Double Dealing (7 page)

“To each his own,” Emil Fortune intoned, but his eyes were
smiling.

“I suppose,” Samantha agreed. “I came to California to
attend to some business, and I thought I would be able to do it while staying
here, but that’s proven to be quite impossible.”

“I see,” Fortune nodded. “Are you certain you wish to leave
tonight, though, Miss Maitland? We’re quite a distance from Santa Barbara and
the nearest motel.”

“I don’t mind driving at night,” she assured him. “I’m
having dinner with my business acquaintance this evening, and I’m sure he’ll be
able to direct me to a good motel.”

“You are doing business with someone nearby?” the middle-aged
man inquired.

“Yes, a Mr. Sinclair. He lives a couple of miles up the
coast, and I’m sure he’s expecting me. I was due at seven.” Damn, she hadn’t
meant to drop Gabriel’s name into this mess. Strange how this unassuming little
man had her chatting quite freely. But it was getting late. “I really must be
on my way. If a refund is impossible this evening,” she added with a severe
look at the clerk, “then you can count on seeing me again in the morning! Perhaps
your manager will see fit to look into the matter.”

“I don’t see why things can’t be settled tonight,” Fortune
murmured softly. “I’m sure my sister would not want a guest of the spa to be
prevented from taking care of their business affairs properly. What do you think,
Jon?”

“Uh, no, sir, I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

“Well, why don’t you see if you can’t figure out some sort
of way around this little glitch?” Fortune suggested calmly.

To Samantha’s surprise and relief Jon moved awkwardly behind
the desk, no longer the overconfident, supercilious clerk. “Yes, well, if you
really think Miss Fortune wouldn’t mind…. “

“I’m sure my sister will agree with me. In any event, I
shall tell her it was all my fault and you’ll be off the hook,” Fortune said
smoothly. He turned to Samantha as Jon began rummaging through the papers on
his desk. “And I also don’t think we should keep Miss Maitland from her dinner
engagement any longer. Gabe will be wondering where you are, Miss Maitland. He’s
a very precise sort of man, and he doesn’t have all that many dinner guests. I
wouldn’t want to be responsible for ruining the evening for him.”

“Why, thank you,” Samantha managed, very grateful for the
miracle the man had worked on the
musclebound
Jon. “I
certainly appreciate your help, Mr. Fortune. I do hope your sister won’t be
upset…. “

“Leave that to me. My sister is a businesswoman. She’ll
understand.” The smile in the dark eyes gleamed more brightly. “I have the
feeling Gabe will feed you far better than the chef here. Gabe is a marvelous
cook, believe me. I’ve had the pleasure of dining with him on a couple of
occasions.”

“You’re a friend of his?” Samantha peered at Fortune
narrowly through the lenses of her glasses, wondering what sort of friendship
her angel had with this pleasantly rumpled little man.

“We’ve done business together,” Emil Fortune explained
easily. “And, yes, I probably come as close to being his friend as anyone could
be. In turn, he is perhaps the nearest thing to a friend that I have known.
Neither of us, I’m afraid, has an abundance of acquaintances with whom we feel,
shall we say, comfortable? But, then, how many close friends does anyone ever
have?” he continued philosophically.

Samantha smiled. “I’ll say hello to him for you,” she
offered, glancing at Jon, who was still bent over a sheet of paper, scribbling
furiously.

“Please do,” Fortune returned seriously. “Tell him I’m glad
to see he is expanding his circle of associates to include a young woman who
has sense enough not to pay good money to have her body abused.”

Samantha laughed. “Actually,” she confided, “it looked
rather appealing in the article I read. But I seem to lack the stamina for it.”
She broke of as Jon finished his calculations and handed her the voucher marked
for a full refund. “Why, thank you very much,” she said stiffly, startled at
receiving the entire amount back. She snatched the paper from him and stuffed
it into her purse before he could change his mind. Then she reached down to
lift her suitcase.

“I’ll take care of that for you,” the man named Fortune said,
reaching for the expensive yellow leather case before she could grasp it.
Without a word he followed as she smiled and hurried toward the parking lot
where her rental car waited.

