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“You will do as you are told and that’s final,” her father commanded.
Cassandra Monahan lifted her gaze to meet her father’s angry grey eyes. It would have been easy to pout the way she used to when she was a child. After all, her father continued to treat her like a little girl despite being twenty-five years old. But acting like a kid now would only make him think that his commanding her was justified.
She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to go.”
Her father crossed the penthouse living room and scowled. “Someone from the family has to make an appearance in my absence tonight.”
“Why do you even have to be absent?” she asked.
“Never mind that,” he said darkly.
Unease settled over her. She knew what it meant when her father evaded questions. Whenever he refused to give details it was business-related. The shadier side of his shipping empire. Though her father had never said it outright, Cassandra knew that legitimacy had only taken him so far. Her father had started out as a gangster’s errand boy. Not a secret to her family, and the rest of the world whispered about it all the time. Now he owned one of the largest corporations in the world. That path hadn’t always been straight and honest.
“I don’t know these people,” she said.
What you really mean is, you don’t trust these people, she thought to herself.
“Tonight’s fundraiser is the perfect way to get to know them,” he pointed out. “We agreed that you’d take on more responsibilities, Cassandra. Networking on behalf of the company is one of those responsibilities.”
She hated how quickly her father found ways to control and manipulate any given situation. He had always been shrewd. Cunning. Sometimes even cold and callous. Obstacles were meaningless to him. Whatever he wanted, he got.
Cassandra wasn’t like that. Oh, she might project a chilly confidence. In her family’s social circles everyone knew her for her ice-cold demeanor. They all thought she was strong, but she wasn’t. She knew she was weak. It was all an act. She didn’t have her father’s thirst for winning at all costs.
“This isn’t what I had in mind when we discussed responsibilities,” she said, at a loss for how to stand up to him. Cassandra had managed to maneuver her way into helping with the marketing department’s graphic design. Something more hands-off. Mingling with potential clients was far more substantial, and that made her uneasy.
How could she tell her father that even though she had no proof, she suspected that his shipping empire was built on lies? On worse than lies? It had been easy to look away when she was a child. To cling to her naiveté about what her father did and how he did it. But she wasn’t a child anymore, and deep down she sensed things weren’t on the up and up. There was too much secrecy around it all.
“It’s what every girl wants,” her father said dismissively. “To wear jewels and an expensive gown. To be the center of attention. Instead of coming into work this morning, you can spend the day getting ready.”
“But—”
“The event’s hosts are important, Cassandra. They’re not major players yet, but they’re a foothold into a market that could change everything.” Her father placed his hands on her shoulders. In that way he did when he was trying wear her down by gently cajoling her. It often worked because, in spite of her misgivings, part of her just wanted her father to be proud of her. “Meeting me is nothing to them, they can do that any time they come down to my office. But meeting my charming, beautiful daughter? The glamorous heir to my kingdom? That will make them happy.”
“They only want to meet me because of my connections.” Cassandra couldn’t remember the last time anyone wanted to meet her just for her. In her world, everything was transactional. A pang of loneliness stabbed her heart. She knew that she’d be surrounded by revelers at the fundraiser and she would still be devastatingly lonely.
“If you won’t do it for the company, then do this for me,” he said.
“For you...” She pulled away from him as she felt her courage waver. His approval still meant something.
All high society luncheons and parties and fundraisers had been difficult enough when they had just been social gatherings. But this was business-related, and her conscience was protesting the very idea of mingling with anyone linked to her father’s business. There was a chance that the hosts were just as shady as her father. Even if they weren’t shady, her father was now using her to make himself look legitimate. Like a harmless family man when really, no matter how much he loved her, she knew he loved winning more.
“Look Dad, this is hard for me, okay?” She sighed heavily. “I just want a life of my own sometimes—”
“What life?” her father demanded. “The life I gave you? Paid for? The clothes on your back? Your education? This penthouse? You have nothing without me.”
