The Groom's Revenge

Gray parked where he could watch the office employees exit. He glanced at his watch. Just a few minutes more. Stuart followed an unvarying routine. On Mondays he worked in the Fortune Corporation offices. The rest of the workweek he spent here, always the last to leave the office each day, although the factory hummed through the night. Three times a year they shut down for plant-wide vacations, each lasting a week.

It was a streamlined and successful operation—until recently. Small setbacks had compounded. Soon the struggle to keep their edge in the highly competitive market would impact the entire operation.

No one would have guessed Gray had choreographed the shocking downfall. He had moved slowly toward his goal, letting Stuart wonder, then worry. Panic would follow before long.

Gray sat up a little straighter as Stuart exited the building, a tall, fit man with a confident gait. His temples were dusted with gray; a few lines fanned from his eyes. Otherwise he didn’t appear fifty-five, much less the sixty-two he really was.

He shouldn’t look that good. That healthy. That happy.

He should look like a man with blood on his hands.

My father’s blood.

Gray’s jaw ached as he watched Stuart unlock his just-off-the-lot Cadillac, toss his briefcase and suit jacket onto the passenger seat, then slip behind the wheel. Within seconds he passed through the front gate, turned right and headed toward his home by the lake, a two-story stone structure with picturesque views from every window, a gated entrance, paved-brick driveway and six-car garage.

The trappings of success. How little they mattered in the end. What mattered to Gray was justice, Knight Star Systems, and now, Mollie Shaw, fellow victim. Stuart’s sons had grown up with every possible luxury, while his daughter deliberated about spending a couple thousand dollars to improve her business. The injustice burned like acid in Gray’s gut. Stuart had gotten away with too much for too long. His reign had to end. And Gray intended to end it—for his own peace of mind. And Mollie’s.

She deserved to know the truth, especially now that she was alone and struggling to stay afloat. Gray would force retribution—the financial settlement she deserved. It would help to balance the scales.

Mollie would be free of money problems.

Gray would be free. Free.

People would be hurt—like he’d been hurt. But he had recovered and moved on. So would they..

Mollie peeled the tape from Gray’s newspaper photo then slid the yellowing scrap into a folder of invoices hand-stamped Paid. The thought of his picture nestled within her uncomputerized paperwork appealed to her. Before she shut the folder she leaned her elbows on the counter and studied him, so elegant in his stylish tuxedo. He wasn’t even wearing a bow tie, but one of those collarless shirts not requiring a tie at all.

Something about him made her mouth water. Maybe it was his posture, which was perfect. Perhaps it was his hair, which invited a woman’s caress. Or his jaw, strong and oh, so masculine. He was infinitely touchable.

Unfolding the paper to reveal the half she usually kept turned to the back, she examined the whole photograph. Maybe what she liked most was the way he seemed to totally ignore the woman whose arm was tucked through his as if she owned him, whose breast pressed against him like an engraved invitation. Mollie hated her—Samantha Simeon, the caption said, someone whose path would not likely cross Mollie’s.

But then, she wouldn’t have imagined her path crossing Gray McGuire’s, either.

With a sigh she put away the folder, then locked the front and back doors before turning out the lights and climbing the stairs to her apartment above the shop. Her quiet, lonely apartment.

She’d lived there all her life, had never had the slightest interest in finding her own place after she graduated from high school. Her mother, Karen, had been her best friend as well as the only family she had. Their lives had been completely intertwined, and Mollie missed her desperately.

Maybe she should have developed more friendships through the years, but she’d been happy in her mother’s company—and Karen hadn’t pushed. She’d even seemed to encourage Mollie to stay home rather than going out much.

Which made Karen’s unexpected death so much harder to take. The only good thing to happen since was Kelly’s marriage to Mac Fortune, which gave Mollie a connection with the illustrious Fortune family that she’d never dared to dream about, although that relationship was more business than social, so far.

Into this rather bewildering new life had come Gray McGuire. Not by accident, either, but because he had a business proposition for her. What in the world could he possibly want?

