Orleans, Mr. Hawke?”
“Business.”
“Thanks for sharing the éclair,” Laura said, eager to get rid of Hawke and talk to Daniel about the mess her mother had gotten them into.
Hawke held her gaze for several moments. “You’re quite welcome.”
“Good night, Mr. Hawke.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment, but Laura didn’t miss the gleam in his blue eyes that told her he hadn’t forgotten what had almost happened between them. “I’ll call your assistant in the morning about scheduling that meeting. Duquette,” he said with a passing glance, and without waiting for a reply he strode out of the room.
The door had barely closed when Daniel asked, “What was that all about? And what’s Jackson Hawke doing here?”
Laura sat down in her chair and released a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “He’s the reason I called you. My mother pledged her stock in the Contessa as collateral for a bank loan and defaulted on the loan. Hawke bought her note and now he’s trying to take over the Contessa.”
Daniel let out a whistle. “Damn.”fv
“My sentiments exactly,” she said. “I spoke with the bank chairman briefly by phone and he wasn’t much help. I’m going to meet with him after the Thanksgiving holidays. I know it’s late, but could you take a look at these documents and tell me if there’s anything I can do to stop Hawke from taking over the hotel?”
“Sure. Let’s see what you’ve got.” Daniel removed a pair of glasses from his coat pocket, slipped them on and began to read through the sheaf of papers she’d handed him. “I assume your mother received notices from both the bank and Hawke telling her she was in default of the loan,” he said as he flipped through the pages.
“She remembers receiving something about the payments being late. She meant to contact them and explain she needed an extension, but because of the time difference and the new club opening, she never got around to making the call.” Laura cringed inwardly as she heard herself repeating her mother’s excuse. It was typical Deirdre behavior, she thought. When confronted with a problem, more often than not, her mother would go into her Scarlett O’Hara mode and plan on dealing with the matter another day. Only she never did deal with the problem. It either took care of itself or it got worse. But this time her mother’s irresponsibility had proven disastrous.
Finally, he removed his glasses and looked up. “It looks legit. Unless your mother can come up with fifteen million dollars in the next thirty days to repay the loan, Hawke Industries can claim the stock she pledged as collateral and take over the hotel. I’m sorry, Laura.”
So was she. But she refused to give up and play dead. Already, a plan was forming in her mind. “In other words, if I can come up with the fifteen million dollars and pay off the loan before the thirty days are up, then Hawke can’t take the hotel. Right?”
“Right. But where are you going to get fifteen million dollars?”
“I don’t know,” she told him honestly. “But I’m not going to just hand over the Contessa to Jackson Hawke without at least trying to save her.”
* * *
He had given her enough time, Jack decided. It hadn’t been easy, but he had made himself wait three days—until after Thanksgiving had passed. Since his mother had walked out on him and his father all those years ago, holidays had been just like any other day as far as he’d been concerned. On those few occasions when his father had attempted to make Thanksgiving or Christmas some warm, fuzzy family event, it had invariably ended with Samuel Hawke pining for the woman who’d run out on them both, then drowning his heartache in a bottle of whiskey. Once his father had died, Jack had been able to stop pretending that holidays were some special family affair.
But something told him that that was just what they were for Laura Spencer—special, warm and fuzzy family affairs. He couldn’t help wondering how she had spent her Thanksgiving. He knew her mother was in France and that her father lived on the East Coast. He also knew she had a slew of step and half siblings scattered across the country. Evidently, she hadn’t traveled to see any of them since she was already at the hotel on the Friday morning following the big turkey day.
Or had she canceled her plans because of him? It was a strong possibility that she had, he conceded. Pushing aside a twinge of guilt that he might have caused her to spend Thanksgiving alone, Jack assured himself that Laura would make up for it at Christmas. She’d probably fly to France and spend it with her mother, he reasoned. Unless, of course, she was planning to spend Christmas with his stepbrother, Matt.
Jack considered that a moment, recalled one of the few times he had visited his mother, her new husband and stepson. The visit had been at Christmas and the entire scene had been something out of a Norman Rockwell painting—only it was a picture in which Jack hadn’t belonged. Laura would belong though. He frowned at the image of Laura with Matt and his family gathered around a Christmas tree, opening gifts, drinking eggnog. According to Fitzpatrick Investigations, she and his stepbrother had been seeing each other for more than a year and it was rumored they’d been seriously involved when she had moved back to New Orleans.
