Redemption Of The Maverick Millionaire

‘And this is your room.’ She swung away from the glorious view to open his door and motioned for him to precede her. For a moment she thought he might refuse, but then he seemed to recall his status as guest and hers as motel manager, and he strode through the doorway, lips pressed together in a thin line. She meant to make sure he didn’t forget that distinction. She meant to preserve the boundary—all the boundaries: guest and worker, small businesswoman and wealthy developer, concerned citizen and potential saviour. Because that was all that mattered here. The fact that they had once been lovers was of no consequence.

Yeah, right. Tell yourself that enough, sunshine, and you might just start to believe it.

Not wanting to look into his face again—not wanting to see the dismissiveness she fully expected to see in his eyes as he inspected his accommodation—she motioned towards the coffee table with its small array of brochures. ‘We do what it says in the fine print—provide comfortable accommodation. This is the bedroom.’ She opened a door to the left and moved in to open the French doors leading back out to the veranda and those beach views.

When she turned, he was there, staring at her. She knew he wasn’t thinking of her as motel worker or small businesswoman, but she refused to let her gaze, her attention or her fantasies dwell on the enormous king-sized bed. Instead she sailed back past him into the main living area where she swept the curtains aside to reveal a glass sliding door at the rear of the room that led out to a balcony. Opening the door, she let in a fresh breeze that swept through from the front doorway—a breeze scented with salt and sun. She closed her eyes and drew it into her lungs.

She felt him move towards her and she opened her eyes and lifted her chin. ‘You’ll get a better idea of the layout of the complex from out here.’

‘The motel is more than the converted seaman’s mission?’

She moved outside before he could reach her, letting the warm autumn air move across her skin. She gave what she really, really hoped was an expansive gesture. ‘As you can now see for yourself.’

There was room for a small café-style table and chairs out here on the balcony, but he ignored them to rest his forearms against the wrought-iron railing and gaze out across at her complex.

‘We parked on the road, but feel free to drive your hire car in and park it beneath one of the carports.’ She gestured to where there was parking for a dozen cars. ‘There’s overflow parking on the next block, but as it’s not high season it’s not in use at the moment.’

The driveway was located on the other side of Reception. She pointed. ‘There’s a one-bedroom flat above Reception, which is where I live.’ On the other side of the driveway a white stucco building stretched away from them, facing the road, and she gestured to that next. ‘That’s the family accommodation over there.’

‘So this is…?’ He tapped the railing to indicate the building they were in.

‘More for couples and singles. The family accommodation is more budget-friendly, and has easy access to the pool and lawn area where children can play.’ She gestured to the large green quadrangle in front of them with an in-ground pool at its centre. ‘There are picnic tables down there, showers and a barbecue station.’

Palm trees dotted the area along with an enormous jacaranda, the fronds and branches waving happily in the breeze. Hibiscus bushes in flower added splashes of colour. Damon shook his head. ‘This is…’

She told herself she didn’t care what he thought, but rather than interrupt him she found herself holding her breath.

‘Really nice,’ he finished.

She might’ve taken offence at such an insipid word if he hadn’t loaded it with so much wonder.

She shrugged. ‘It’s home.’

He straightened, rising to his full height, but she kept her gaze trained on the grounds below. ‘The bottom floor of the north wing—’ she gestured to the white building ‘—houses the restaurant-cum-breakfast room, cum-café and bar.’ It was one of the few meeting places Mirror Glass Bay could boast, and the local residents took full advantage of it.

He gestured to the building directly opposite. ‘Is that part of the complex too?’

She didn’t blame him for asking. It was in another style entirely—three storeys of plain blond brick. ‘Those are the longer-let apartments.’ Her grandmother lived in one of the ground-floor ones and she made a mental note to keep her away from Damon.

‘So…you cater to different styles of clientele?’

‘Within reason. And there is some overlap.’

‘How many rooms all up?’

‘Sixteen here in The Mission. These are our premier rooms—large, generous, olde worlde.’

‘And all boasting that amazing view.’