She should call Kelly. Maybe Mac knew what Gray wanted. Perhaps he had even recommended her shop. Of course! That was it. Mac or one of the other Fortunes had recommended her for...for... something.

Mollie stared into her refrigerator and saw nothing that interested her, so she tucked her keys and a few dollars into her pocket then skipped down the stairs to enjoy the summer evening before the sun went down.

She stopped to buy a peach frozen yogurt then continued down the block to a park where she’d played as a child. Settling on a bench, she savored her dessert-for-dinner treat as children played. The familiarity inevitably brought back memories.

It was in this park that she’d learned of her mother’s dark, painful secrets. If Karen had lived longer, would she have confided in her daughter about her life before Mollie was born—and her controlling, eventually abusive husband?

Karen had kept that part of her life secret, writing the details in her journals, instead, which Mollie found soon after her death. Mollie had taken the treasures with her to this very park to read her mother’s life story, expecting an entertaining tale, discovering tragedy instead.

And triumph. Karen had shielded her—perhaps too much—because of her past and because she’d had to be mother and father, nurturer and provider.

Mollie scraped the last of the yogurt from the cup, scraping the memories away, as well. If Karen were there, she would tell her daughter that she’d mourned long enough. That life was short. That when an interesting man like Gray McGuire appeared out of nowhere—and could drop out of sight just as easily—she shouldn’t wait for him to make all the moves.

Except—what did Mollie know about “moves”? And interesting men? Regardless of the fact Minneapolis wasn’t a small town, she was a small-town girl with uncomplicated needs.

But, ever hopeful, Mollie figured tomorrow she would wear that pretty lilac dress she’d found last week marked down for the third time, bringing it into her price range. She could dust on some powder, add a dab or two of matching perfume. Perhaps even a little mascara. No blush, though. He brought color to her cheeks easily enough already.

It was a business proposition, after all, no matter what her hormones were singing in multipart harmony to the contrary.

Two

Although her heart rate zoomed from a waltz tempo to a thundering hard-rock beat, Mollie continued to fill a round vase with summer flowers as she watched Gray approach her shop around noon the next day. Daisy petals quivered as she slid the bloom amongst the others, her hands shaking. Last night she’d prowled her apartment until midnight, watched an old movie that made her cry, then finally fell asleep on the sofa. Her normally hazy, romantic dreams of Gray had been replaced with sharp, vivid images of him in the flesh.

He crossed the threshold, eyeing Yarg as he entered. His blue jeans showed off narrow hips and long legs. His baby blue T-shirt didn’t fit like a second skin, but didn’t mask his muscular torso, either. She pursed her lips, trapping an admiring sigh.

“Good day, Miss Shaw,” he said as he reached the counter.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ye!”

Mollie’s gaze flickered to the screeching leprechaun. “And from Yarg and myself, Mr. McGuire.”

“Is there a volume control on that thing?”

“Just an on-off switch. I guess I’ve gotten used to it.” She wondered whether Gray’s real-life kissing technique would do justice to her dreams. Could anyone compete with a dream? “I hope you’ve come to put me out of my misery.”

“Did the suspense get to you?”

“I’m not too good at delayed gratification,” she said, openly flirting with him, trying to get a response. Instead he walked to the front window and stared outside, ignoring her.

Chagrined, she held her ground. Late last night she’d reread all the articles she’d saved about him. While he spoke freely about his work and vision, his personal life was apparently taboo. Speculation abounded, fueled only by brief quotes from women he’d allegedly dated. Some called him distracted and distinctly unromantic, one woman went so far as to brand him as “cold.”

Which apparently hadn’t stopped the woman from dating him more than once. Mollie wouldn’t call him cold. Steady, perhaps. Not given to mood swings. And the allegation about not being romantic... was probably true. She figured his mind was a minicomputer in which he probably maintained a mental agenda. Mollie was apparently an item on that list, and he would get to her in his own time.

He seemed to jar himself back into awareness as a dark-haired man wearing a brown delivery uniform breezed into the shop carrying a large box. “Hey, Mollie. I see you’ve joined the twentieth century just in time for the twenty-first.”