“I can’t thank you enough for your help,” Samantha said
quickly as she opened the trunk of the sporty little compact and allowed
Fortune to put the suitcase inside. Actually she felt a little guilty at having
let him carry the case. He wasn’t all that much larger than she was! “I’ll give
your best to Mr. Sinclair.”

“He already knows what he can expect from me,” Fortune
smiled comfortably, “but say hello to him anyway. And be nice to him, will you,
Miss Maitland? He needs an interesting woman like you in his life. Perhaps you
could jolt him out of his humdrum routine a bit, hmmm?”

Samantha looked up sharply, frowning at the hopeful tone in
Fortune’s voice. “Mr. Sinclair and I are business associates, nothing more,”
she told him frostily through the open window.

“And have a little patience with him, too,” Fortune advised,
just as if she hadn’t spoken. “He tends to do things in his own slow but sure
way, but they do get done. He is a very thorough man.” Fortune nodded complacently.
I think you’re going to be very good for him, Miss Maitland. Shake him up a
little.” Before she had time to clarify the situation once more, he said, “Goodbye
and drive carefully. You have the directions?”

“He gave them to me this afternoon,” Samantha said vaguely,
longing to be on her way. She was late and she had the feeling Gabriel Sinclair
wouldn’t appreciate tardiness.

In great detail, no doubt,” Fortune chuckled. “A very
thorough man, as I said.”

Samantha allowed herself a small laugh as she started the
engine. “I got a detailed drawing of every bend in the road and every possible
landmark between here and his house!”

She just hoped she could remember a few of the details on
that elaborate map Gabriel had drawn for her earlier in the afternoon because
after taking a quick glance at it, she’d automatically tossed it on the dresser
top and forgotten it there. How lost could one get when there was only one road
between the spa and his home?

With a last glance in her rearview mirror at the comfortable
form of Emil Fortune, she guided the little car out of the parking lot and onto
the narrow highway which hugged the coast. Leaving the spa behind her had all
the uplifting exhilaration of a prison escape. What a nice little man that Mr.
Fortune was. She was really very grateful for his assistance with that bull of
a desk clerk.

The decision to check out of the spa had been made almost as
soon as Gabriel had left that afternoon. Hiding in her room when she was
supposed to join the other inmates in a lengthy jog along the beach, Samantha had
come to the conclusion that there was no point torturing herself further. She
had achieved contact with Sinclair, which had been her main goal all along.

Taking her time, she had dressed for dinner and packed her
suitcase. The outfit she had chosen had been purchased in Seattle. It was a
dashing black velvet tuxedo-style jacket and pants complete with a pleated white
shirt with tiny, upstanding wing collar and a small black velvet tie. The
close-fitting stylish parody of the traditional male evening dress was both tailored
and chicly feminine. With her hair coiled neatly into a curving knot at the
nape of her neck, Samantha felt suitably attired for an evening of business
with her angel.

She grinned to herself as she realized that she was applying
the term “angel” more and more to Gabriel Sinclair. Was that because,
subconsciously, managing an angel seemed potentially easier than managing a high-powered
business barracuda?

The grin faded as she recognized the truth behind that
thought. She had certainly not succeeded in managing Drew Buchanan very well!
He had sent her life into a tailspin from which it had taken a long time to recover.
Revenge was the last link in that recovery. No, managing a cold-blooded bastard
like Buchanan was a dangerous business at best. But angels, especially plodding
angels, should be a much easier proposition.

Samantha found the nearly hidden drive which led off the
main road toward the sea after two or three attempts and a certain amount of
backtracking. She really should have brought that damn map, she decided. Half
an hour late, she noticed, glancing at her watch as she parked the car in the
curving drive of the secluded beachfront home.

Her expression tightened determinedly as she pressed the
small bell outside the huge, intricate wrought iron gate which guarded a
courtyard paved in pale stone. It wasn’t her fault she was late!

The main door to the house opened and her host emerged.
Gabriel was wearing a conservatively striped, long-sleeved shirt, open at the
throat, and a pair of dark, well-tailored slacks that seemed to emphasize the solid
masculinity of his frame. The burnished leather of his shoes and the refined
gleam of a gold and stainless steel watch on one strong wrist were quiet
evidence of Sinclair’s abilities as a venture capitalist. As was the beachfront
home, Samantha reminded herself silently. Property along the California coast
cost an angel’s salary: Gold and stardust.

