Playboy's Ruthless Payback: Playboy's Ruthless Payback

She broke the connection first.

“Until tomorrow then,” he said evenly.

She watched him walk out of the kitchen and down the hall, the edges of his wool coat snapping with each stride. Yes, it had been a long time since she’d met a man who affected both her mind and her body, and it was pretty damn unlucky that he happened to be an enemy of her father’s.

Thankfully, she had become quite good at denying herself.

Four

Mac had hoped Olivia Winston would be moderately attractive. After all, it would make his goal a little easier and more pleasant to achieve if the woman he was going to seduce was decent-looking. Unfortunately this woman was miles past decent—circling somewhere around blistering hot. She was also intelligent and passionate and pushed sugar. And if he had any hope of seeing his plan through to the end, whenever he looked at her he was going to have to force himself to remember the he and her father were at war. And that her unhappiness and disappointment and permanent scarlet letter would be his justice.

He slowed his car to a comfortable seventy miles per hour as he exited the freeway. But seeing her as an enemy to be taken down wouldn’t be easy. Damn, the way she’d looked at him with those fiery coffee-colored doe eyes, as though she couldn’t decide if she was intrigued by him or wanted to follow her father’s advice and toss him right out on his ass. Mac turned onto Third Street, Minneapolis’s restaurant row. Eyeing the line of cars in front of Martini Two Olives, he backed into an open parking space with one effortless movement. Light snowflakes touched down on his windshield as he spotted a tall, cool blonde through the window of the packed restaurant.

She smiled warmly at him as he walked through the doorway. Mac gave her a kiss on the cheek, and above the din of celebratory restaurant patrons, he said, “Hello, Avery.”

“Well, Mac Valentine, it’s been way too long,” she practically purred.

They took a table at the bar and ordered drinks. When a scotch neat was set before him, Mac asked, “How’s Tim? You two still in love?”

Avery blushed and smiled simultaneously. “Blissfully. And planning on starting a family next year.”

Mack leaned back in his chair and took a healthy swallow of scotch. “I’m a damn fine matchmaker. My best buddy and my firm’s geeky ex-lawyer.”

“Hey, watch it with the geek stuff. That was years ago. I’m a knockout now.”

He grinned. “Yeah. You’re all right.”

She laughed. When her laughter eased, she grew serious, her pale blue eyes heavy with sincerity. “You are a great friend, and you did a good thing. We owe you.”

“Yeah, well, I never thought I’d have to collect on that debt, but times are a little…unsure.”

“Tim mentioned something…”

“He always sucked at discretion.”

“What do you need? Anything at all.”

“Do you still represent the DeBolds?”

She nodded. “My favorite clients.”

“I’ve heard they’re shopping for a new financial firm, and I’d like to show them what I have to offer.”

Her fingernails clicked on her glass. “They might’ve heard the rumors, Mac…. And you know how they are about family, or lack of. They don’t want to deal with—”

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m planning to be everything they’re looking for and more.”

She looked unconvinced. “Five-star restaurants and over-the-top gestures won’t impress them. If you really want them to take the firm seriously, you’d need to do something—”

He put a hand up to stop her. “Let me tell you what I have in mind, then you can decide to set it up or not.”

“All right,” she said and lifted the glass of red wine to her lips.

Given the kind of man he was, Olivia had expected Mac Valentine to live in a sleek, modern type of home made of glass or stainless steel or something impervious to warmth. So it came as somewhat of a shock to find that the address he’d given her belonged to a stately, though charming, mansion on historic Lake of the Isles Parkway.

After parking in the snow-dusted driveway, Olivia darted up the stone steps and rang the bell, noting with a smile the lovely way winter’s ravaged vines and ivy grew up one side of the house in a charming zigzag pattern. The wintry November breeze off the lake shocked her with a sudden gust, and she was thankful when the door opened. A tall, thin man in his late sixties ushered Olivia inside. He explained that he was the handyman, then told her Mac would be down in a minute. Then the man disappeared down a long hallway.

Olivia stood in the spacious entryway of Mac’s home, staring at a beautiful, rustic banister and staircase, and wondering why it felt only slightly warmer inside the house than out.

“Good morning.”

Coming down the stairs like Rhett Butler in reverse was Mac Valentine. He was dressed simply in jeans and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Awareness stirred in her belly. She liked forearms, liked the way the cords of muscle bunched when a man gripped something, or someone.

