Secrets of the Tycoon's Bride (2 page)

Adam shoved a hand through his hair, expelled a frustrated breath and dropped back into his desk chair. He was used to women chasing him—not running from him as if he'd suddenly announced he had the avian flu.

As one of the heirs to the Garrison hospitality and entertainment empire he was a great catch. All the society columns and his tax returns said so. Not only did his family have deep pockets, but Adam's personal investments had exponentially increased his net worth. Add in his recently inherited fifteen percent of Garrison, Inc. and saying he was financially comfortable would be a gross understatement.

And he'd seen a mirror. He wasn't ugly.

So why wasn't Lauryn biting?

There must be something she wanted. Something he could use for leverage.

All he had to do was find it.

The man had to be crazy.

Lauryn placed her purse, car keys and glasses on the kitchen counter of her minuscule apartment and then headed for the bedroom, tugging the pins from her hair as she went.

A marriage of convenience.

What was this? A romance novel? She read them. But she didn't
live
them.

Admittedly, she'd moved to Florida specifically to befriend Adam Garrison.

But she didn't want to
marry
him.

He was a known womanizer who dangled a different celebrity or socialite from his arm almost every night. And with his longish inky dark hair, lady-slayer smile and devastating blue eyes, he invariably chose women equally as gorgeous as himself.

But good looks, she'd learned the hard way, were superficial and sometimes covered an ugly personality. They definitely attracted the wrong kinds of attention, which was why she'd quit flaunting her curves and started dressing to fade into the background.

She removed her suit, returned it to the hanger, toed off her pumps and placed them on the shoe rack.

“Huh. He says he likes his space, but I'll bet he never goes to bed alone,” she muttered to herself as she pulled on a pair of faded sweats and an old T-shirt of her father's. “He probably serves his women's orgasms with a cab fare chaser.”

As an accountant she couldn't help but consider all she could accomplish with a million dollars, starting with replenishing the bank account she'd depleted to move cross country and take a job with Adam's club—a job she'd specifically targeted when her research revealed he was the new deed-holder to her family's estate.

But marriage? No way. She'd had one disastrous marriage that began for all the wrong reasons. It wasn't an experience she ever intended repeating.

Not even as a business deal.

A very lucrative business deal.

Forget it.

She padded barefoot to the kitchen, withdrew last night's Chinese takeout leftovers and popped them in the microwave. The scent of Hunan shrimp mingled with citrus in the air as she peeled an orange to go with her dinner.

If you lived with him you'd get to know him well.

Well enough to convince him let her pry up a few closet floorboards in the fifteen-million-dollar estate he'd bought eighteen months ago?

Why had he spent a fortune on a house if he wasn't going to live there? She'd thought maybe he intended to remodel first, but a check at the courthouse revealed no building permits had been issued prior to her arrival, and as far as she could tell with her frequent drive-bys nothing beyond routine maintenance had been done to the house since her move to Florida.

A lawn-care company groomed the lush yard, and she'd seen a pool-service company's van in the circular driveway. She thought she'd spotted tennis courts on the other side of the stone and wrought iron fence but the bougainvillea hedge was too thick to be certain, and the exclusive Sunset Island wasn't exactly the kind of neighborhood where you could climb fences to peer over the top without getting arrested.

The estate wasn't within walking distance of the club like Adam's condo, but even in heavy traffic and with all the South Beach road construction the commute would take less than twenty minutes.

While the food heated she set the table. Her mother—her heart hitched—her
adoptive
mother, she corrected, had always made a big production of setting the table. It was one of the many things she and Lauryn had done together. All that had changed eleven months ago when Lauryn's father died and her “mother” had shared the letters.

Letters that had been locked in a safety-deposit box for decades.

Letters from her father's former lover.

Letters that had upended Lauryn's life and sent her on a three-thousand-mile quest to find the woman who'd loved her enough to have her but not enough to keep her.

Adrianna Laurence.

Her birthmother.

How could her father have lied? Lauryn asked herself for the billionth time. And how could her mother have let him?

The timer beeped. On autopilot Lauryn retrieved the carton, scraped the contents onto a plate and pulled a Diet Coke with lime from the fridge.

Hadn't her father realized what a shock it would be for Lauryn to suddenly discover she wasn't who she'd thought she was for the past twenty-six years?

Hadn't he known finding out she was the by-product of her father's affair with a Miami Beach socialite would make Lauryn doubt everything she'd once held as truth?

