High Stakes

2

SETTLE THEIR DIFFERENCES? Candice darted a glance at Derek’s rock-hard jaw and narrowed eyes. “What does he mean Monday?”

Derek’s lips thinned, but he didn’t answer.

She quickly turned her attention to the dead bolt. It was keyed from both sides, and she didn’t have a key.

Tyler had locked them in the restaurant.

“Tyler?” she asked hopefully, moving up against the oak, testing the knob. “Uh, Tyler?”

No reply.

Derek let out an exasperated curse. “I don’t think he’s out there.”

“He’ll be back,” she said, nodding confidently, stepping back and gazing up at the oversized doors. “This has to be a joke.”

“I didn’t hear Tyler laughing.”

“Jenna won’t let him leave us here.”

“What makes you think he’ll tell Jenna?”

“Well…Because…” Candice hated to admit it, but that was a good question.

Brushing past her, Derek tested the knob, then he rattled the doors. “I sincerely doubt he’ll tell her.”

“She’s his wife. Isn’t there something in the wedding vows about honesty?”

Derek stepped back beside her to survey the doors. He let out a hard sigh, shaking his head in pity, voice dropping to that intimate timbre. “Candy, Candy, Candy—”

“I asked you not to call me that.”

“Tyler thinks he’s saving Jenna.”

“Well, that would be your fault.”

Derek held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “How is it my fault?”

“Jenna’s frustrated, because you keep picking fights, undermining my instructions—”

“I do have veto power.”

“Over the stain color? The wainscoting? The positioning of the wine rack?” If Derek would just let her do her job, they wouldn’t be in this fix. She was really quite easy to get along with.

“Over any little thing I want,” he said.

“You have taken things way beyond the spirit of the contract.”

“Your threatening to bankrupt me takes things beyond the spirit of the contract.”

“I did not threaten bankrupting you.” Candice folded her arms across her chest. “I am a professional.”

He gave a dry chuckle. “You said, and I quote, ‘I have a contract for three-point-five million of your dollars, and I intend to spend every cent.’”

Candice shifted uncomfortably. “I was upset.” It hadn’t been the most professional moment of her career. But, Derek did that to her.

He ran his fingers around the seams of the doors. “The true measure of a professional isn’t what she does when things are going well.”

“You don’t think you and Tyler lying to us, conspiring against us, hiding your identities amounts to extraordinary circumstances.”

“Tyler was working undercover.”

“Tyler was also sleeping with Jenna.”

“She seems to have forgiven him.”

“He deserved to be forgiven.”

Derek stared at her in silence for a moment. “Unlike me.”

“You’re still a problem, Derek.”

“We’re still locked in a restaurant, Candy.”

“It’s Candice.”

He grinned.

“Okay, fine. You’re right. Let’s table it for now.”

He nodded in agreement. “We can always pick up the fight after we’re free.”

She nodded in return. “Deal. So, did you bring your master key?”

“Won’t fit this lock.”

“It’s a master key.”

“The door and the lock are old. And unique. We haven’t locked it in years.”

Candice eyed the carved oak slabs. “You think you could break it down?”

“It’s solid oak. Besides, isn’t it pivotal to the flow of the room or something?”

“True.” It was a feature she’d planned to use. They’d refinish it, replace the brass. Maybe change the lock in case this kind of thing ever happened again.

It would be a shame to break it. But she was starting to feel claustrophobic. Not that the room was small. In fact, it was huge. It was just that Derek took up so darn much of it.

Suddenly, inspiration hit. The kitchen. She headed across the dining room. “There’s a door through the kitchen.”

“Blocked by the new refrigeration unit,” Derek called after her.

“We should at least check it out.”

“Waste of time,” he said, but he followed.

“Pessimist,” she countered.

“Realist,” he corrected.

“Cynic.” She stopped in front of the crated refrigeration unit. It was huge. She suspected even former linebacker Derek wouldn’t be able to budge this thing.