“Find the place all right?” he asked when he reached her.

“Perfectly,” she said, noticing that not only did he look good, but he smelled good, too. As if he’d showered in a snowy, pine forest or something. Realizing her thoughts had taken an idiotic turn, she flipped on her professional switch and said, “Shall we get started?”

His eyes lit with amusement, but he nodded. “Come with me.”

As Olivia followed him through the house, she noticed that each room she passed was more warm and inviting than the next, with wood paneling, hewn beams and rustic paint colors on the walls. But there was a glaring problem that Mac didn’t mention as they walked—every room, from bathroom to living room to the fabulous gourmet kitchen, was bare as bones. There were no furnishings, no artwork, no tchotchkes—no nothing. It was the oddest thing she’d ever seen. It was as though he’d just moved in.

“I’m sensing a theme here,” Olivia said with a laugh as they stopped in the kitchen. “You, Mr. Valentine, are a minimalist of the first order.”

“Not totally.” He gestured to a massive stainless steel contraption on the counter. “I have an espresso machine.”

Two perfect cups of steaming cappuccino sat on the counter beside it. Olivia took one and handed the other to him. “And that’s a good thing, but it barely strikes the surface of a family home.” Her hands curled around the hot cup, feeling warm for the first time since she left the car. “I have my work cut out for me. What’s up with all this?”

He shrugged. “I never got around to buying furniture.”

It was more than that, she thought, studying him. It had to be. He hadn’t put his stamp on anything. Maybe he hated permanence or didn’t trust it. Whatever it was, it would be her first order of business. “How long has it sat empty like this?”

“I bought the place three years ago.”

She nearly choked on her cappuccino. “That’s just wrong. Where do you sleep? Or more importantly what do you sleep on?”

“I have a bed,” he said, leaning against the countertop. “Would you like to see it?”

“Absolutely. It’s my job to make sure it has that stamp of family charm on it.”

“What do you think is stamped on it now?”

“Debauchery?” she said quickly.

He grinned. “There’s one more room down here, and in this one, I did put down a few roots. Two, to be exact.”

Curious, Olivia followed him down a short hallway and through a heavy wood door. She stopped when she saw it and just stared. The room was, in a word, fantastic. Olivia walked in and stood in the middle, thinking she could hear music playing. One wall was made entirely of glass and she felt instantly at one with the white wonderland outside. Snow fell in big globs off the many tree branches and landed in pretty little tufts below. Birds hopped in the snow, making three-pronged tracks, and squirrels passed nuts back and forth. Inside, to her right were a pair of comfortable-looking navy-blue leather arm chairs that sat before a massive stone fireplace. Mac sat in one of the chairs and motioned for her to do the same.

“So once in a while you force yourself to relax?” she asked, as the heat from the blazing fire seeped into her bones and called upon her to relax.

“A man needs a refuge.”

“Well, this is great.”

He glanced over at her. “Do you think you can do something with this house?”

“I believe so.”

“Good.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out a card and handed it to her. “Get everything. From sheets to picture frames. I don’t care what you spend just make it warm and family friendly.”

She stared at the platinum card. “You want me to furnish the whole house?”

He nodded.

“Every square inch?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you want your stamp on it at all? Choices in artwork? Television?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand. Don’t you want to feel comfortable here?”

“I don’t like feeling comfortable—too much can happen to a person when they get comfortable.”

“I’ll try and remember that,” she muttered.

His voice grew tight and cold. “All I want is the DeBolds, signed and happy.”

Olivia was tempted to ask him just where he’d gotten such a desperate need to win, but it wasn’t her place to care. He looked so serious, so raw, so sexy as he stared into the fire. Just his presence made the muscles in her belly knot with tension, and she knew that no matter what she told her father, after today, the truth was she was attracted to Mac Valentine. Not that she was going to do anything about it, or allow him to use her in any way, but the attraction was undeniably there.

“I’ll do my best to set the stage, sir,” she said with just a hint of humor.

He looked over at her then, his eyes nearly black in their intensity. “I hope so.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. It was a lush, cynical mouth and for a moment she wondered what it would feel like against hers. She turned away. “You need to understand something,” she said as much to herself as to him.

“What’s that?”

“I know you didn’t hire me because I’m a dynamite cook.”

He snorted. “That’s a little self-deprecating.”

“No, it’s the truth.”

He didn’t reply.