Why hadn't he guessed that finding out he'd married his deceased buddy's pregnant wife only to provide a mother for his infant daughter would make Lauryn question the very fabric of her parents' marriage? Or that discovering the child growing in her “mother's” rounded tummy in all those pictures wasn't Lauryn at all, but a baby boy who had died before taking his first breath?

Why couldn't her father have told her about her birthmother earlier? Before Adrianna had died. If he'd done so Lauryn would have had a chance to meet the woman who'd given her life and ask questions. She could have heard her mother's voice, seen her face and learned about her parents' relationship. What attracted them? What separated them? What had driven Adrianna to give her baby away and why had she died so young?

Even Lauryn's name was part of the mystery.
Laur
ence.
Laur
yn. According to Lauryn's adoptive mother, Adrianna Laurence had insisted on the name. Was it because she wanted Lauryn to find her one day? Or because she couldn't bear not being a part of her daughter's life in some small way?

Lauryn might never discover the reason, but it wouldn't be from lack of trying on her part.

If her father had told the truth then Lauryn wouldn't be forced to use subterfuge to find her answers.

Answers that, according to the letters, might be found in a diary hidden in a secret compartment beneath the closet floorboards of the estate Adam Garrison now owned.

Were the diaries still there? Or had someone besides her mother known about them and removed them from their hiding place long ago? From Lauryn's research she knew that her grandmother, the last surviving member of the Laurence clan, had died shortly before Adam bought the property.

Doors will open for you,
Adam had said.

The only doors Lauryn wanted to open were the ones to that house. Her birthmother's house. But she couldn't just blurt out her odd request. If she did and Adam turned her down, then she'd have nowhere else to turn, and she'd never have her questions answered.

And so the deceit began. She'd moved from California to Florida planning to befriend her new boss and gain his trust. She'd believed that once she did that, once she'd proven she wasn't some flake with outlandish ideas, he'd be more likely to grant her bizarre request to pry up a few floorboards.

Only it hadn't worked out the way she'd hoped. She and Adam only saw each other in a business setting at biweekly meetings. There was nothing remotely personal in discussing the club's bottom line and there were always other employees in the vicinity.

And now…

She stared at her steaming dinner with absolutely no appetite.

Now, Adam's crazy plan and her refusal to participate in it had probably ruined any chance of friendship or trust ever developing. She'd be lucky if she escaped this situation with her job.

She'd have to find a way—short of marriage—to make amends or kiss her quest for answers goodbye.

G
etting out of the building for an hour on Friday appealed to Lauryn about as much as winning the lottery.

With the club operating from 11:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m., Adam didn't usually make appearances in the Estate offices until late afternoon. While he slept, a hive of office staff, custodians and food and beverage restockers did their jobs to prepare for the night ahead. Nevertheless, Lauryn had jumped at every sound this morning and looked forward to taking the bus to her favorite Dolphin Mall deli and spending a relaxing hour not worrying about Adam Garrison's bizarre proposition.

The clock ticked noon.
Time to escape.
Tension drained from her knotted shoulders. She pulled her purse from her desk and took her usual circuit through the club. With the lights turned low, the antebellum structure that had begun life as a French-owned casino looked as if it, too, were sleeping. Later this afternoon the building would awaken as the technicians tested every speaker and bulb and set up whatever stage requirements tonight's entertainers demanded.

The club was designed around a “night out at home” theme, and each room in the vast building had been set up with trendy leather sofas and chairs arranged in conversational nooks. There were multiple bars and dance floors on both levels, each having its own color scheme. State-of-the-art lighting and sound systems and top-notch live entertainment kept the place packed to its twenty-five-hundred-person capacity with an A-list crowd every night. Or so she'd heard. She hadn't been a customer yet and probably never would be since she'd given up late-night partying years ago and she didn't fit the guest profile.

She paused to caress the carved newel post of the grand staircase sweeping up to the second floor. This was her favorite part of Estate. She'd always thought it resembled a stage from a Hollywood movie set.

Thinking of Hollywood reminded her of California and home.

Home. And the mother she'd inadvertently hurt when Susan Lowes had revealed Lauryn's true parentage.

Way to go, Lauryn. Shoot the messenger.

Lauryn hadn't meant to imply Susan had been anything less than a perfect mother. But Lauryn had questions about her heritage. Questions Susan couldn't answer. And then there was the anger. Anger toward her father and Susan for withholding the truth. Anger toward Lauryn's birthmother for rejecting her without even giving her a chance to fit into her world.

