Читать книгу: «Heartbreaker»

One

Gage Striker hadn’t been in the same room as Elena Rollins in six years. They’d never spoken after their breakup. Never texted. Never called.

And yet, the exact moment his former lover crossed the threshold of his remote Montana home, crashing his private party, he knew. He sensed her nearness like a breath on the back of his neck—a prickling awareness that set every nerve ending on alert.

How had she gained admittance? He’d hired a security team to prevent just such intrusions. Heads would roll for the oversight, given how many celebrity guests were under his roof at his Mesa Falls Ranch home tonight—guests who rightly expected their privacy to be protected. In the meantime, he needed to contain the problem. Just as soon as he located her.

Gage stood in the massive foyer with his friend and Mesa Falls co-owner Weston Rivera. The DJ was playing a pop song in the great room behind them and a handful of people were dancing. Just then, a commotion erupted near the front door as one of the evening’s more prominent celebrities strolled in with her entourage. Social media star Chiara Campagna caused quite a stir with her sleek dark hair and wide dark eyes, but Gage’s attention passed over her quickly.

Elena was his real concern.

Guests poured from the great room into the foyer, phones recording Chiara’s entrance as she accepted a magnolia flower from a greeter. It amazed him how much attention she attracted, especially among the handful of Hollywood elite who’d been invited to this evening’s party, a PR effort to raise awareness about the ranch’s environmental initiatives.

And to provide cover for the fact that all six of the owners of Mesa Falls Ranch were scheduled to fly in for a meeting this weekend. They were in crisis mode. The tabloids had been far too interested in the ranch ever since the actress Tabitha Barnes used their holiday gala as a platform to make explosive allegations about one of Mesa Falls’ former guests. Gage kept waiting for the spotlight to fade and the public to move on to the next scandal, but tabloid reporters had started showing up to chase the story once they discovered how much time Alonzo Salazar had spent at the ranch before his death.

Much to Gage’s personal frustration, Elena had recently embarked on a new career in entertainment journalism. He had a strong suspicion she’d taken the job only when she’d seen a chance for payback given the way they’d parted. With all the gossip Elena Rollins could have covered closer to her Southern California home, of course she’d post a photo of her plane ticket to Missoula, Montana, on her social media account with a provocative caption about hunting down answers.

He’d known all week she was coming for him.

With an effort, Gage returned his attention to his business partner, and the coolly poised blonde at his side. The woman didn’t look familiar, but it was clear by the way Weston curled a possessive arm around her waist that she was someone special to him.

“This is more than we planned for, mate,” Gage observed as he took a rough head count of the crowd in the foyer. “We need better security.” Then, forcing a more pleasant note into his voice, he peered down at Weston’s guest. “I’m Gage, by the way.”

“April Stephens,” the woman replied, her blue eyes darting around the room and up to the cathedral ceiling where hidden lights cast a warm glow on the partygoers. “And thank you for inviting me. Your home is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He had helped design the modern take on a lodge-style home, but he hadn’t spent much time on-site since his business interests kept him on the move. At fourteen thousand square feet, the property was made for entertaining more than anything. “I know this isn’t everyone’s idea of a party, though, love. Come back in the summer when we can kick our shoes off, barbecue some ribs and throw horseshoes by the pool. That’s more my speed.”

He’d never bought into his parents’ belief that appearances were everything. He might have been born with the proverbial silver spoon, but he’d chucked it aside as soon as he realized how much baggage came with it. Now, he had his own wealth. Made his own rules. Funny how he still ended up throwing parties for the overprivileged. At least he called the shots these days.

Weston leaned forward to address Gage. “I need all the help I can get convincing April to spend more time here.”

Intriguing that Weston would make his interest in the woman so clear. Gage had known Weston since boarding school days and he couldn’t recall a single female in all that time whom his footloose, mountaineering friend had gone out of his way to impress.

Gage nodded, respecting Weston’s wishes even though he couldn’t imagine diving into relationship waters again. He returned his attention to his friend’s date.

“Definitely come back and spend some time with us when there’s not so much hype.” He snapped his fingers suddenly, remembering why he should know the woman. “April. You’re the financial forensics investigator. How’s your case going?”

So this was the woman who’d been hired by Alonzo Salazar’s son to trace his mysterious finances. Gage’s former mentor had recently been unmasked as the man behind a Hollywood tell-all book that had caused Tabitha Barnes and her family a world of trouble.

