1925 - Millionaire's Secret Seduction (3 page)

“She tried. She wanted to send me to a decent school. She was hoping to get some money to move us to a better neighborhood or pay for private school. Tarrant’s lawyers got the case thrown out of court.”

“How did they do that?”

His jaw hardened. “It was before DNA. They just laughed off the idea that a big shot like Tarrant Hardcastle would be fooling around with an ordinary girl from Brooklyn, and the judge believed him.”

Bella let out a slow breath. “I’d be mad.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Yeah.” He picked up his champagne glass and knocked the rest of it back. “Lucky thing I’ve got better things to worry about, huh?”

“They do say living well is the best revenge.”

“Then I guess we’re both getting revenge on someone.” A crooked smile slid across his lips.

The waiter put plates, artfully arranged with their expensive entrées, in front of them and placed another champagne bottle in the bucket of ice.

If you only knew.

Living well didn’t mean a thing if there was a white flame of anger burning inside you. Her father had been so close to fulfilling his dream. After enduring decades of snide laughter from peers and so-called colleagues, he’d finally come
within reach of manipulating particles to alter their surface properties.

Even his fantasy of a cloak of invisibility was no longer a laughing matter.

Then Tarrant Hardcastle had bullied him into selling his life’s work for a pittance. With his dreams gone, he succumbed to undiagnosed heart disease and was gone within months.

Her chest tightened. She wouldn’t wish that death on anyone, not even Tarrant Hardcastle. But she
would
get her father’s work back and make his dream come true.

She owed it to him.

A long shadow across the tablecloth jolted her back to reality.

“Dominic!” Two striking women materialized next to him, one on each side. A statuesque redhead in a tight green number bent to kiss his cheek, while an ebony-skinned beauty in a slinky cream sheath grabbed his hand. “You didn’t tell us you were coming to town. We’ll have to punish you.” Her accent sounded French.

Dominic put down his fork, rose and gave each girl an intimate kiss on the cheek. Bella stabbed her innocent quail as a wave of irritation rose in her chest.

Dominic’s dimples appeared. “Bella, I’d like you to meet two of my best clients.”

Two arms as long as javelins stuck out at her and she shook their perfectly manicured hands. Luckily she managed not to cut herself on the array of sparkling rocks decorating their shapely fingers.

Dominic introduced them and both their names sounded vaguely familiar. Probably former supermodels.

As they towered over her, Bella’s contact lenses seemed to morph back into the thick glasses she’d worn as a teen. Her blouse and skirt felt as glamorous as her lab coat. And
she’d dared to imagine that Dominic Hardcastle was attracted to
her?

Must be delusional.

She shoved a stray strand of hair off her forehead. “Nice to meet you. Dominic asked me to show him around Hardcastle Enterprises. He wanted to try the restaurant.” She blushed, suddenly feeling pathetic that she had to explain what a man like Dominic would be doing in an expensive restaurant with a nondescript scientist.

“Bella’s a genius.” Dominic had his arms around both hourglass waists. “She’s in charge of cosmetics research. She’s going to make everyone in the world beautiful.”

Bella’s face heated further. Apparently he also felt the need to excuse her dullness.

“Would you like to join us?” She spoke up, her voice a little squeaky. She knew Dominic would rather be with them than her.

Dominic’s smile disappeared and he lifted a brow at her.

“We can’t, darling!” The redhead seized the opportunity to kiss his cheek again. “We’re just passing through on the way to tonight’s party.”

“They’re event planners,” Dominic explained. “They love to serve my products and pretend they paid a fortune for them.”

The cream-dress girl leaned toward him. “Don’t tell anyone how much you charge for the mushroom pâté.” Her French accent gave her words an air of sexy conspiracy. “The hostess is crazy for it. She thinks we buy it from Paris by the ounce.”

“It’ll be our secret that it’s two-fifty for a half-pound tub.” Dominic’s dimples showed. “I doubt one of your clients would ever go into an actual store, anyway. They have ‘people’ for that.”

The two beauties threw their heads back in musical laughter.

Bella took a bracing swig of her champagne. She’d seen his
stores here and there—Trader Dan’s, was that the name?—but had never actually been in one. Apparently she’d been missing out.

She was in danger of shrinking out of existence altogether when both girls chimed, “Must fly!” They kissed him on both cheeks, then back on the first one. Three kisses. Each.

Bella managed to keep a poker face.

“You have lipstick on your cheeks,” she said, as the goddesses stalked off toward the door.

Dominic shrugged. “Occupational hazard. I bet you know the best way to get it off.”