Shaking off her unproductive emotions, Lauryn circled back toward the employee exit, shoved open the side door and stepped into the Miami sunshine and balmy November day.

The first thing she saw once her eyes adjusted to the brightness was Adam Garrison leaning against a silver BMW convertible parked by the curb.

Her stomach dropped like a cruise ship anchor and her nerves knotted like a snarled line. So much for avoiding him after yesterday's fiasco. She hoped he wasn't waiting for her.

Reluctantly, she made her way down the sidewalk. She had to walk past him to get to the bus stop a block away. Lauryn had quickly learned that driving in South Beach was a disaster, not due to the traffic but because of the parking. Specifically, the lack thereof. So she relied on the bus system to get to and from work most of the time.

“Good afternoon, Lauryn.” Adam straightened as she neared.

At several inches over six feet, he looked lean and athletic in sharply creased chocolate slacks that accentuated his height and a cream silk T-shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. A breeze ruffled his dark hair, which always looked in need of a trim. She'd bet he paid a fortune for that casually unkempt look. Thankfully, his designer sunglasses covered his gorgeous make-Jell-O-of-her-kneecaps blue eyes.

She was ashamed to admit that in the beginning she'd had a bit of a crush on her boss, but then stories of his swinging bachelor lifestyle and short attention span with women had eroded those feelings. She'd been there, done that and didn't ever want to live that kind of superficial, self-absorbed life again.

Adam was gorgeous, but good-looking men were a dime a dozen in South Beach. Not that she was shopping for one. You couldn't walk down the sidewalk without passing a bare-chested guy showing off his tan and pecs—either of which may or may not be real here in a city where artificial beauty was as common as a cold.

But most of those guys didn't make her pulse blip unevenly.

And none of them had proposed.

“Good afternoon, Mr.—Adam. Did you need me for something?”

Please say no.

“Lunch.”

Not the answer she wanted. “I…have plans.”

He frowned. “A date?”

She hesitated and debated lying. But she couldn't. Her presence in Miami was already complicated by too many half-truths. “No. I was going to the mall.”

“I have a better idea. Get in.” He opened the passenger-side door.

Would he fire her if she refused? Not something she wanted to find out. She eased into the leather seat and fastened her safety belt. Adam slid into the driver's seat, started the engine and merged into the Washington Avenue traffic.

“I only have an hour,” she reminded him.

“Not a problem. Besides, you're with the boss. Who's going to report you?” He drove north for a couple of miles and then cut through to North Bay and turned back south. Seconds later he pulled up to the curb in front of an exclusive restaurant overlooking Biscayne Bay—one she'd never been to because A, she couldn't afford it, and B, she couldn't get a reservation even if she wanted one.

He climbed from the car and tossed the keys to the valet. Another uniformed employee opened Lauryn's door, handed her out and escorted her to Adam waiting on the sidewalk as if she were a prized possession. Or a ditz who couldn't be trusted next to the busy street.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Garrison,” the hostess greeted him the second they stepped through the doors. Her cool gaze assessed and dismissed Lauryn in two seconds flat. “Your table is ready.”

Adam motioned for Lauryn to precede him, but then followed so closely she could feel his heat and his gaze on her back. She hoped her pin-striped navy skirt didn't make her butt look big. And then she mentally kicked herself.

His opinion of your butt is irrelevant.

Conscious of the curious stares and her department-store clothing so different from the rest of the clientele's designer wear, Lauryn followed the hostess to a waterfront table on the outside deck, took a seat beneath the umbrella and accepted a menu. A breeze teased strands of her hair from the knot at her nape to tickle her cheeks.

She looked up and directly into Adam's blue eyes. He'd removed his sunglasses. As always, the intensity and intelligence in his gaze made her breath hitch.

Tension invaded her limbs as she waited for him to bring up the proposal because there was no doubt that's why he'd brought her here. She hadn't changed her mind about marrying him, although the idea had monopolized her thoughts and cost her a decent night's sleep. Lunch at an exclusive restaurant wouldn't sway her.

What kind of man coolly plotted to buy a wife, sleep with her for two years even though he didn't love her and then discard her and walk away? But then Adam probably hadn't loved any of the women who'd creased his sheets.

Having been burned by love, Lauryn could see the advantages of avoiding the unpredictable emotion, but call her a romantic sap; she actually wanted to find her soul mate one day.

She ducked her head and fussed with her napkin. She'd thought her parents had been soul mates, but discovering the letters and the lies had made her question every tender gesture she'd witnessed over the years. What had been real? What had been staged? Had they fallen for each other after the convoluted coverup of Lauryn's adoption and the premature death of Susan's baby like Susan claimed? Or was that also a lie?