In addition to the conservative clothing, Gabriel was also
wearing a very forbidding expression, she realized, one which brought the
excuses immediately to her lips.

“I’m very sorry to be so late,” she plunged in chattily, using
her most dazzling smile. “There was a little trouble at the front desk of the
spa when I told them I was checking out. If it hadn’t been for the nicest
little man, a friend of yours, I believe, I’d still be arguing with that ridiculous
desk clerk. I do hope I didn’t spoil your dinner plans? I’m starving!” She
tried anxiously to make the smile a very ingratiating one.

Dark lashes lowered to partially conceal the hazel gaze as
Gabriel slowly opened the gate. Samantha noted his whitened knuckles against
the iron filigree. She studied the rather grim expression on his face and decided
that her excuses were being considered very seriously, as if there was some
question about whether or not they would be accepted.

“You checked out of the spa?” Gabriel finally asked, apparently
zeroing in on the most important piece of information she had given him.

“I had to. Self-preservation,” she explained with great feeling
as she stepped through the gate. “I’ve decided I’ll find a motel somewhere
along the coast highway after dinner,” she confided easily. Behind her the
heavy gate was swung shut and locked. The solid, rather final sound of the iron
setting into place sent a strange shaft of unease through her, and she swung
around.

“Something wrong?” Gabriel inquired as he politely took her
arm and walked her toward the door.

“No, nothing,” she assured him, her mind leaping from the
sound of the closing gate to a sudden awareness of the tension in him as he
took her arm. Was he really this upset because she was half an hour late? “Believe
me, I’m normally a very prompt sort of person,” she assured him quickly. “As I
said, the scene at the front desk held me up. If it hadn’t been for your sweet friend,
Mr. Fortune…”

“Emil Fortune helped you settle things with the desk clerk?”
The surprise in his tone was obvious.

“Yes, he was there to see his sister who owns the place. The
desk clerk was very obliging once Mr. Fortune took a hand in the matter.”

“I’ll bet.”

“I beg your pardon?” Samantha wrinkled her nose as she
stared up at him.

“I said, I’ll bet the desk clerk was very obliging once Emil
got involved,” Gabriel repeated patiently as he pushed open the door to the house.

“I heard what you said,” Samantha retorted in quick irritation.
Hastily she stifled the emotion, reminding herself that this man took
everything very literally. “I meant, what did you mean by the remark? I’m sure he
carries some clout because of his sister, but you make it sound as though the
desk clerk might have some reason to be genuinely afraid of Emil.”

That brought a tight smile to Gabriel’s hard mouth. “Samantha,”
he said very gently as he carefully closed the door, “a lot of people call Emil
Fortune a lot of names, but you’re the only one I’ve ever heard call him ‘sweet.’”

“But he was! Very.”

“He must have liked you.” Gabriel shrugged.

“So?” she challenged. “I liked him, too!”

“That’s nice,” Gabriel retorted laconically. “So, as a matter
of fact, do I. Sit down. I’ll get you a glass of wine.”

“Gabriel, you’re being deliberately cryptic,” she accused,
glancing around curiously at the cool, uncluttered surroundings. The interior
of the house suited the inhabitant, she decided. The ocean side of the modern structure
had been opened with decks and balconies and a great deal of glass to take full
advantage of the spectacular view of the sea. Natural sisal matting had been
used on polished board floors and the walls were sand-colored. The clean lines
of the furniture were upholstered in a very restrained palette of earth tones. It
rather reminded her of an elegant cruise ship. Expensive and neat with
everything in its place. There wasn’t so much as the morning paper left lying
on a coffee table to mar the tidiness. How depressing it was going to be
working with someone who had such a penchant for precision.

“I am never deliberately cryptic,” Gabriel informed her as
he poured a glass of chilled Chardonnay wine and carried it toward her. “I’ve
told you, I don’t like puzzles.”

“Then what is it that’s so strange about my finding Mr.
Fortune a pleasant man?” she taunted lightly, taking the glass and flinging
herself lightly down on the nearest chair.