“The fresh mayonnaise would work, but it might clog your pores. I’d go with the napkin if I were you.”

Dominic scrubbed at his chiseled features with the white linen. “Better?”

“Much. I’ve never seen someone kiss three times before. It gets messy.”

“That’s how they do it in Europe. There it’s just like shaking hands. You get used to it.”

“I’ll bet. Anyway, I must get going too.” She stood. “It’s been lovely.” She gulped. “The food, I mean.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

She blinked. “And the company, of course. Very nice to meet you, Mr. Hardcastle.”

“Dominic.” His tone chastised her. He stood and slid his hand into hers. “I’m offended that you’re abandoning me here.”

“I’m afraid I have a train to catch.” She tried to release her hand, but he tightened his firm but gentle hold on it. “I need to visit my mother.”

His espresso-shot eyes fixed on hers. “Family’s important.”

“Yes. Well, I’d better be going.” She tugged at her hand again. He didn’t release it.

“No way you’re leaving without a traditional European
goodbye kiss. That would add insult to injury.” He tilted his head. His dark eyes glittered.

Deep breath and get it over with.
She leaned forward. The warm salty musk of his skin assaulted her as he lowered his head and pressed his cheek to hers. She kissed the air by his ear and tried to ignore the strange shivery sensation in her arms and legs.

Was he really going to kiss her on both cheeks? A swift movement of his head confirmed her suspicion. She held her breath as his lips brushed her other cheek and a shimmer of desire rippled inside her belly.

She was about to step back and gulp air when she remembered the other girls had kissed three times. Ugh. So pretentious. But she could handle it. Hang tough. She lowered her eyes for the return journey to cheek number one. Braced herself against his male scent. She was almost out of here.

Then something went very, very wrong.

S
he never knew quite what happened, just that Dominic’s mouth collided with hers.

Not a hard, fast kind of impact where things bounce apart.

A slow crash.

The landing soft, warm and quietly devastating.

It was impossible to say what really went on without a photon microscope to analyze activity at the nanometer level.

Something happened, though.

Parted in astonishment, their lips seemed to fuse. Then their tongues touched, sparking a sharp jolt of rogue energy.

A firm hand on her back steadied her and pulled her close, which only made their lips weld more tightly together.

A sizzling—or was it a shivering?—sensation rippled through her limbs, rendering them limp and almost useless. His mouth became her source of strength, infusing her body with
energy that raced along her synapses, stinging them to a new level of awareness.

At some point her eyes closed, but this strange new world wasn’t dark. Lights and colors flashed in her brain, echoing the dazzle of sensation that engulfed her body.

Confusion and disorientation made her reach and grab for something—anything—to hold on to. That’s how her hands ended up under his jacket, fisted in his thick cotton shirt. Gripping, hanging on for dear life.

And then it was over.

She managed to step back, gasping for breath, blinking in the horrible brightness of the restaurant’s stark lighting.

Her lips tingled, flushed with blood. Her heart banged against her ribs.

To give him credit, Dominic looked slightly stunned too.

She checked the buttons of her shirt with a shaking hand, anxious to see if they were still closed over her heated and hypersensitive breasts. All in place.

She checked her hair. Still on her head. She forced out a little laugh. “Goodness, that continental kissing is dangerous.”

She cursed herself for sounding like such a geek. He probably smooched women goodbye all the time.

It was her problem if her life was so dull that a simple kiss had knocked her right from one dimension into another.

“Well, well, well.” Dominic’s dark eyes roamed over her face. “You’re full of surprises.”

Heat crept up her neck. Did he think this was her fault? Could he see her nipples, peaked to hard points, through her blouse? She resisted the urge to look down.

“I prefer a simple handshake,” she stammered.

“Not me.” Humor shone in his eyes. “I could get used to
goodbyes like that. Maybe I’d better walk you downstairs so we can say goodbye again.”

She grabbed her pocketbook off the floor. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. Stay and have dessert and coffee.”

She needed to get away from this guy. Her recent scientific research had demonstrated that all kinds of strange things could happen in the right circumstances. Unpredictable things.

Dangerous things.

Surfaces could shift and alter their appearance. The very substance of something could fundamentally alter.

Perhaps under the right conditions—the penetrating laser stare of his eyes, for example—her clothes could entirely vanish.

His eyes had turned completely black. Desire radiated from them like heat rising off tarmac.

“Thanks again!” She cleared her scratchy throat. Dominic hadn’t moved an inch. “Must fly!”