“It’s closed,” she assured him. “I’ve tracked enough of Alonzo’s earnings to satisfy my client, so I’m officially finished with my work at Mesa Falls. I’ll be flying back to Denver tomorrow.”

Gage nodded, realizing she wasn’t going to offer any specifics. He would ask Devon Salazar for an update on the case in the morning since her findings could very well turn media scrutiny in another direction. Away from the ranch.

The encouraging thought immediately faded, however, as he felt the hairs at his shirt collar stand on end. The hum of awareness grew to a buzzing sensation until he had no choice but to turn around.

And came face-to-face with his former lover.

Elena Rollins stepped toward him, swathed in strapless crimson silk and velvet. Her dark hair was half pinned up and half trailing down her back, a few glossy curls spilling over one bare shoulder. Even now, six years later, she took his breath away as fast as a punch to his chest. For a single devastating instant, he thought the smile curving her red lips was for him.

Then, she opened her arms wide.

“April!” Elena greeted Weston Rivera’s date warmly, wrapping her in a one-armed embrace like they were old friends.

Only then did Gage notice how Elena gripped her phone in her other hand, holding it out at arm’s length to record everything. Was it a live video? Anger surged through him at the same time he wondered how in the hell she knew April Stephens.

“Smile for my followers,” Elena instructed her friend as the two women eased apart. She lifted her cell to get both of them in the shot.

April hesitated, clearly confused about being in the spotlight.

“Were you unaware of Elena’s day job?” Gage asked April as he plucked the device from Elena’s red talons and dropped it in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “She’s now a professional menace.”

Elena rounded on him, pinning him with her dark eyes. They stood deadlocked in fuming silence. Weston might have said something to him—Gage couldn’t be sure—before Weston and April headed off. Now it was Gage and his ex, surrounded by at least twenty-five other guests still filming Chiara Campagna’s every movement on their phones.

“That belongs to me,” Elena sniped, tipping her chin at him. “You have no right to take it.”

“You have no right to be here, but I see you didn’t let that stop you from finagling your way onto the property.”

She glared at him, dark eyes narrowing. “My video is probably still recording. Maybe you should return my phone before you cause a scene that will bring you bad press.”

Extending a palm, she waited for him to hand it over.

“If you have a problem with me, why don’t you tell it to the security team you tricked into admitting you tonight?” He pointed toward the door where two bodyguards in gray suits were stationed on either side of the entrance. “You’re trespassing.”

The crush of people in the foyer began to ease as Chiara Campagna’s entourage made their way into the great room, pausing just inside the open double doors to take a few photos with her friends. At least there would be less of an audience for whatever antics Elena had in mind.

“Is that a dare, Gage?” Her voice hit a husky note, no doubt carefully calibrated to distract a man.

It damn well wasn’t going to work on him.

“I’m giving you a choice,” he clarified, unwilling to give her the public showdown she so clearly wanted to record and share with her followers. “You can speak with me privately about whatever it is you’re doing in my house, or you can let my team escort you off the premises right now. Either way, I can promise you there won’t be any cameras involved.”

“How positively boring.” She gave him a tight smile and a theatrical sigh before folding her arms across her chest. “Maybe using cameras could spice things up a bit.”

She gave him a once-over with her dark gaze.

He reminded himself that if she got under his skin, she won. But he couldn’t deny a momentary impulse to kiss her senseless for trying to play him.

“What will it be, Elena?” he pressed, keeping his voice even. “Talk or walk?”

“Very well.” She gestured with her hands, holding them up in a sign of surrender. “Spirit me away to your lair, Gage, and do with me what you will.” She tipped her head to one side, a thoughtful expression stealing across her face. “Oh, wait a minute.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “You don’t indulge your bad-boy side anymore, do you? Your father saw to that a long time ago, paying off all the questionable influences to leave his precious heir alone.”

The seductive, playful note in her voice was gone, a cold chill stealing into her gaze.

He’d known she had an ax to grind with him after the way his father had bribed her to get out of his life.

He hadn’t realized how hard she’d come out swinging.

Elena followed Gage through his massive home on unsteady legs.