“Jenna will be here soon,” Candice said with more confidence than she felt.

“Maybe.”

“I’m sure she’ll notice we’re missing.”

“She’s probably got her mind on her Tyler right now. I hear weddings make women feel romantic.”

Candice had to admit, Derek had a point. For some women. “Not me.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

Candice lined her hands up against the rough wooden crate and pushed as hard as she could. “I am not staying in here until Monday. I have things to do, places to go.” She had the library redecorating proposal to finish this weekend. The deadline was Wednesday and there were still a hundred details to check.

“Are you hinting that I don’t?”

“Well you’re not acting like it.” She pushed harder. For a big-time international conglomerate executive, he seemed pretty blasé about losing a huge chunk of his time.

“Candy—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Derek leaned back against a butcher’s block. “It weighs a ton.”

She glared at him as she peeled off her high heels. “Wimp.”

He straightened and opened one of the drawers under the counter, pawing through the contents. “I’m speaking literally. It weighs two thousand pounds. Sometimes you have to accept defeat.”

“How’d you ever get to be a millionaire with an attitude like that?” She turned her back on the crate and tried pushing it butt first.

“How do you manage to keep clients with an attitude like yours?”

“I’m an extremely reasonable person.”

“You’re trying to push a two thousand pound refrigeration unit in your stocking feet.”

She clamped her jaw on a small smile and stopped pushing. “That’s not unreasonable.”

He held up a carving knife, flexing the blade. “You weigh what, a hundred? It defies at least one law of physics.”

She eyed the sharp edge. “Have I annoyed you that badly?”

He frowned and tossed the knife back into the drawer. “None of these will work on countersunk screws. We may be stuck.”

“How stuck?”

“Real stuck.”

“As in you and me? All night long?”

He shot her a look that sizzled right down to her toes. “Candy—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t leave yourself wide-open like that.”

Raw energy pulsed between them for a long second. Candice felt her skin prickle and her heart rate speed up. She was suddenly short of breath.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?”

“We have got to get out of here.”

NOW THAT WAS AN UNDERSTATEMENT. Never mind the fact that Derek had piles of work waiting on his desk, or the fact that Ray Yamamoto was about to have a cell phone conversation with Tyler, Derek and Candice were inches short of combusting at the best of times. Leave them alone for thirty-six hours and anything could happen.

She was drop-dead gorgeous in that tight purple dress. Despite himself, it wasn’t the first time he’d felt an attraction to her. She was smart. And she was feisty. And she made him stop and think, and feel, and want….

Spending the night alone together was foolish at best, suicidal at worst.

“I’ll go look for some tools,” he said, determined to exhaust every possibility before giving in.

“Tools?” She stepped back from the crate, her stocking-covered feet slipping against the tiled kitchen floor.

“Maybe we can take the door off the hinges,” he elaborated.

Her green eyes brightened in surprise. “That’s a good idea.”

“A compliment, Candy?”

She frowned again at the nickname, but didn’t correct him this time. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Derek chuckled as he headed back into the dining room. Candy was definitely a misnomer, given her tart personality. But he got a kick out of the way the name made her bristle.

He glanced around the dining room. Plywood, two-by-fours and sheets of foam insulation were stacked against the walls. The floor was littered with sawdust and shavings. And the dining tables were clustered in one corner, protected by a canvas tarpaulin.

The carpenters were half done, the plumbers had moved in last week, and the electricians had cut holes in everything that didn’t move.

Although it looked like the tools had been cleaned up for the weekend, Derek was hoping somebody had left something behind. He headed toward the new bank of windows overlooking the hotel boardwalk and the marina on Lake Washington. He’d definitely give Jenna and Candice points for discovering the big arched window openings. The view alone was going to increase the Lighthouse’s customer base.

He peeked under a couple of tarps and moved some plywood, hoping for an air ratchet or a stray Phillips head screwdriver. He found nothing. The tradesmen were obviously neat and well organized.

“Any luck?” asked Candice from the kitchen doorway. She’d left her shoes behind.