“What kind of riddle is that, Mike?”

He set the package on the floor beside the counter. “Your computer.”

“Computer? Me? I didn’t—” She narrowed her eyes at Gray, who leaned an elbow against the countertop and watched her impassively. “There’s been a mistake. You can load it right back on the truck.”

“There’s no mistake. I’ll be back with the rest of the stuff in a minute. You’ll need to sign for ’em.”

She waited until Mike climbed back into his truck, then she planted her fists on her hips. “That’s your company logo on the box,” she said after studying the package.

“I believe you’re night.”

“I can’t accept that kind of gift.”

“Did I say it was a gift?”

She sputtered. He expected her to pay for something she hadn’t ordered? And didn’t want? This was not the man of her dreams. Not even close. That man respected her, acknowledged her as an intelligent and independent person and admired her business sense. But the man standing in front of her had decided after a half-hour conversation that he knew her well enough to tell her how to run her business.

“I can’t pay for this,” she said, forcing the words out.

“I don’t send a computer unsolicited, then expect someone to pay for it, Mollie.”

“But you said it wasn’t a gift.”

“It isn’t”

“Well. That’s crystal clear.”

Gray enjoyed her temper, bright as a newly minted penny. “Sign for the delivery and I’ll explain.”

“I’ll just be calling in a pickup order for tomorrow.”

“That’ll be your decision. For now, just accept it. Please,” he said. Mike returned in time to overhear their discussion.

She cursed Gray with her eyes but scrawled her name across the signature pad when Mike slid it across the counter, grinning.

“He won’t keep Jus mouth shut,” she almost growled when they were alone again. “Everyone up and down the block will know.”

“I wasn’t the one making a fuss,” Gray said mildly.

“I would expect a man like you to get to the point,” she said through clenched teeth.

“A man like me?”

“Brilliant. Analytical.” She frowned. “Although People magazine also called you quirky.” She lost her fighting edge for a moment as she seemed to think about that.

Had she gone to the library last night and read up on him? He never had figured out why that reporter had labeled him as quirky, a definition Gray would never apply to himself. He’d told her she could ask questions while he jogged his eight miles, because he didn’t have time for her otherwise. Did that make him quirky? Or efficient?

“You work hard and you’re ambitious,” he said to Mollie. “I respect that You’re trying to take what’s already a charming little shop and make it more upscale, to attract new business, right?”

“Without losing any of the old customers.” Diverted from her argument, she mirrored his pose across the counter, leaning toward him.

“The coffeehouse down the block draws a different crowd into the area,” he said.

“There’s a lot of revitalization going on here. New businesses are mushrooming. There’s a lot of potential business because the neighborhood has changed. I would’ve moved my business here, if I hadn’t already been here.”

He nodded. He’d done some quick research on the subject. An infusion of cash would certainly help her give a fresh new look to her shop. “The whole area is on the brink of a renaissance.”

“And I want to be ready.”

“Then you’ll need to computerize your business.”

“Why?”

“For one, when you get on the Internet, you can locate other florists and see what they’re doing. You won’t believe the doors that will open to you.”

Interest flashed in her eyes before she clamped her mouth shut and pushed away from the counter. “Why do you care?”

He’d come up with his new plan last night, pleased with his solution. He had to buy himself some tune, let her get to know him, then convince her to help him ruin Stuart Fortune. For now, though, he just needed a reason to keep her in close contact.

“I want you to plan my parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party.”

Surprise widened her eyes. “Twenty-fifth? But—”

“My mother and stepfather,” he said.

“Oh. I guess I assumed they lived in California.”

“They do. That’s why you’ll need a computer.”

Molhe frowned. Her world had stopped making sense the moment Gray had dropped into her life, the man-who didn’t know he’d helped her bury her grief. But not only did his request not make sense, it was downright ridiculous. Not just quirky. Ridiculous. Absurd. Preposterous.

So why did she just want to say okay without questioning his motives? Surely he had motives.