It was unlikely she could have exited the dining room faster if she actually did fly. She ran—literally—for the door, then gasped for breath as she leaned her whole weight on the elevator button outside.

Her body still hummed with stray bursts of heat and rogue flashes of electricity. Her fingertips stung and even her earlobes felt hot.

No doubt there was some quite ordinary scientific explanation for what was happening in her body.

Then again, as her father’s daughter, she knew there was nothing ordinary about science and the miracles and magic that were waiting to be discovered if you dared to dream and venture into the unknown.

She gulped.

Ping
.

She dove into the elevator as soon as the doors opened, cutting a swathe through a group of Japanese businessmen. “Sorry!”

She pressed herself against the burled walnut panels as the door closed.

Dominic Hardcastle.

She shut her eyes and willed her body to come under control. She’d locked lips with
the boss’s son.

Was this some kind of game to him? Revenge for the way she’d imperiously ordered him out of her lab?

Did he say he was staying? Would she have to see him every day? Her breath came in ragged gasps.

She wasn’t sure she could stand up to the stare of those unrelenting black eyes ever again. She’d probably dissolve into a column of disembodied atoms.

How predictable of her. Tarrant Hardcastle had secured a reputation as the lady-killer of his generation and no doubt his son had inherited the gene. The DNA that enabled them to use people, suck them dry and toss them aside. She hugged herself against the air-conditioned chill.

When the elevator reached the lobby she didn’t get out. Instead she pressed the button for the fifteenth floor.

Back to the lab. To find what she was looking for and get out of here. To secure the rights to her father’s research and the chance to continue his legacy, before Tarrant Hardcastle and his wickedly seductive son destroyed her chance forever.

Dominic remained in the restaurant for another half hour. He ate one slice of bittersweet Sacher torte with cream, a profiterole drenched in rich chocolate and a lime cheesecake with fresh raspberries. Yes, he had a sweet tooth.

Three cups of black coffee too.

But nothing seemed to fill the strange hole gaping in his gut.

What the hell had that woman done to him?

The waiter refused his attempt to pay the bill or tip.
Thanks, Dad
. He managed not to laugh out loud.

Where had Tarrant Hardcastle been when his mom was trying to make dinner on a grocery budget of twenty dollars a week?

He’d like to see Tarrant Hardcastle go down on his knees to her and beg forgiveness.

Resentment heated inside him, alongside the desire that tight-lipped scientist had ignited there.

Bella Andrews was one of Tarrant’s protégés. Funny how all the employees here were both brilliant
and
attractive. There was something downright creepy about that. Were they all
Stepford Wives
clones?

He caught sight of himself in the mirrored steel finish next to the elevator.

You fit right in.

In his dark, well-cut suit, with his dark, well-cut features—which were obviously inherited from his famous father—he blended tastefully with the scenery.

A mocking laugh fell from his lips as he stepped into the empty elevator. His dad hoped he’d stay and take over?

No chance, Pops.

But he wouldn’t be leaving empty-handed either.

He went to hit the button for the lobby, but his fingers disobeyed and pressed the number fifteen instead.

No doubt the lab would be locked for the night.

But when the elevator opened, he stepped out.

The door to the lab was closed, as it had been earlier that day. He tried the handle. Once again, it opened.

The room wasn’t nearly as bright as it had been earlier. The overhead fixtures were off and the newly risen moon bathed the lab in silver light through the wall of windows.

Eerie.

He knew he shouldn’t be here, but that was part of the thrill. Not his fault if they didn’t bother to set the lock.

A sliver of light at the far end of the long room drew his attention. His leather shoes were silent on the polished floor as he crossed the lab, past the moonlit shadows of microscopes, and the racks of glassware. He could hear a rhythmic, mechanical sound. Familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

In his Bella-awakened state it made him think of sex. Where was Bella now, with her accusing stare and her prim little mouth?

The answer became apparent as he peered through the crack in the door.

The sound was a Xerox machine.

And Bella.

She’d removed her shoes and stood on stockinged tiptoes, feeding sheets of paper into the machine. The moving beam of light flashed past her body, then the copy spat out with a rhythmic
ka-thunk.

He stood in the doorway. Silent. Watching.

Bella took the sheaf of fresh copies, folded it, and stuck it into a leather briefcase propped against the machine.

So. The copies were going home with her.

She took the originals from the machine and disappeared through a door on the far side of the room. He heard a metal file drawer opening.

He glanced at the digital face of his watch: 10:28.

What in the heck was she doing here, copying documents in the middle of the night?

She emerged, face bent over a new file, golden-brown hair hiding her features. She shoved a hank roughly behind her ear, pulled out a sheet and scrutinized it.