He wasn’t sure which was worse, the way her sleek little calves had curved down toward the skinny straps and spiky heels, or her sexy stocking-clad feet. The strapless dress revealed her smooth shoulders, and it was tight enough to prove that, despite the hard edge to her arguments, she had a body that was soft in all the right places.

Her blond hair was done up in swirls and curls, but the long evening was beginning to show on it. Wisps had worked their way free to tickle her temples and the base of her neck. She oozed tousled sensuality, and he had to drag his attention away.

“Nothing so far,” he said.

She began hunting from the other end of the room. “Why would Tyler do something this drastic?”

“He’s protecting Jenna.” Derek was trying to be charitable toward his brother, but he had to admit it was tough to keep from plotting his demise.

“He doesn’t need to protect Jenna from me. I’m her partner, her friend. I was her maid of honor for goodness’ sake.”

He lifted the last tarp, checking a makeshift construction table underneath. Sawdust, a measuring tape, a plumb line and a carpenter’s pencil. Nothing of any value to their current plight. “It’s your relationship with me that’s the problem.”

Candice stepped carefully around a couple of saw-horses. “I don’t have a relationship with you.”

“Jenna’s tired of listening to us bicker on the job site.” He frowned at Candice’s feet. There could be metal shavings and stray nails on the floor. Not to mention the danger of splinters. “You should put your shoes back on.”

“I don’t bicker. And I can’t put my shoes on.”

“Why not? The shoes part.” He could debate the bicker part all night long if necessary.

“My feet are swollen. The shoes don’t fit anymore.”

“Well then sit down.” He strode over to the corner of the dining room and pulled one of the padded restaurant chairs from under the tarp. Their red velvet upholstery was faded, and the carved walnut arms would have to be refinished, but they were still very comfortable.

Choosing a relatively clear corner near the windows, he set it down. “Last thing I need is for you to get hurt.”

“Always the gentleman.”

He retrieved a second chair, then placed one of the tables between the two. “Damn straight.”

She picked her way across the room and sat down.

He was both surprised and grateful that she finally did something he asked. He suspected there was a first-aid kit in the kitchen somewhere, but he didn’t want to have to look for it because Candy had a nail in her foot.

“Find anything we can use?” she asked.

“Nobody left a screwdriver behind,” he replied.

“And, you can’t break down the door?”

“You really want me to?”

She sighed, curling her feet beneath her, tucking the dress over her knees. “No. That would be irresponsible. It’s a great door.”

Derek sat down in the other chair. “My shoulder would probably break before the door anyway. They don’t make them like that anymore.”

“True.” She propped her elbows on the table. “You really think we’re that bad?”

“Bad how?”

“Enough of a problem to warrant this.” She gestured around the room.

“Tyler’s overreacting.”

“Maybe it is a joke. Maybe he’ll be back soon.”

Derek doubted that. “Maybe.”

Candice brightened. “Good. So, what do we do while we wait?”

“You’re asking me? I thought I was a waste of air.”

A grin sneaked out on her face. “Did I really say that?”

“More than once.”

“Goes to show you how desperate I am.”

“You hungry?” He didn’t know about Candy, but he hadn’t had a chance to eat at the reception. Since they’d exhausted all of the obvious escape plans, and sitting here twiddling their thumbs wasn’t going to do any good, they might as well make the best of their captivity.

“What do you mean hungry?” she asked. “Did Tyler leave a picnic I don’t know about?”

“We’re in a restaurant.”

She glanced toward the kitchen, forehead furrowing. “You mean we can…”

“Far as I know, it’s still in working order.” Derek rose from his chair. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Tyler would have a change of heart in a couple of hours. In the meantime, there was no need for them to starve.

She peered through the doorway. “You know how to operate that stuff? It looks pretty complicated.”

He held a hand out to her. “If you’re hungry. I’ll cook you something.”

“Really?”