The view was key.

‘We have thirty-two rooms of various sizes and configurations in the north wing. And there are a dozen apartments in that west wing. Some of those, though, are let to permanent residents.’

‘Why did you choose this room for me?’

‘Because it’s the best.’ She shrugged. ‘And because of the view.’ If she’d thought for a moment he’d stay for a fortnight, she’d have considered an apartment for him.

But she hadn’t. And he wouldn’t. So it was a moot point.

‘So you have a beachside wing, a north wing and a west wing.’

‘Which are, of course, terribly unimaginative names. This—’ she tapped the balcony railing ‘—is affectionately referred to as The Mission. That—’ she pointed to the white stucco building ‘—is the Shangri La. While the apartment block is called The Nest.’

He gestured to the south. ‘And that?’

‘Is a nature reserve and can’t be built on.’

This odd jumble of buildings shouldn’t work but it did. It held all the charm of a bygone era and he found himself responding to its warmth and promise.

She’d called it home. It felt like how home should feel.

He had an apartment on Sydney Harbour—not in the Toaster, but down on the waterfront. He had his own private jetty, but he didn’t have a boat. The views were incredible, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d stepped out onto his jetty. It was considered one of the most enviable locations in the country, yet he had a growing suspicion that he didn’t love it the way Eve loved her little one-bedroom flat above Reception.

He had everything a man could want—wealth, power, position—yet…

Yet none of it could plug the hole inside him.

The only time he’d ever felt whole was when he’d been with Eve. And he’d sacrificed that.

He glanced at her now. She’d grown her hair and it’d lightened almost to blonde in places. The colour could’ve come from a bottle…or from how much time she spent in the sun. He suspected the latter, considering the way she wore barely any make-up.

He remembered watching her in the mornings as she’d applied a full face of make-up. He’d always told her she didn’t need any of it, that she was beautiful without it. She’d told him it was her uniform. At the time, the thought that he was the only one to see her as she truly was—her unmade self—had dazzled him.

Now it appeared she let everyone see her as she was, and he sensed she was the happier for it; happier in her own skin.

He let no one see him as he really was. The thought had him dragging a hand down his face.

‘You look tired. I’ll leave you to rest.’

‘No!’ The word fired out of him too fast and with too much force, taking him as much off-guard as it did her. She raised an eyebrow and his collar tightened about his throat. ‘Have dinner with me tonight?’

The request slipped from him—soft and almost begging—and he held his breath.

Surprise flickered across her face, and what looked suspiciously like confusion, before she abruptly turned away to stride back into the living room with its big comfy-looking sofas at right angles to each other, its table for two and large antique desk. She’d made the room feel more welcoming than an entire team of designers had his Sydney apartment.

‘I’m sorry, Damon, I have plans tonight.’

Though her tone told him that her answer would’ve been a blunt no even if she hadn’t had plans.

Two things struck him at the same time then. She might’ve changed her hair, and she mightn’t bother with make-up and business suits any more, but her shoulders still went tight when she was angry. And her eyes still held that same remote expression they always had whenever she held her anger in check. She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but something held her back. This development must mean a lot to her.

He swallowed. He’d promised to fix things. That didn’t come with conditions. He’d fix this, somehow, whether she was pleasant to him or not. And that was what he should be turning his mind to—making amends, not having dinner with a woman who had no desire to dine with him or to revisit the past.

The second thing that hit him was, was she seeing someone? It was none of his business. None. Once in his head, though, the thought refused to let him go. His hands clenched. It was likely, though, wasn’t it? At thirty-two, she was still young. And more beautiful than she’d ever been. Somewhere at the centre of his being a howl started up.

What the hell…?

‘That wasn’t meant to sound like a romantic overture.’

Liar.

‘I just want to know more about Mirror Glass Bay, and you’re in a position to tell me everything I need to know.’

‘The answer is still I’m busy.’

Her shoulders remained tight and her eyes remote.