Each word was like an arrow straight to her heart. That was all she was to him. Another investment. Nothing more. “What if I took some time off from the business?”
“You wouldn’t dare.” He narrowed his grey eyes. “I have no sons. You’re the only heir I’ve got. I’ve been grooming you all your life to take over the business. This is the role I’ve built for you and, damn it, you’re going to step up.”
“Maybe I don’t want this role. Maybe I want something else,” she said. Deep down, she wanted something more. Something that was real. That was hers. All her life she had danced to her father’s tune, and she had never been free to make her own choices or her own mistakes. She barely felt like a person at all. Instead, Cassandra felt like a shadow. A poor imitation of someone far more real and capable.
“We had a deal. So you had better remember that if you try to break that deal, I won’t hesitate to cut you off,” he said. “You’ll have no money. No friends. And you’ll never amount to anything with an art history degree.”
Her education had been the one thing that was hers. She had only been able to focus on her passion for art because she had promised her father that instead of going to business school like he wanted, she’d learn everything about business from him. The problem was that when she had made that bargain at just seventeen years old, she hadn’t suspected that her father’s business dealings were unethical.
Tears stung the back of her eyes and she turned away from him. “And if I don’t go?”
“Monahans are strong. We shy away from nothing,” her father said, contempt in his voice. “I never thought I would end up raising a weakling, but I’ve been wrong before.”
There it was. He knew the exact knife to plunge into her heart.
“Fine,” she managed to force out. “You win, Dad. I’ll go.”
Her father turned away and headed for the front door. With his hand on the doorknob, he paused to look back at her. His grey eyes were cold. “Oh, and Cassandra? Think twice the next time you try to defy my orders.”
He left her in the deafening quiet of the penthouse.
Too hurt to be angry, Cassandra headed into her room to start looking for a dress for the fundraiser. She had no choice now but to get this ordeal over with.
That evening she left the penthouse with her bodyguard in tow. She danced and drank the night away, numbing herself to it all. When the smile she had plastered on her face all night was starting to hurt she made her way back home.
Her bodyguard opened the door for her and she didn’t even bother turning the light on as she made her way to her room. She was too tired to think about changing out of her evening gown.
Once she kicked her heels off, she crawled into bed and sighed as she sank into the mattress. She had done her duty. Hopefully her father would approve for long enough to get off her back about her business obligations. She might even have a respite for several weeks, and get to fade into the background in the marketing department.
Cassandra shut her eyes and fell asleep almost instantly.
When she woke up the next morning, golden sunlight was streaming in through the window. It was hard to be in low spirits when the weather was as beautiful as it was in Moonrise Key. Out of all the islands in the Florida Keys, she had always been convinced that Moonrise was the most beautiful.
She yawned, stretched, and then froze.
The most remarkable pair of blue eyes was staring back at her. What the hell? She wasn’t alone. There was a man in her bed. A damn sexy one.
~*~
CASSANDRA BOLTED OUT of the bed and flew across the room. When she crashed against the wall, the air was knocked out of her lungs and she struggled to inhale. She only had seconds to get away from the burglar so she opened her mouth, ready to scream.
The man in her bed raised his hand. “Please don’t. Don’t scream.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she forced out. “For me to stay quiet while you break into my apartment.”
“No. I want you to be quiet because I have a headache the size of Texas,” he responded evenly. “This hangover is killing me.”
That was the absolute last thing she had expected the man to say. She was so stunned that she forgot to even bother with a retort. “Hangover?”
“I went bar-crawling last night,” he muttered. “Bad idea. Very bad idea, because I let that jackass Sidney drop me off here instead of my own apartment.”
“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” she demanded, eyeing him suspiciously.