“No. I’m a ogre, and I’m toying with you.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Come on.” He moved closer. “I’ll carry you over the danger zone.”

“Oh, no you won’t.”

“Don’t get all obstinate on me.” Crouching, he slipped one arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees. “Not when I just got you to admit I wasn’t a waste of air.” He easily hoisted her up, settling her against his chest.

She stiffened. “I never admitted any such thing. Put me down.”

“I can put you down. But if you get a nail in your foot, we’re going to be in big trouble.”

“A nail?”

“It’s a construction site.”

She glanced suspiciously at the floor. Then her hands went around his neck. “Oh. Well. In that case. Okay.”

His footsteps echoed as he paced across the room.

After a moment, Candice relaxed against him, all supple muscles and smooth curves. Her fingers brushed rhythmically against the nape of his neck, and her soft bottom nestled against his stomach. Her skin was warm through the sheer stockings, heating his fingertips.

“Can I make a mighty steed joke?” she asked.

He sucked in a breath and tightened his grip, trying to ignore the glimpse of her creamy cleavage. “Not unless you want to leave yourself wide-open again.”

Her clear green eyes widened and an unexpected blush rose in her cheeks as the meaning of his words sank in.

Aha. Her Achilles’ heel. If he made it sexy, it kept her quiet.

He’d have to remember that.

NESTLED AGAINST Derek’s broad chest, Candice felt as though she’d tumbled into an illicit fantasy. She’d admit to admiring his body on occasion. What woman wouldn’t wonder about the feel of his sculpted muscles?

And now she knew.

They were shifting steel. Warm and hard as he easily carried her to the kitchen. Closing her eyes, she gave into temptation and inhaled deeply.

A dark flood of sensuality instantly filled her senses. Derek might be pompous and overbearing, but he was also sexy as sin. Her thighs tingled under his fingers. Her body softened and resistance was replaced by desire.

Too soon, he set her down on the tile floor. As his hand left the small of her back, a taut gaze passed between them, weakening her knees. Her breath stopped for a split second. But then he blinked, and his expression neutralized.

Turning abruptly, he headed for the walk-in freezer, grabbing the lever handle and yanking it forward. The heavy door groaned open, and he flipped the light switch and stepped inside.

Candice followed more slowly, forcing herself to shake off the unsettling feelings. A few seconds of fantasy was one thing, but this was Derek. Derek.

He was everything her mother had warned her against—an entrepreneurial shark who only existed to make money and gain power. He ate women like her for lunch.

“Let’s scope out our choices,” he said from inside the freezer. “Filet mignon, rack of lamb, sockeye salmon, baby back ribs…”

She rubbed her shoulders and curled her toes against the chill of the floor as she gazed at the packed shelves lining the freezer room’s walls. “You know how to cook all this stuff?”

“Sure. Don’t you?”

Growing up with both a cook and housekeeper on staff had left some definite shortcomings in Candice’s homemaking skills. “I’m pretty good with a microwave.”

Derek gave her a disapproving frown. “You survive on processed food?”

“Not always.” Her teeth chattered for a second. “When I visit my parents, Anna-Leigh sends care packages home with me.”

“That’s pathetic.” He shrugged out of his tux jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

She shook her head, pushing it off. This was getting way too cozy.

His hands held it firm against her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your teeth are chattering.”

“We’re in a freezer.”

He sighed heavily. “Do you have to be so stubborn?”

“Do you have to be so stubborn?”

“You wear my coat, I’ll make you dinner.”

“That’s—”

“A deal?”

“Fine.” She pushed her arms into the sleeves and wrapped the big jacket around her. She had to admit, the body heat lingering in the soft lining felt like heaven. The weight of the fabric pushed comfortingly down on her shoulders.

He flicked open the buttons on his white shirt cuffs and rolled the sleeves over his forearms. Then he moved farther into the hallway-like freezer. “You can’t even cook a steak?”

“I don’t like steak.”

“What do you like?”

“Seafood.”