At well over six feet tall, he cut an imposing figure. His build was as formidable as ever, broad chest and muscular arms filling out his tuxedo. As she walked behind him, she could appreciate the way those broad shoulders narrowed to his waist, how his dark hair brushed the collar of his jacket. She caught a glimpse of the tattoos on his forearms just beneath his shirt cuffs. She used to love tracing the intricate colorful patterns there, asking him the stories behind each. And he would tell her, spinning tales of his past in the New Zealand accent that was an aphrodisiac to her. Or maybe it was just Gage—pure and simple. He could have spoken with a Southern drawl or a Boston accent, and she probably would have thought it the sexiest thing she’d ever heard.

He had affected her that way at one time.

She hadn’t been prepared for how seeing him would affect her now. Six years had passed since their relationship ended in an icy goodbye, with Gage believing his father’s story that she’d allowed herself to be paid off in order to leave Gage alone. She’d been so angry at his automatic condemnation that she hadn’t bothered to correct him. If he thought that poorly of her character, then he’d never really known her at all, and couldn’t have possibly loved her.

So she’d told herself that their split was a good thing. An eye-opening moment about someone she’d cared for deeply. She’d even been married since then, a colossal flop of an endeavor that had left her broke and humiliated. Her cooking-show-host husband had taken up with his assistant while Elena was out of town at a conference. She’d become a divorce cliché before she’d turned thirty.

Sadly, even her husband’s infidelity hadn’t left her as unsettled as seeing Gage tonight. Which spoke volumes about her poor decision in marrying Tomas in the first place.

She thrust those thoughts from her mind as Gage led her from the party to a quiet corner at the opposite end of the house. The sound of music faded as they entered a gray stone corridor illuminated by recessed lights in the pale wood ceiling. The building materials were sleek and expensive looking, the walls mostly unadorned. Even the floors were free of rugs; her high heels echoed in the wide hallway.

They soon arrived in a sitting room with a gray stone fireplace. Or maybe it was an office. She realized the mammoth glass-topped table with steel legs was actually a desk. There was a deep leather couch tucked against one wall and a television screen mounted on the one opposite.

The surroundings were as cold and unwelcoming as her host.

Gage closed the double doors behind them and then turned to face her. The room was soundproof; you’d never know a noisy party was taking place in another section of the house.

“Do you care to tell me what you’re doing here?” he asked her now, his brown eyes unreadable as he studied her by the light of two ultramodern chandeliers with sleek white glass spokes. “Or would you like me to get you a drink first?”

The angles of his face were more prominent than she remembered, from the square jaw and high cheekbones to the slash of his widow’s peak. His face was shadowed with a few days’ growth of neatly groomed beard. He went to a built-in gray cabinet beneath the television screen, raising the wooden lid to reveal a wet bar. There was a small selection of the best whiskeys the world had to offer, cut crystal glasses stacked to one side.

“I’ve had a challenging year, but I haven’t resorted to bourbon yet.” She didn’t tend to drink hard liquor after seeing what alcohol had done to her mother. “But please, help yourself if you like.”

While he poured from the only decanted bottle, Elena had a vivid memory of what Gage’s preferred bourbon tasted like on his tongue when he kissed her. The memory—so sudden and visceral it shocked her—sent an unwelcome flash of heat through her. Her skin tightened uncomfortably, and she fought the urge to pace away from him.

To find some breathing room on the other side of this hard-surfaced echo chamber that passed as living space in Gage’s world.

But she couldn’t afford to give away how much his nearness rattled her.

“On second thought,” she mused aloud, thinking this man and the memories he evoked posed a more immediate threat to her mental well-being than any spirit, “maybe a small taste couldn’t hurt.”

He glanced her way, but she didn’t allow herself to meet his eyes. She pretended a sudden interest in the flames of the fireplace while she tried to pull herself together.

She heard an ice cube clink in a glass. The splash of liquid as he poured her drink. The soft thud of the cabinet lid being shut.

“Here you go.” Gage’s voice sounded over her left shoulder. “I added ice to yours to mellow it a bit. Would you like a seat?”

“No, thank you.” She accepted the glass he handed her, careful to avoid brushing his fingers with hers. She remembered all too well how his touch had affected her. “There’s no need to pretend this is a social visit.”

She crossed one arm over her midsection and lifted the glass to her nose, swirling the drink as she inhaled the fragrance of toasted vanilla and charred oak.

Neither of which quite captured her memory of the taste on Gage’s tongue when they kissed.

“I won’t lose sight of that anytime soon,” he assured her, gesturing toward the couch. “Sit.”