“You must have a choice of a hundred party planners where you live,” she said.

“Last month I attended a charity ball here in Minneapolis. You were one of the sponsors.”

“How do you know that?”

“I won one of the table centerpieces. A basket decorated with dried flowers. Very original. Your business card was taped to the bottom ” He pulled it out of his pocket and showed her. “I shipped the basket to my mother the next day, because I thought it was something she would like. And she did. Obviously you’re the right person for the job.”

The phone rang. She watched him peel off a packing slip from one of the computer boxes as she handled a frantic caller requesting a dozen long-stemmed red roses for a just-remembered anniversary. Yes, she had some on hand, she told the man with the stress-filled voice. Yes, roses were expensive, but his wife was priceless, wasn’t she? Yes, she took Mastercard. Yes, he could pick them up in half an hour.

Gray looked at his watch no less than five tunes in the few minutes she was on the phone.

After she hung up she moved to the refrigerator case and lifted out a tall vase filled with roses, then grabbed some baby’s breath, lemon leaves and leather fern.

She lined a long gold-foil box with forest green tissue paper, a task that soothed her with its familiarity. In a world turned upside down, she needed routine. “Why me?” she asked.

“Because I’ve seen and admired your work, as I said. And because you’re from home.”

“Here?” She’d stripped the lower stems of thorns and leaves before putting them in the refrigerator. Grabbing her paring knife, she made an angle cut at the bottom of each stem before sliding it into a water-filled tube. Gray wandered close to watch.

“My mother and stepfather were born in Minneapolis,” he said, his gaze following her hands as she worked. “So was I.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Is there a reason why you should?”

She layered roses, greenery and baby’s breath in the box. “I suppose not. I’m just surprised. Still, that’s hardly enough reason to put me in charge of a party that will take place so far from here. It’s not practical. Or are you planning to have the party here?”

“No. It’ll be near where they live in Atherton. That’s in Northern California, near what’s called the Silicon Valley. Near Stanford University.”

“When?”

“April twentieth.”

She dropped the length of ribbon she’d just snipped. “April as in next year? Nine months from now?”

“Does that give you enough time?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Gray. That might be cutting it awfully close.” She swiped the ribbon from the floor, then formed a big loopy, red bow.

“I figured we’d need to reserve the facility well in advance I expect several hundred people to attend.”

“What does it have to do with my having a computer?” she asked, chagrined that he was right.

“It’s the best way of staying in touch to handle the details.”

She looked up at him for a second, then focused on attaching the ribbon to the box. “You do remember we have telephones here in Minneapolis, right? And fax machines.”

“I prefer e-mail.”

“You would,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

She could hear the smile in his voice and tried to decide whether she liked being a source of entertainment for him. “I said, ‘Oh, good.’”

“Are you interested in handling the party?”

“Of course I’m interested.” She set the box of roses in the refrigerator. “It’s just that I still can’t figure out why you’d use me. I’m new at this, plus the distance.”

“You won’t grow your business with that attitude.”

She laughed. “Grow my business?”

“Standard business terminology,” he said, although he smiled.

“I’d have to hire help for the shop.”

“Build it into your budget for the job.”

“I need to think about this.”

He put his hands in his pockets. “There’s no time to think about it. I won’t be in town for long. I need to set up your computer and teach you the basics before I go.”

Mollie skirted around him, deciding she needed the safety of the counter between them. Standing close to him had just made her want to kiss him even more. He had the most appealing mouth....

“I can take computer classes,” she said, dragging her invoice pad close and writing up a bill for the roses.

“I want to be the one to teach you.”

“Of course you do.”

Gray waited until she stopped writing and looked up at him. Had he come on too strong? Had she picked up on the intensity of his pursuit, even as he tried to go slow with her, to be casual? “Do I make you nervous, Mollie? Yesterday you talked to me like an old friend.”

“Yesterday you weren’t real.” She made a little sound, as if regretting her words. “I mean, the situation didn’t seem real. Your being here. What are the odds?”

“I already explained that. And you’re making this difficult, Mollie Shaw.”

