The drive took under five minutes, but it was all uphill, and the roads were slick, as daylight had decided to knock off a little early. When Tess pulled into the driveway and saw the house, she thought she’d made a mistake with the directions. She glanced down to check if she had the correct address.
She did.
Who in the world lived here? she wondered. An artist? A famous, reclusive artist who had cut off his ear, then moved to Tribute for the peace and quiet and frigid climate?
Tess got out of the car to a blast of arctic air and looked up at the massive glass fortress. Whoever lived here, she mused, had better have something to do with the renovating process.
She walked to the front door. It wouldn’t surprise her if this was some kind of roadblock that Damien had put up to mess with her—picking out artwork for the walls before they were even painted, or something equally wasteful in the time management department. Sure, he wanted the house done in two weeks, but he wanted to make every move she made that much more difficult in the process.
Her teeth chattering, she rang the bell. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait more than ten seconds before it opened. For a moment she thought she’d come face-to-face with Danny Devito. Then she realized the impossibility of such a thought and granted the man a friendly smile. “Hello. I’m Tess York. I have an appointment.”
“Of course.” He stepped aside. “Please come in.”
The first thing Tess noticed when she walked into the entryway was how warm the space was. Not the architecture. That was sleek and sexy and ultramodern. But warm in temperature. Even with the sun going down outside, the light that had been filtering in from the many windows all day heated the house toasty warm.
The man she’d mentally referred to as Danny Devito took her coat, then gestured toward the open living area. The space was perfectly outfitted with expensive, modern furnishings—some that could double as pieces of artwork—that matched the home’s architecture. “Come with me, please.”
Tess gave the man a grim smile. “I’m sorry, no can do.” She had a rule about this kind of situation. If she didn’t know where she was and who was in charge, she remained close to the exit. “I’ll wait here.”
The man looked a tad worried. “He wouldn’t like that.”
“Who is he?” Tess asked.
“My employer.”
Tess rolled her eyes. This was getting nuts. Forget Damien’s orders. If he wanted to have this guy’s art or whatever the man was selling, then he could get it himself.
Perhaps sensing that she was ready to bolt, “Danny” said in a hopeful voice, “If you could wait one moment, Ms. York?”
Tess released a breath. “Okay. But seriously, this had better get clear real soon.”
Like a fretful mouse, the man scurried away, through the double-height living room and its beautiful floor-to-ceiling soapstone fireplace. Tess started counting to sixty. She got to fifty-one before she heard the butler returning.
But it wasn’t the butler.
She heard him before she saw him, and her gut went tight. “Giving the help a hard time, are you Tess?”
Tess watched him walk toward her, the master of the manor, dressed in jeans and a black sweater, looking too gorgeous, too dangerous for words.
She shook her head as he approached. “Your house, huh? I should’ve guessed.” She pointed a finger at him. “And, for the record, I wasn’t trying to give anyone a hard time. I was being firm. But maybe he’s not used to strong women coming here.”
“Olin,” he said, walking into the living room. “His name is Olin.”
Tess followed. “Right. Well, maybe Olin’s not used to you having strong women around.”
Damien’s eyes were cool and brilliant blue as he sat in a black leather armchair. “Only one woman comes here, and she’s plenty strong.”
“Only one, huh? How progressive of you,” she said sarcastically, taking the chair across from him.
“You met her today, in fact.”
“Wanda?” Tess said.
He nodded. “She’s a good friend.”
“How nice.”
“I don’t bring the women I date here.”
The women. Plural. So, there were many. Of course there were many. She pushed away the nip of jealously in her gut and got down to business. “Why am I here, Damien? And with all the mystery?”
“Mystery?” he repeated.
She put her hand up. “No, forget it. I don’t need an answer for that. I get it. You wanted me to see your amazing spread, how well you’ve done—and I have. It’s fantastic, you’re successful. Okay?” When he said nothing, just looked mildly amused, she pressed on. “Now, I have a job to do—one that was forced on me—and I’d like to get it done as soon as possible.”
“I didn’t have Wanda tell you that it was my house you were coming to because I assumed you’d still be pretty pissed off at me and you’d probably stand me up. And I needed you to see this house so you could see my style, what I wanted for the red house.”
Oh. Well, that made a small amount of sense. “You want the red house to go modern? It’s a cozy little cottage.”
“Cozy cottages can and should have modern touches.”
“Fine. Okay. Cozy, but modern it is.” She stood. “If I could get my coat, I need to go over to the motel and check in before it gets dark—”
“No.”
She stared at him, puzzled. “No, what?,” she said, laughing. “I don’t get my coat back?”