Jack frowned. He knew Matt Peterson. The man thought far too highly of himself to restrict himself to any one female. A leopard didn’t change its spots and neither would his stepbrother. Laura might think that she was the only woman in Peterson’s life, but Jack would bet his vintage Corvette that there were several someone elses. But if Peterson had devoted a year to Laura as the report indicated, his stepbrother had done so for a reason. More than likely that reason had something to do with the senatorial race Peterson was rumored to be considering. Jack considered that angle for a moment. Laura was pretty, smart, well educated and poised. While her parents might be maritally challenged, her family tree was a good one and Laura herself was scandal-free. She would definitely be an asset on a senatorial candidate’s arm and help him to get votes. Her return to New Orleans would have put a kink in Peterson’s plans, but Jack doubted the man had abandoned his goal. He might have shelved it for a while, but Peterson didn’t like losing any more than Jack did. It had been one of the few things they’d had in common. According to Fitzpatrick’s report, the pair had supposedly remained “close” friends despite her move. Just how close were they? he wondered. How many times had Matt tasted her mouth, touched that soft-looking skin, felt her body beneath his?
Envy sliced through him like a scalpel, swift and sharp. Annoyed by the stab of jealousy, Jack reminded himself that his stepbrother had nothing that he wanted. All Jack wanted was to get down to business. Determined to do just that, he entered the executive offices of the hotel. “Is she in?” he asked the receptionist, his voice sharper than he’d intended.
“Yes, but—”
Ignoring her attempts to waylay him, he marched into Laura’s office. “Good morning,” he said as he approached her desk.
“It was.”
Dismissing the barb, Jack met her gaze. Her eyes were the same clear green as the waters in St. Thomas, he decided, and damned but he couldn’t help wondering what it would take to make those eyes turn dark and smoky for him. Irritated with himself and her, Jack decided there was no point in dancing around his reason for being there. His voice was cold, brusque, as he said, “I assume you’ve had an opportunity to speak with your attorney by now.”
“I have.”
He put down his briefcase and withdrew the management contract he had prepared for Laura, along with the purchase agreement for her stock. He also pulled out the letter of resignation he’d had drawn up in the event it was needed. While the transition would be simpler for him if she stayed on at the hotel, he was prepared for her to quit and to buy out her stock. “Then you know that my purchase of your mother’s note is legal.”
“Legal, maybe. But certainly not ethical.”
Refusing to debate her, he continued, “Then you also know that by defaulting on the loan, she forfeited the stock that she pledged as collateral on the loan. Which means Hawke Industries now owns the controlling interest in the Contessa.”
He paused, waited for her to respond. But Laura remained silent. Her demeanor remained unchanged.
Keeping his voice level, he said, “My plan is to turn the Contessa into a five-star property again and recapture the market share it’s lost. As I’ve already told you, I would prefer that you stay on at the hotel as the general manager. But if you choose not to stay, then I’m prepared to accept your resignation and purchase your stock.” He slid both agreements and the resignation letter across the desk so that they rested in front of her. “It’s your call, Ms. Spencer. Are you going to stay? Or are you leaving?”
Laura didn’t even look at the documents he had placed before her. Instead, she met his gaze. There was something hard and determined in her eyes as she said, “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Hawke.”
The news surprised him. After their previous conversations, he had been sure she would turn him down flat. The fact that she hadn’t both pleased and concerned him. He was pleased because it would be good for business to have her stay on. It concerned him because he had the hots for her, he admitted. And she was more than likely sleeping with his stepbrother, he reminded himself. The thought of Laura with the golden boy his mother had chosen as her son over him chafed at Jack, made him feel raw. He couldn’t help wondering how Peterson would feel to come out on the losing end for once. Irritated with himself for allowing his thoughts to stray from the business at hand, he tapped the documents on the desk. “In that case, I’ll need you to sign a new management contract with Hawke Industries. It’s pretty straightforward, with all the standard clauses and the increase in salary I mentioned earlier.”
“I’m sure the contract is fine.”
He nodded. “Still, you may want to have your attorney look it over anyway.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“It’s your call,” he told her.
“Yes, it is.”