“You’re looking for revenge. I’m not entirely sure how you’re going to go about making me pay for something you believe my father did, but be forewarned…”

“Okay.”

She forced herself to look at him. “I’m not going to fall under your spell.”

“No?”

She shook her head. “Instead, I’m going to watch you.”

“Watching me…I like that.”

“And if you get out of line, I’m going to shove you right back in.”

“Olivia?” He raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“What if you get out of line?”

The question stopped her…from thinking and from a quick reaction. Mac saw her hesitate, too, and his dark eyes burned with pleasure.

“I think social hour has come to an end,” she said tightly, standing. “I have a lot to accomplish in a short amount of time, so let’s get to work. Show me the bedrooms.”

“All of the bedrooms?” he said with a devious smile.

“Yes.”

He stood, shot her a wicked grin and said, “Follow me.”

Five

“So?”

“How was your meeting with Valentine?”

Olivia hadn’t been back in the office more than five minutes and Tess and Mary were already standing in the doorway to the kitchen, their eyes wide with curiosity.

“Fine,” Olivia said from atop a stepladder. She was searching through an upper cabinet, going through brands of cookware. She wanted to buy just the right one for Mac’s kitchen. “I’m checking out a few things, then I’ll be gone for the rest of the day.”

They walked over and stood beside the counter. Tess asked, “What are you up to?”

“I have to furnish his house. The place is practically empty.”

“The whole house?” Mary said, fingering the stainless fry pan that Olivia had set on the counter.

“Why do you sound so surprised? We’ve done similar jobs before.”

“True.”

Olivia could practically hear Mary’s brain working. She glanced down. “What?”

“Are you furnishing his bedroom, too?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. You have too many hormones running around in there.”

Laughing, Tess grabbed a mug from the dish drainer and poured herself a cup of coffee. “We’re just worried about you, that’s all. If everything you said about this guy is true, he’s up to more than just having you refurnish his house to bag a big client.”

“Of course he is. I told you both that.”

Mary put the pan down, grabbed Tess’s cup and took a sip of her coffee. “What if he’s having you design the bedroom he’s going to try and seduce you in?”

“What? You’re both acting nuts. He may be trying to use me, but he’s incredibly clever and creative and interesting in his thinking. Whatever he’s planning has got to be far more elaborate than—” She stopped at the worried looks on her partners’ faces. “What?”

“You like him,” said Mary.

“Oh, come on.”

Tess nodded slowly. “You think he’s ‘clever’ and ‘creative,’ and you probably think he’s hot, too.”

Olivia laughed and stepped down from the ladder. “Of course he’s hot. Anyone with eyes could see the guy is hot.”

“Oh, dear,” Mary began, one hand to her belly as if she were protecting the baby from hearing anything too scandalous.

“Not good,” Tess agreed. “I think I should take over the job.”

“Will you two chill out?” Olivia grabbed a pen from her drawer and began writing down the names of several pieces of cookware. “Mac Valentine may be great-looking and charming and all the other things I said, but I’m not an idiot. He is also an arrogant womanizer with no furniture and no moral compass.”

Tess nodded. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what that article I read last week said. But somehow they made it sound like it was a good thing.”

“What? What article?”

“Tess, go get it,” Mary commanded, then turned back to Olivia.

“Oh, you read it, too,” Olivia said.

Mary shrugged. “I was going through all the old magazines for recycle and you know how once I see something I can’t stop reading, blah, blah, blah…” Tess returned and handed the copy of Minneapolis Magazine to Olivia. Mary said, “It’s from a few years ago. Page thirty-four.”

Letting out an impatient breath, Olivia grabbed the magazine and quickly flipped through the pages until she found the right one. And she knew it was the right one—not by the page number on the bottom right-hand corner, but by the enormous photograph of Mac and another man sitting on a stainless steel desk, a killer view of downtown Minneapolis displayed out the windows behind them. The spread was called “Workaholic, yet Woman Friendly,” and featured both men holding BlackBerries in one hand and gold bars in the other. The sight of Mac, looking both handsome and arrogant as hell, didn’t bother Olivia at all. It was the picture of the other man who sat beside him that had her stomach turning over.

Tim Keavy.

Her heart pounded furiously against her chest and she broke out in a sweat. The one guy from high school who knew what she truly was, knew her most shameful secret. God, did this mean that Mac knew, too? Was he going to use it against her? Against her father?