After the waiter took their orders Adam gave Lauryn his full attention. His gaze roamed her features as if cataloging each one. “You moved here from California. Which part?”

Small talk. She could do small talk. Although it had been so long since she'd been on a date she was probably rusty. Was this a date? She hoped not. “Northern.”

“Why Florida?”

She'd had enough doors slammed in her face to know she certainly couldn't blurt out the whole truth. Adam belonged to the same upper class who'd closed ranks and shut her out when she'd come here ten months ago to ask questions about one of their own. No one would confirm that Adrianna had given birth to an illegitimate child, and no one would tell Lauryn how her birthmother died. In fact, conversations ended pretty quickly as soon as she mentioned Adrianna Laurence's name.

Adrianna's obituary hadn't listed a cause of death or even an organization to which one could donate in lieu of flowers as a clue. She'd only been thirty-six, ten years older than Lauryn was now. If there was a ticking time bomb in Lauryn's genes she would like to know.

“My father used to be stationed at Tyndall Air Force Base. I grew up hearing stories about Florida, the Everglades and the beaches. After he died I decided to check them out for myself.”

“And yet you settled on the east coast rather than pan-handle.”

“Better job opportunities,” she replied and hoped he'd drop the subject. He'd been the only job opportunity she'd pursued, and she considered it an amazing stroke of luck that his previous accountant had quit to stay at home with her new baby around the same time Lauryn had needed her job.

“California's loss is my gain.” He accompanied the words with a smile she'd only seen in the South Florida Album section of the newspaper, but those grainy pictures in no way had the same lung-emptying impact as the real deal. No wonder flocks of women fell at his feet. She felt almost dizzy.

She transferred her gaze to the islands across the bay. The Sunset Islands were a tiny cluster of outrageously priced real estate. Could you see Adam's other home—her birthmother's family estate—from here? She counted until she found the correct channel to mark the way to the waterfront property. Lauryn had considered renting a boat and trying to get a better view of the house from the bay side, but the only thing she knew about boats was that they made her seasick.

The man in front of her held the answers. “Didn't I hear someone say you own a house on one of those islands?”

Adam nodded. “Ricco?”

What did the club's booking agent have to do with the estate? But he wasn't her source. She'd discovered that tidbit during a search of the county records, but if she told Adam that she'd come across as a stalker. Which she was…sort of. And she didn't want to get Ricco in trouble. “I don't remember.”

“I bought the house at auction the same way I bought the building now housing Estate and a few other properties. Bargain prices. Good investments.”

“And yet you don't live on the island.”

“I use the Sunset estate to house certain VIPs who are performing at the club. The ones who prefer privacy to hotels.”

That explained the maintenance crews. “I didn't know that.”

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. A zing shot up her arm—the same kind of tempting tingle she'd experienced yesterday when he'd held her hand. Lauryn was no stranger to sexual attraction, but she'd learned the hard way to ignore it because sex inevitably led to complications. Complications she didn't need.

She tried to pull away, but Adam's grip tightened around her wrist. He turned her hand over, used his other hand to pry open her clenched fist and then drew on her palm with his fingertip. The impact hit her libido like a car bomb. Shock-waves plowed through her and shattered defenses she'd thought unbreachable. She gulped and squeezed her knees against the warmth gathering between her thighs.

“I apologize for springing my proposal on you so abruptly yesterday. I realize it's a pretty radical idea.”

“No kidding,” she croaked and tugged her hand to no avail.

“You don't know me well enough to know I always give one hundred ten percent to any endeavor. I can and will be a great husband.” He stroked up and down between each of her fingers. Her pulse bounded like popcorn in a popper. No doubt he felt it beneath the thumb he feathered over the inside of her wrist. “We'll get to know each other better. Date a few times.”

“I—I don't think that's a good idea. And it won't change my answer.”

“You can't deny there's chemistry between us.”

His deep, velvety tone immediately made her think of dark nights, tangled sheets, a lack of clothing and his hands on her skin.

Heat flushed her from the inside out. How long had it been since she'd had really good sex? Or sex, period, for that matter.

Did he really feel the attraction, too, or was he just saying what he needed to say to close this deal? God knows she'd fallen victim to plenty of smooth-talking guys who'd made her feel like the most important person on the planet until they had what they wanted. But then she'd been known to use guys, too, to get a rise out of her father.