Jack wasn’t sure why, but her agreeable demeanor seemed off. “There’s also a purchase agreement for your stock, if you should change your mind about selling it. My previous offer of—”
“I won’t change my mind.”
Something was off, Jack told himself again. Instinct, some unexplained ability that told him if a venture would be a hit or a flop, kicked in now. The woman was up to something. He felt it in his gut, felt it in his bones. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re just itching to throw those contracts in my face?”
She picked up the contracts, fingered them. Looking directly at him, she smiled and said, “Because I am.”
There was a confidence in her smile, a spark in her green eyes that he found intriguing. Intriguing and sexy as hell. “I admire your honesty. But you might want to think twice before you do that.”
“Why? Because it would be an unwise career move on my part?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
“You’d probably be right—if you were my boss and had the authority to fire me,” she began. Obviously too edgy to sit, she stood and paced behind her desk. She paused, turned and looked at him. “But you don’t.”
“The last time I checked, owning eighty percent of the stock in a company constitutes the controlling interest, which does make me your boss and gives me the authority to pretty much do whatever I damn well please.”
“That would be true—if you owned the stock. But you don’t own it. At least not yet,” she informed him triumphantly.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so. You see, that note that you so cleverly got the bank to sell you gives me thirty days to cure the default on my mother’s loan. Once I do that, my mother keeps her stock in the Contessa and your deal, Mr. Hawke, is null and void.”
So that was her plan. Jack would have laughed were it not for the fact that this stunt of hers would cost him both time and money with delays. He didn’t intend to allow her to cost him either—not without a price. “You think you can go out and find fifteen million dollars like that?” he asked with a snap of his fingers.
“I didn’t say it would be easy.”
“Try next to impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” she fired back at him.
“Trying to block my purchase of this hotel is,” he assured her. Standing, he walked around to her side of the desk, a deliberate move on his part to intimidate her. Instead he found himself far too aware of her, of the way the office light caught the copper in her hair, the way her black silk blouse curved over her breasts, the way the scent she wore reminded him of exotic islands and sex. Desire hit him like a one-two punch. He wanted her. Maybe part of him wanted her because she belonged to his stepbrother. But another part of him wanted her because he sensed a fire in her and he wanted to be the one to ignite it.
“Why? Because you’re so rich and powerful?”
“Yes.” Leaning closer, he lowered his voice and said, “And because I never lose.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Jack didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “And you think that you’ll be the one to beat me?”
“I don’t think I can beat you, Hawke. I know I can.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
“I am,” she insisted.
Before he could quell the impulse, he countered, “Sure enough to wager on the outcome?”
“You mean a bet?”
“That’s right. You say you can stop me from taking over the hotel. I say you can’t. Are you willing to put your money where your mouth is?”
“I am, if you are,” she told him.
“Oh, I am. I most definitely am.”
She was insane to have dared the man the way she had, Laura admitted. But blast him, he had been so smug, so sure of himself. The fact that he had been standing so close to her hadn’t helped, either. She had hoped those moments of heightened awareness between them in her office a few nights ago had been a fluke, that stress and thoughts of spending the Thanksgiving holiday without any of her family had caused her sexual chemistry radar to go askew. But if it had, then her radar still wasn’t working because she’d felt those same ripples of awareness when he’d entered the room, that same quickening of her pulse each time he drew closer.
“So what are the stakes?”
“The stakes?” she repeated, doing her best to shake off his effect on her nervous system.
“Yes. You know, the prize that you’re going to fork over to me when you lose our bet and I foreclose on the Contessa.”
Laura sobered at his cocky remark. Taking a step back, she said, “You mean the prize that you’re going to fork over to me when I beat you at your own game.”
His lips twitched. “So what are the stakes?”
“Dinner,” she suggested. “The loser pays for a seven-course meal at the restaurant of the winner’s choice.”
“Dinner?” he scoffed. “That’s your idea of a bet?”
“What do you expect me to offer? My car? My condo?” she tossed back at him, and suddenly felt queasy at the thought of losing either.
“I don’t have any use for a three-year-old BMW and you don’t have enough equity in your condo to make it worth my trouble.”
Anger bulldozed right over any misgivings she’d had about challenging the man as she realized he had had her investigated. Temper driving her, she put her hands on her hips and looked him square in the eyes. “And just what are you going to give up when you lose and I win?”