Then something made her look up.

“Aaaa!” She jerked violently and dropped the file. Papers fluttered in the air and scattered about the small copy room.

Her eyes fixed on his, wide with alarm.

Dominic widened the door opening. “Sorry to startle you.”

“Wh—wh—what are you doing here?”

“Watching you.”

“Why?” She glanced down at the papers on the floor, as if scanning them for incriminating evidence.

“You make compelling viewing.”

Her eyes flashed. “You shouldn’t be here at this time of night.”

“Says who? It’s my dad’s company, isn’t it?” He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “I’m thinking you’re the one who’s not supposed to be here.”

“Why shouldn’t I be here?” she snapped. She crouched and gathered the strewn papers. “They’re all out of order now.”

“Let me help you.” He wanted to get a look at the pages. He picked up the closest one, which was covered in typed formulas.

She snatched it from his hand. Her fingertips grazed his palm and his skin tightened at the reminder of their mesmerizing kiss.

“What are these papers?” He picked up another one. Couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He could read a balance sheet upside-down from twenty paces, but chemistry was way out of his league.

“Research. Some reading for the train.”

“The midnight train to Georgia? You were running to catch your train nearly an hour ago.”

“I missed it. I came back to kill some time.”

“We’re more than ten blocks from Grand Central.”

“I had a lot of time to kill.” Her gray gaze stuck him like a steel blade.

“I don’t believe you.” His words hung in the air.

Her startled expression only enhanced his conviction that she was guilty. Of something.

He decided to push. Maybe just to see how hard she’d push back. “I think you’re stealing secrets.”

“And doing what with them?” she snapped.

“I don’t know that. Yet.” He crossed his arms over his chest. He was intrigued by anyone daring enough to risk getting on the wrong side of Tarrant Hardcastle.

She tossed her head and picked up more papers. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Then you won’t mind me looking at those papers in your briefcase?” Why was he doing this? He wanted to get past the cool scientist demeanor as much as he’d wanted to see what lay under that white lab coat. And he had the strings to tug at it. “I am a Hardcastle, after all.”

No need for her to know those pages made as much sense as Cyrillic script to him.

She hesitated, blinking. “I’m not stealing anything.”

“Prove it.”

Her breath came in hard gasps. He could see her chest rise and fall beneath her silk blouse. He stepped into the copy room, narrowing his eyes against the fluorescent light. “Where are the file cabinets?”

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice was shaky.

Why indeed?
Yes, he’d had the uniformed pleasures of being both an altar boy
and
a boy scout, but he couldn’t cry morality on anyone going up against Tarrant Hardcastle. With his background, he’d be first in line to fight him with them.

Maybe it was the overbearing way she tried to order him out of her lab and called security on him. He’d spent too much time as a scrappy outsider to appreciate being treated like one now.

One thing was for sure: he certainly wasn’t motivated by filial desire to protect the interests of dear old Dad.

He shoved past her into the file room. A long drawer sat
open. “Acquisitions,” he read aloud. He stopped and flipped through some files. The folder he picked up was full of letters with another company’s letterhead. Negotiations for the sale of proprietary research. “Tarrant buys scientific studies?”

“Yes. It’s expensive to do them in-house.”

“So why does he need
you?
”

“Change of strategy. He wants to stop buying outside work and leap ahead of the competition by investing in new technology.”

“And you’re selling all that hard-won research to the highest bidder.”

Her face turned white. “I most certainly am not!”

“Then what the hell are you doing?” Some primitive part of his brain prayed she’d come up with a good explanation.

She lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. With some effort he resisted the urge to see if the movement pulled her blouse tight over her full breasts.

“I’m searching for something,” she rasped.

She wanted to say more. Her lips quivered.

He could imagine how they’d feel under his mouth, softening and warming.

He tugged his gaze away and fixed it on her gray eyes.

Bella blinked. “Tarrant stole my father’s research. I want it back.” She lifted her chin.

He stepped forward. He liked to get close to people when they were under pressure. Something subtle let him know whether they were telling the truth. The smell of their pheromones, maybe.

“Who was your father?”

“Bela Soros.”

“Bella, like you?”

“It’s a man’s name in Hungary, where he’s from. He worked his whole life developing formulas that would revolutionize the way we perceive things. He sacrificed everything, poured his
whole self into it. He was this close to realizing his dream….” She held two slender fingers a hair’s breadth apart. “Then Tarrant Hardcastle bullied him into selling it for a song. Now he’s dead. It’s not right!”