The man rubbed his temples and grimaced. As scared as she was, Cassandra still noticed how devilishly handsome he was. Eyes so piercingly blue that she was certain she glimpsed a world-weariness behind the blandly irritated arrogance in his gaze. A square jaw with a dusting of dark stubble. Wavy brown hair that must have been blond at some point in his life was now rakishly disheveled. Most terrifying of all was the faint scar that ran down the left side of his face. It looked as if he’d been attacked with a knife once, long ago. The imperfection made him look more handsome, not to mention very dangerous. Untamed even. And his mouth—so cruel and wondrously full. Just looking at him made her throb in places that hadn’t been satisfied in a very long time.
The tattoo on his right shoulder peeked through the unbuttoned part of his shirt. She wondered if it went across his chest or ran down his arm. Maybe both. She considered for a moment if the skin under it would be warm if she traced her fingers over it. She swallowed, trying to push the thought out of her head.
“Your bedroom?” He laughed humorlessly, the mocking sound ringing in her ears. “This is my place.”
“No, you broke into my apartment,” she said, raising her chin defiantly.
“Sweetheart, this is my penthouse,” he shot back. “You’re the intruder here. Not me.”
“I’m no such thing.” The absolute nerve of him made her bristle. Who did this man think he was? Her father had gifted her the penthouse over two years ago. “I might have been wrong about you breaking in, but I’m not wrong about this being my apartment.”
She was starting to guess that he was one of her neighbors who had accidentally ended up in the wrong apartment. Maybe she had forgotten to lock her door properly and he had wandered in, thinking the place was his. Based on his disheveled hair and rumpled shirt, that would definitely explain why he had slept in her bed.
The thought of sleeping so close to such a gorgeous specimen of a man sent bands of heat across her skin. Even with all his clothes on, Cassandra knew that he was muscular. No amount of clothing could hide the hardness of his chest or the width of his shoulders. The sleeves of his shirt could barely contain his muscular forearms. Not to mention that tanned skin that contrasted deliciously against his light blue eyes.
“I have the keys.” He dug into his pocket and retrieved a set of keys, holding them up as if that was proof enough. “This place is mine.”
“You opened the door with those keys?” she asked in surprise.
“I did.”
“But...” She frowned and shook her head. “This is definitely my apartment. That’s my perfume on the nightstand.”
He looked down at the small gold bottle then looked back up at her. A strange familiarity flashed in his eyes. “That son of a bitch. He played me.”
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Whatever was going on, she sensed that it wasn’t good. She might have been wrong about this man being a burglar, but she hadn’t been wrong about him being dangerous. He couldn’t be trusted.
“Son of a bitch.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”
“Jack Landry.”
That name didn’t ring any bells for her at all.
“Am I supposed to know you?” she asked.
“I know Leo Monahan,” he replied. “This is—”
“Of course you do.” She should have known that something like this would lead back to her father. This was no doubt more shadiness, and she knew immediately that she wanted nothing to do with whatever this was. “Did my father let you crash here for the night without telling me? Or telling you I was here? Is that it?”
“Your father.” He didn’t speak as if he was surprised. On the contrary, Jack sounded like he had expected the new information. “You’re Leo’s daughter.”
A chill ran down her spine as suspicion flooded her again. This wasn’t right. Everything felt...off. She started to edge towards the door. She had given this man too much information. Cassandra had been so surprised by what he’d told her that she had let her guard down. Her bodyguard was right outside. He’d be here in seconds to protect her from an attack.
Her shaking hand found the doorknob and she turned it. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said, fighting to keep her voice from trembling with fear. No matter how scared she was, she refused to let anyone see it. Especially this arrogant stranger. “I don’t know what my father told you, but you need to leave.”
“Now, sweetheart—”
“I’m not asking you again.” She let the door swing open.
Jack held up his hands. “This place is mine. I promise you. Your father gave it to me last night. Won it in a game of—”
“Your lies aren’t going to save you.” She kept her eyes on him as she started to call for her bodyguard. “Bruce, get in here now. There’s an intruder in the apartment.”
Immediately she heard her bodyguard’s loud footsteps, and within seconds he muscled his way into the room, his hands balled up into fists, murder in his eyes.