‘We don’t do room service at The Beachside, but you have tea-and coffee-making facilities in your room. And, as I mentioned before, there’s a café-cum-restaurant and bar on the ground floor of the Shangri La. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are all served there. In addition to that, there’s a block of shops on Marine Drive including a tiny supermarket, a takeaway, and a café. Remember—Marine Drive runs parallel to the beach, Beach Road runs perpendicular.’

She repeated her earlier directions as if unaware she’d had his full attention from the moment she’d stepped into that boardroom in Byron several hours ago.

She glanced at his business suit and shoes, and he could almost read the ‘not suitable beachside attire’ in her eyes, but she said nothing.

‘I suggest you take your time to familiarise yourself with the town and what it has to offer the potential developer. Most afternoons, I can be found in Reception or the bar.’

It wasn’t exactly an invitation, but he clutched the scrap like a lifeline.

‘I hope your stay will be very pleasant.’

Then she was gone, and he found himself blinking in the sudden silence. He throbbed all over, as if he’d been hit by a bus, but that made no sense whatsoever.

He shook himself. What the hell was he doing? He needed to ring Owen…and the office. He needed to find out all he could about the environmental injunction on Greamsman’s proposed development, pore over the development-control plan and find out all he could about Mirror Glass Bay pronto.

He was a man who made things happen. He had to find a solution and get the hell out of town ASAP because it was clear Eve didn’t want to revisit their shared past. He had no right raking it all up and disturbing her peace.

He knew how much he’d hurt her.

Because he’d hurt himself too—just as much.

You didn’t get over that kind of hurt overnight. But Eve had rebuilt her life. She’d moved on. He had no right dragging her back and causing her further havoc. He’d come here to help, not hurt her again.

He’d do everything he could to make sure that didn’t happen. Even if everything inside him hungered for a second chance with the only woman he’d ever loved.

Not going to happen.

And the sooner he got over it the better. For everyone.

Pulling out his phone, he started to punch in Owen’s number, but caught a glimpse of ocean from his open door and paused mid-dial. That doorway full of sea and sun, the way the light danced and dazzled, had him pulling in a lungful of clean air.

It’d be the middle of the night in Europe. Not that consideration for time zones had stopped him in the past, but… The sun danced on the sea, glinting gold on the sand, and the breeze had everything pulsing with life and play. He pushed his phone back into his pocket and instead strode into his bedroom to retrieve his laptop.

The view from his bedroom’s French doors was even better, and he kicked off his shoes, settled on the bed with four big pillows propped at his back and started to compose an email to his VP. My plans have changed. Not coming to Frankfurt. Apologise to Herr Mueller and return to Australia on the next available flight.

He went to hit Send but froze. He was being watched. Very slowly he raised his eyes to find a tabby cat standing in a patch of sun just outside the French doors, staring at him with tawny eyes.

Where on earth had it come from?

He blinked. It blinked.

He pulled in a breath and straightened.

It sat, its tail curling around itself in a neat circle.

Should he shoo it away? Ignore it? Was it Eve’s cat? The thought made his heart beat harder. Maybe she had a boyfriend and a cat.

He rubbed the spot above his left eyebrow. ‘Well, puss, while you’re not wearing a collar, you look too well-fed to be a stray.’

As if his words were the encouragement it had been looking for, the cat bounded into his room like a dog and jumped up onto his bed with a meow.

What the…?

Before he thought better of it, he reached out and stroked a finger beneath the cat’s jaw. A loud rumble of approval greeted him. ‘I thought you cats were supposed to be aloof and grumpy.’

The tabby curled against Damon’s thigh, its head bumping his hand for more attention. He chuckled. ‘I’ve met your kind before—a con artist, a confidence trickster.’

He stroked the purring cat for several moments and then glanced back at his laptop. ‘What am I going to do about Owen, puss? He’s put an awful lot of work into the Mueller project.’ He bit back a sigh. ‘The thing is, though, Mueller isn’t the kind of man who agrees to work with an underling.’ Still, few people would consider the VP of Macy Holdings an underling.