Her eyes sparkled at his comment.

“I would’ve figured you for a man who likes a challenge, Gray McGuire. So, here’s the way it’ll work. I’ll use the computer until the party is over, then if I find I want to keep it, I’ll buy it from you.”

“At cost.”

“Well, of course. By then it’ll be a used computer. Hardly worth my paying full price.”

The sound of his own laughter surprised him. For a moment he’d forgotten that justice was within his grasp. He had to stay focused on his goal, not be tempted into forgetting his purpose. After all, justice would be hers, too.

“Where can I hook up the computer?” he asked her.

Mollie looked around her work space.

“While you’re learning,” he said, “your living quarters would probably be best. You can practice without interruptions.”

“That would be upstairs. I’ll show you the way.” She locked the cash register, then moved to the stack of boxes.

“You’re going to let me into your apartment? Just like that? When you hardly know me?”

She grabbed the top two boxes, leaving the heavy one foi him. “What could I have that you could possibly want?”

As she walked away shaking her head, he studied her long, shiny hair and slender back, her softly swaying skirt, envisioning the lithe body beneath it. A drift of something in the air had him breathing deeply. A rainbow would smell like that. Frowning at the thought, he followed her trail through the back of the shop and up the stairs to a small, neat apartment with a distinctly floral motif. Femininity personified.

After Mollie made a quick return to the shop, Gray surveyed the apartment. The first door led to a bedroom. Twin beds. She must have shared the room with her mother, a situation not conducive to romantic liaisons, for either of them.

One wall was dotted with framed photographs of Mollie and her mother through the years. He studied each picture, noting the same wide, smiling mouths and reed-slender bodies, the deep-copper-colored hair. The togetherness.

He wandered out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, with its claw-foot tub and garden-print shower curtain. The room smelled of woman, something flowery and fragrant and... comforting.

Comfort. Something he neither wanted nor needed. Be a man. His stepfather’s words echoed in Gray’s mind, as they had since the day his mother had married James McGuire when Gray was eight. No allowance for weakness. No quarter given. Go after what you want, no matter the cost. Winner takes all. Losers... die.

James McGuire was a winner. Stuart Fortune was a winner Gray’s father...

Go after what you want, Gray reminded himself as he returned to the living room to unbox the computer components. Along a wall, desk space had been created by laying a Formica countertop on two-drawer file cabinets, making room for two people to work simultaneously. He chose the side closest to the phone jack, wondering how much of a fuss Mollie was going to put up at having a second line installed. For now he would set up the modem on her existing line. He hooked up the hard drive, the monitor, the printer. He loaded software, including an Internet server.

All the while he eyed a cigar box bearing Mollie’s name in bright purple paint over a crudely designed birthday cake and candles made of sequins and glitter. It looked like something a very young child might have done as a school project.

Gray glanced toward the open front door. Mollie’s voice drifted up the stairwell from the shop. With just his forefinger he lifted the lid of the decorated cigar box. He leaned closer, seeing birthday-cake candles inside. A piece of paper was taped to each—

“Gray!”

Plunk. The lip dropped into place. He put his fingers on the keyboard at the sound of Mollie hurrying up the stairs.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly as she came up beside him. “Wow. You’ve got it all set up and going.”

“Just testing it out.”

“It looks confusing.”

“Pretty soon it won’t. Did you want something?”

She curved her hand over his shoulder and bent low to look at the screen with him. Her fragrance—heather?—dropped a net over him so that he couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Like some damned teenager, he thought, amazed. Heat flashed through him.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“E-mail from my office.”

“You can get mail on my computer?”

“I set you up with the same server.” He turned his head fractionally toward her. “Did you come up here for something in particular?”

She moved a little closer to him. “You seem a little warm.”

Warm, hell. His blood had begun to simmer.

She straightened. “Do you need the air-conditioning turned up?”

“I’m comfortable, Mollie. Is that all?” Move away.

“Did you want something to eat or drink? Tony’s here. He can get something from the coffeehouse. There’s not much in my refrigerator.”