“You’re not staying at the motel, Tess.”
“Excuse me?”
“No motels or hotels.”
This guy was something else. “Where am I supposed to stay, then?”
Damien sat back in his chair.
Tess crossed her arms over her chest. “If you think I’m going to stay here, then the LA smog has really rotted your—”
“No. You’re not staying here.”
Her hands balled into fists, and she said through gritted teeth, “What do you suggest, then? Building an igloo?”
“You’ll stay in the red house.” He said it as though it was the simplest, most logical solution in the world.
Her stomach churned with irritation. “The red house is filthy and unfurnished.”
“You’ll change that.”
Nostrils flaring with anger, Tess stood there, her body rigid. She wanted to scream at him, maybe clock him with that mean left hook she’d learned in self-defense class at the Y. But that was just what he wanted—a mad, frustrated, vulnerable Tess York.
Not going to happen.
“So, more punishment, is that it?” she said tightly.
A slow smile pulled at his lips.
Tess nodded. “Have at it, Sauer. Just know that when this is all done and you’re back in California making another million, the only thing that’ll have changed on this end will be that small amount of regret I felt when I walked out on you.”
His gaze flashed with icy contempt. “It’s getting dark. I’ll have Olin get your coat.”
“Don’t bother.” She left him standing there and walked to the entryway. After pulling her coat from the stainless steel closet, she left.
Every weekend for one year, Damien had come to Tribute to supervise the building of his hilltop house. It was everything he’d ever wanted, a twelve-thousand-square-foot glass house; a modern, minimalist fortress that overlooked the little red house he couldn’t let go of. He had designed the house so that he could see the red cottage from nearly every window. It was how he’d wanted it, needed it. Whenever he looked down at it, he was reminded of her, and the feeling of betrayal had spurred him on, had made him wise and passionless and highly successful in business.
Damien took the elevator to the roof and stepped out on the deck. Snow was falling in sweet, tiny flakes, melting at once as they hit the heated stone floor. He could see for miles from up there, but he didn’t even try to look beyond the borders of Tribute. His gaze rested where it always did—on the red house. A tiny speck of a place that mocked him big-time.
Right now it was dark. Obviously, she wasn’t back yet.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” Damien didn’t turn around to address Olin.
“Dinner is ready, sir.”
“Nothing for me tonight.”
Olin paused for a moment, then uttered a quick, “Yes, sir,” before he disappeared.
Damien wasn’t hungry. Not for food, at any rate. What he wanted was her. Her body and her soul. He wanted to make her hate him, then make her love him, then crush her as she’d crushed him.
And, after their meeting earlier, it looked as though he was well on his way….
“Seriously?”
Ruby Deets looked suitably remorseful as she shook her head, her platinum-blond beehive shifting as she moved. “I’m sorry, hon. Wish there was something I could do for you.”
Starving and running out of the half cup of patience she had remaining, Tess leaned against Ruby’s front desk. “You can. You can give me a room.”
“Can’t.”
“He doesn’t own you.”
“No, that’s true.” Ruby leaned in, her double chin just hovering above the tarnished welcome bell. “But he does own the motel.”
Tess grit her teeth. Of course he did.
“Is the grocery store still open?” she asked.
Ruby checked the clock on the wall. “You got another thirty minutes.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“You must’ve done something to really piss him off,” Ruby remarked dryly.
“He’s a man,” Tess said, then turned to leave, calling over her shoulder, “They’re not that hard to piss off.”
Three hours later Tess sat on a blanket from her car in the red house’s tiny living room. After she’d gotten rid of the cobwebs, scrubbed down the walls and mopped the floor in the one room, she’d built a fire in the brick fireplace and opened her deli sandwich and chips.
Between the rough accommodations and all the thoughts running through her brain, from Damien to the remodel to her past, she was not going to be sleeping much tonight.
For about a half a second, she’d contemplated going home and just explaining to Olivia what she was up against. Her partner was pretty understanding and very cool. No doubt, she’d pat Tess on the back, whip up a five-course meal—three of them heavy on the chocolate—then suggest they find a new office building immediately.
Oh, such a tempting thought.
But Tess was no coward, no quitter. She would take control of this situation and turn the red house into a comfortably modern masterpiece. Then, when the two weeks were up, she’d pack up and go home, put Damien behind her for good.
She took another bite of her egg salad sandwich. To make this work, she would have to stay one step ahead of him, try to anticipate what he would throw at her next. Because if there was one thing she could be sure of, it was that Damien Sauer had plans for her. Possibly destructive plans, and she had to be ready.