Olivia brushed a hand over her face. So much for her calm professionalism around Mac Valentine. Damn him. She hadn’t expected him to go this route. She’d expected a full-out seduction—not using her past against her.

She stared at Mac’s dark, dangerous face. Was it possible that he didn’t know, that this was just an odd coincidence? A nervous shiver went through her entire body. She was going to have to be extra vigilant now. Watch every move he made and be prepared for it.

For a moment she thought about quitting the job, but she didn’t run away from difficult situations anymore. She was no coward. She rolled up the magazine, then grabbed her notes. “I’ve got to go.”

“Just watch yourself, okay,” said Mary.

“I will.” And on her way out the door she tossed the magazine in the trash.

* * *

November snow in Minnesota was said to be only the warm-up act for what was coming in January, but as Mac pulled into his driveway, his tires spinning and begging for chains as thick flakes of snow pelted his windshield, he wondered if Christmas had already come and gone without his knowing.

He pulled into the dry haven of his garage and shut off the engine. For a moment, he just sat there. He’d left the homes of many women before, but never had he come home to one. Yes, Olivia was an employee so it should have made the situation feel less domestic, but it didn’t. He found her too pretty, too passionate, too smart to be just an employee.

When he entered the house a few minutes later, he heard the clanging sound of pots and pans being put away, and walked the short distance to the kitchen. His body instantly betrayed him as he spotted Olivia bending down, stacking pan lids on a shelf inside the island. Her dark hair was pulled back in a girlish ponytail and her pale skin looked flushed from all the activity. She wore a red sweater that hugged her breasts and waist, and jeans that pulled deliciously against her firm, round bottom. Devilish thoughts went through his head…like how good it would feel to be there when she stood up, to wrap his arms around her waist, to feel her backside press against him, to slip his hands under that soft wool sweater and feel her skin, her bones and her nipples as they hardened.

She turned then, caught him staring at her and gave him an expectant look. There was nothing new in it, she sported this look quite often, but today there was something more in her eyes, as though she seemed to be silently accusing him.

He dropped his briefcase and keys and walked into the room. She’d done wonders. The space was perfect, homey, yet surprisingly modern with its green, gray and stainless steel accents. She had actually created a family kitchen for him, based on his tastes. She was damn good at what she did, and he couldn’t wait to experience the aspect of the job were she had the most skill: the cooking.

“Well, Ms. Winston,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re going to make some man a great wife.”

But the joke was lost on her. Her brows drew together in an affronted frown. “That was an incredibly sexist remark.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I was giving you a compliment. The room looks amazing.”

“So, only a husband can appreciate it?” she said, holding an incredibly large frying pan in one hand. “This is my job because I love it, not because I chose something stereotypically female. Okay?”

“Sure.” He eased the fry pan out of her hand and put it on the counter. “This is not a weapon.”

She stood a foot away, looking altogether too attractive, even in her ire. “I don’t need stainless steel to do harm, Valentine.”

He nodded. “I believe you.” He reached up and brushed a stray hair off of her cheek. Her skin was so soft it made him ache to keep touching her. “Tell you what, when I go out back later and chop firewood you can say that I’d make a fine husband.”

Not even a hint of a smile. He had no idea what he might have done to make her so mad at him, but he knew he was in trouble.

“I doubt very much that you chop wood,” she said, picking up a pot from the sink. “But even if you did it would take a lot more than watching you to make me think that you’d be a good husband.”

“Why are you so angry with me?” he said finally. “I could sense it the moment I walked in. You look damn pretty, but clearly pissed off.”

“I’m not angry!” she shouted, snatching a dishtowel off the counter.

“What is it? Have a conversation with your father today?”

“Listen, buddy,” she said sourly. “I don’t need to talk to my father to get fired up about you.”

“Fired up?” he repeated, amused.

“That’s right.” She put the pot on the stove top. “I am fully capable of forming my own opinions about you.”

He stepped forward, making her step back, her hips pressing against the granite island. “And what have you come up with?”

“That you’re a man who likes women—”

He chuckled. “Damn right.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Her voice was low, as intense as her gaze. “So much so that you can barely remember their names five minutes out of the relationship.”

“I don’t have relationships, Olivia.” He wondered if kissing her right now was a bad idea or a brilliant one. But she never gave him the chance.

“Are you proud of the way you’re seen by other people?” she said. “Someone who jumps out of one bed only to charm his way into another?”

“That’s the question of a woman who is in desperate need of a man in her bed.”