Unwilling to argue, she moved to the far end of the sofa and settled herself on a cushion. He joined her there, leaving a few feet between them. Settling his drink on the window ledge that butted up against the sofa back, he shifted sideways to face her. She did the same.

“Care to tell me why you’re here?” he asked, easing a finger beneath his bow tie to loosen it a fraction.

She remembered how much he disliked formal attire, even though his family’s living in the public eye had called for it. Then, when they’d been dating, he’d been building his portfolio as a venture capitalist, a role that often put him in business attire. And while these days his tremendous success and wealth surely allowed him to wear whatever he felt like, he was still frequently photographed in bespoke suits.

Not that she went out of her way to find out what he was doing. Given his success in Silicon Valley, his name periodically cropped up at the Hollywood parties she used to attend with Tomas.

And damn, but her memories had sent her thoughts on a wild ride. She refocused on his question.

“Based on the way you labeled me a professional menace, I’m fairly certain you already know why I’m here.” She’d been sure to fill her social media with posts about her trip to Montana so that Gage would hear of her impending arrival one way or another. “As an entertainment reporter, I saw an opportunity to unearth a story that readers want right now.”

“Since when do you work for the tabloids?”

She shrugged away the pain that came with thinking about that. “Since my faithless ex-husband tied up our assets with frivolous litigation in an effort to make my life miserable. I took a job that would net me enough quick cash to live on until things are settled.”

That narrative didn’t begin to cover the financial and emotional hardship of her contentious divorce. She’d made the mistake of thinking Tomas would behave like a grown-up and had moved out of the house immediately. Afterward, she’d discovered what a disadvantage it put her at to vacate their shared residence. She’d just wanted him to sign the paperwork and sever their ties. Only later did she realize how shortsighted she’d been to trust that Tomas would be fair.

“I’m sorry to hear about the divorce.” The empathy in Gage’s voice was real enough. His gaze flicked over her as he took a sip of his drink and returned the glass to the window ledge. Then his tone changed. “But there are only a million ways for one of the sharpest women I know to make a living. Why choose to upend other people’s lives to make a buck?”

“I won’t thank you for a backhanded compliment intended to make me feel guilty about my job.” Why she took it was none of his business. Although if ever there was a time in her life for work that allowed her an outlet for her disillusionment and bitterness, this was it. “For what it’s worth, I like to seek out targets for my work that deserve public censure.”

“You can’t possibly be suggesting that I fall into that category,” he replied, displeasure in his voice.

Gage Striker was a man who’d never known a moment’s doubt. A man who wouldn’t know how it felt to have the world think the worst of him. To have to fight for respectability.

She skirted around his comment, not ready to cross swords with him directly.

Yet.

“I was thinking more of Alonzo Salazar, whose tell-all book ruined lives. The man profited from real people’s heartbreak.” She shifted on the leather sofa to face Gage more directly and to retrieve her drink. The silk of her dress’s skirt swished against her calves, the velvet ruffle at the hem trailing over her foot as she crossed her legs.

Gage followed her movements with his gaze, making her far too aware of herself.

Of him.

“And yet it just so happens that pursuing the Alonzo Salazar story brought you to my doorstep.” He lowered his voice as he leaned closer. “That feels a little too convenient to be coincidence, doesn’t it?”

To put off answering, she sipped the bourbon, letting the flavors play over her tongue. A hint of caramel. A touch of smoke as she swallowed.

And then, there it was. The afterburn in her throat with a hint of cherry. The scent of leather. The flavor of the last kiss she remembered sharing with Gage.

“It’s decidedly inconvenient for me.” She resisted the urge to plant the cool glass against her forehead, as her skin warmed at his nearness and the memories of his mouth on hers. “My work here would be much easier if we didn’t have such an...acrimonious history.”

“Acrimonious,” he repeated. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends. Would you?” She set the drink aside, knowing better than to play with fire.

“Far from it,” he agreed easily. “Which is the real reason you’re here, Elena, no matter what you say.”

Her heart sped faster at the confrontational note in his tone. A part of her had always regretted not telling him exactly what she thought of him before she left.

“And what reason is that, Gage, since you apparently know me so well?”

She could swear she saw the flames from the fireplace reflected in his dark gaze. It must be that, and not a wicked light in his eyes.

“We both know you’re here for revenge.”