“Hmm.” Derek took a few more steps down the shelves.

She stayed put near the open freezer door, soaking up every whiff of warm air that crept in from the kitchen.

He smiled, retrieving a couple of plastic packages. “Lobster ought to do it. You check the refrigerator for butter. I’ll light the grill.”

“You’re going to cook lobster?” Not that she was an expert, but lobster sounded even trickier than steak.

“You bet.” He hustled her out of the freezer and closed the door behind them.

She rubbed one cold, stocking-covered foot against the opposite calf, trying not to feel outclassed. “Didn’t you have a cook when you were a kid?”

“Sure we did. Doesn’t mean I can’t read a recipe book. Go into the fridge and get me some butter, and…” He glanced around the kitchen. It was cluttered with crates and boxes full of new equipment. None had been unpacked yet, since the bulk of the work so far had been in the dining room.

“Never mind,” he continued. “I’ll find the spices.”

By the time Candice got back from the walk-in refrigerator, Derek had the grill flaming and he was stirring a pot on the big stovetop.

“What’s that?” She peered around his shoulder, sniffing at the mixture.

“Chocolate.”

“You’re making chocolate lobster?” Maybe he’d overstated his cooking expertise.

He grinned. “Chocolate mousse for dessert.”

“No way.” She did cake from a mix sometimes, brownies on an adventurous day.

He slanted her an accusatory look. “Your faith in me is not particularly inspiring.”

“But, you always act like such a pampered, spoiled…” Candice bit her lower lip. Here the man was making her a fabulous dinner, and she was insulting him.

“Don’t jump to conclusions about people,” he said softly.

“Considering how much time we’ve spent together over the past three months, I didn’t think it was jumping.” Culinary expertise aside, she had ample evidence to back up the fact that he was pampered and spoiled.

He adjusted the flame under the open grill, then flipped a switch to start an exhaust fan above it. “It takes two to tango.”

Candice stilled for a split second, overtaken by an image of tangoing with Derek, right here, right now, on the dining room floor. She shook it away. The fact that he could cook didn’t make him any less dangerous.

“You argued with me over the wood stain,” she pointed out.

“You argued right back.”

He was right, but she knew you couldn’t give an inch with Derek. And it wasn’t quite the same thing.

“Honey gloss?” she scoffed. “Natural satin blends with the entire theme, and it’s only a halftone off the color you’re fighting to the death for.”

Derek slowly stirred the pot of melting chocolate. “And honey gloss is only a halftone off the color you’re fighting to the death for.”

Candice compressed her lips. “It’s not the same thing.”

“It’s exactly the same thing.”

He just didn’t get it. Natural satin was part of a complex color design. His honey gloss was merely an uninformed, untrained whim.

Or else he was being obstinate. Quite frankly, she suspected the latter. “What about the wainscoting?” What was his excuse for that?

“Your choice is what? A quarter of an inch wider than mine.” He unwrapped the lobster tails and set them on the grill. Then he swiftly set out a small pot of butter to melt.

“I’m going for authenticity. Believe me, it makes a difference.” She watched his quick, clean movements. “You need some help with that?”

“I’m fine.” He crossed the room and retrieved a basting brush from a cutlery drawer. “It makes a whole quarter of an inch difference,” he said as he walked back toward her, brandishing the brush for emphasis. “Not to mention several thousand dollars.”

“Thanks for not mentioning that.”

“No problem.” He swirled the brush in the melting butter.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked.

“Why do you care so much?” he countered.

“I’m the decorator. It’s my job to worry about the details.”

“I’m the hotel owner. It’s my job to worry about the bottom line.”

“I won’t go over budget.”

“You won’t come in under budget, either.”

“That’s why they call it a budget. I’m going to build you the best restaurant I can within the financial limit you set.”

“Nobody’s going to notice the damn wainscoting.”

“Maybe not specifically—”

“See?” He basted the lobster tails with his left hand, stirring the chocolate with his right. “Why waste the money on something nobody will notice?”