She stared at him, her cheeks red and her dark eyes filled with irritation, then she dropped her dishtowel and walked out of the kitchen. “It’s getting late.”

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, following her to the front door.

“Don’t bother.” She grabbed her coat and hat and gloves and purse and opened the door. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

Then Mac saw the snow and remembered his drive home. “Wait. It’s really coming down out there.”

“Good night, Mr. Valentine.”

“The roads are pretty bad.”

She stepped out the door and went down the path, calling back, “I’m a Minnesota native, Mr. Valentine. I’ve driven in worse than this.”

“Damn it to hell!”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder and winced when she saw that she’d backed over Mac’s mailbox. There it was, stretched out in the snow, a sad, black pole with a missing head. What a fool she was thinking that just because she had four-wheel drive and an SUV she could avoid the realities of Mother Nature. She’d just wanted to get away from that man, out of his house and the questions about how others saw him, how he had jumped from one bed to the next and all of that crap that she’d tossed at him—questions she was really asking herself.

She put her car in gear and stepped on the gas. A sad whirring sound was followed by rotating tires.

“Damn snow.”

She slammed the car back into Park. This job had gone from a leap of curiosity to just plain complicated. Never had she acted so unprofessionally, and even though Mac’s motives for hiring her were questionable at best, her job was to execute without getting personal, without allowing her fears to drive her actions. Well, from this point on she was going to make sure that happened.

She cranked up the heat, then reached for her cell phone and dialed information. But before the automated operator picked up, there was a knock on her window. Startled, she turned to see Mac, in just his jeans and shirt, and she pressed the button for the window.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’ve killed your mailbox, I’m stuck in the snow and now I’m calling a cab.”

He cursed, the word coming out in a puff of breath. “You’d do better to call a tow truck. No cab’s coming out in this. I could brave it and try to get you home, but I don’t think that’d be very smart.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” she agreed. “You should go back inside.” She rolled up the window, then reached for her cell phone and dialed the operator once more.

Mac knocked on the glass, hard this time. Again, she rolled down her window. “What?”

“You’re going to freeze.”

“Only if you keep making me roll down the window. Now, go in. You’re the one who’s going to freeze in that getup, and I refuse to be responsible for your getting pneumonia or hypothermia or something.”

“You’re acting like a child. Come inside.”

“I’m not acting any way. I’m being sensible. It’s not a good idea for me to go back in there tonight. Things got too heated earlier.”

“True, but I think we could use a little more heat in that house.”

“It’s too cold for jokes.” She sighed. She just wanted to get home, into the tub and have a hot soak, maybe watch a few reruns of Sex and the City.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

“It’s your choice,” he said, his teeth chattering now. “Nice warm fire or freeze in the car.”

She heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll come inside…but I’m going to call for a tow truck.”

He helped her out of the car, and she followed him through the drifts of snow to the walkway, then up to the front door.

“If the tow truck can’t get to you tonight,” Mac said as he opened the door, “you are welcome to stay in my room.”

She stopped inside the entryway. She wanted to scowl at him, but instead she laughed. “Are you insane?”

“Actually I thought I was being pretty gentlemanly.” He turned back and grinned. “And that’s a rare thing for me.”

“Can I use your phone? My cell doesn’t work very well in here.”

“Sure.” He took her coat and hung it up, then covered her hands with his and slipped off her gloves. A shot of awareness moved through Olivia, from the hair on her scalp to the backs of her knees, and she looked up to find him watching her, his dark eyes intense. He took off her gloves so slowly it made her belly knot with tension, and when her fingers were finally released from the warm leather, he took her hands and squeezed them into his cold palms.

“You’re freezing,” she said.

“And you’re warm.” His fingers laced with hers, and her muscles tensed. “I don’t think I’m going to let go.”

Sadly, she didn’t want him to, but she wasn’t about to give in to herself or to him. He was using her, and she’d allowed herself to be used too often in the past.

Olivia pulled her hands away. “I’m going to make that call now.”

“You’re not getting your car out tonight, Liv,” Mac said evenly. “Now I’m going to be bunking in one of the leather chairs by the fire since all the rest of the bedrooms haven’t been furnished yet, so if you do stay, take my bed—or don’t take it. Either way, I won’t bother you.”

She didn’t know if she believed him, but what could she do? She needed the shelter for tonight. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Good night.” Then he walked in the direction of the den.