He stared out at all that dancing blue sea. ‘I could give him the go-ahead—tell him to give it his best shot if he wants to, I guess. If he thinks it’s a lost cause, he can come home. But if he wants to try…?’

The cat’s purr sounded throughout the room as Damon’s fingers threaded through the soft fur. It wouldn’t hurt to let Owen at least try. With a nod, he sent an email telling Owen to follow his instincts.

Next he rang his PA and told him to reschedule his meetings for the next three weeks, to pass them off to some of the senior executives.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He should get a comprehensive report on Mirror Glass Bay, but he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back to the view of the beach. He closed his laptop with a decisive click. He could research that kind of stuff online tonight when he had nothing better to do except wonder what Eve’s plans were.

He glanced at his suitcase. He’d packed suits and workout clothes. That was it. With a sigh he changed into tracksuit bottoms, a long-sleeved T-shirt and his trainers.

He paused at the sight of the cat curled up in the middle of the bed. ‘I’m going out now, puss.’

It didn’t move and he didn’t have the heart to disturb it. This was probably the kind of place where people didn’t need to lock their doors. He could probably leave one of the French doors open… He glanced at his laptop and shook his head. He couldn’t risk it. Instead he left a saucer of water for the cat in case it got thirsty and let himself out of the door, locking it behind him.

A breeze ruffled his hair, its warmth taking him off-guard and reminding him he was eight hours north of Sydney—close to the border of tropical Queensland. In Sydney, people would be wrapping up as autumn took hold. But here he could wear short sleeves—if he had them. Maybe he’d get lucky and discover that Mirror Glass Bay boasted a clothing shop. Regardless, it was time to go and explore.

It took him four and a half minutes to reach the shops. The supermarket was also a post office and boasted a huge range of ice-creams. There were caps and a couple of souvenir T-shirts, but that was it as far as clothing went. There was also a surf shop that looked like it sold swimwear—including designer board shorts and T-shirts. Except it was only open at the weekend. Ditto with the takeaway. And as it was only Tuesday…

A café sprawled on the corner of the next block. The concertina windows, all pushed wide open, flooded the place with light. He took a seat at the counter that ran the window’s length and stared out at the beach.

Mirror Glass Bay was amazing…beautiful. He stared and stared. It was every boyhood dream he’d ever had about the beach and what he’d do with his life if he could ever get away from the dingy inner-city slum where he’d grown up. But, while the town might be a boyhood dream, there was nothing here other than the beach.

Were there any schools? What about doctors or a clinic? Did the town boast a sporting team of any kind? Who lived here—retirees? Singles and young couples? Families?

He pulled out his phone…no service. He shook it, but that didn’t make a scrap of difference.

‘We’re in a black spot here, love,’ a waitress said, bustling up. ‘A block in either direction, and you can pick up service again, but here…’ She trailed off, her shrug eloquent. ‘What can I get for you?’

He glanced at the specials board. ‘What would you recommend?’

‘The fish tacos are particularly good,’ she said without hesitation.

He ordered the fish tacos, and was about to add a long black coffee to his order, but glanced out at the beach, changed his mind and requested a glass of iced tea instead.

To his surprise, the place filled up around him. Where had all these people come from?

‘Have you heard? Word’s out that the resort has fallen through.’

His ears pricked up.

‘Nah, mate, it’ll be those darn environmentalists up to their old tricks again. What’s the bet?’

‘What—like them stupid sods who tried to stop that development on the other side of Byron for some rare orchid that had supposedly been found?’ a third voice asked.

‘Yeah, but turns out they’d planted it themselves to try and scare the developer off.’

‘Fingers crossed our guy has more gumption than that.’

‘So far all you’ve got is an unconfirmed rumour, Ron Seymour,’ the waitress said, cutting through their chatter. ‘I’ll thank you not to go starting a panic just yet.’

‘Evie Clark’ll know,’ someone said.

‘We can ask her at the meeting tonight.’

A meeting?

Damon swung round on his stool to face the table behind. ‘Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Please allow me to introduce myself…’

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