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leather of his shoes and the refined
gleam of a gold and stainless steel watch on one strong wrist were quiet
evidence of Sinclair’s abilities as a venture capitalist. As was the beachfront
home, Samantha reminded herself silently. Property along the California coast
cost an angel’s salary: Gold and stardust.
    In addition to the conservative clothing, Gabriel was also
wearing a very forbidding expression, she realized, one which brought the
excuses immediately to her lips.
    “I’m very sorry to be so late,” she plunged in chattily, using
her most dazzling smile. “There was a little trouble at the front desk of the
spa when I told them I was checking out. If it hadn’t been for the nicest
little man, a friend of yours, I believe, I’d still be arguing with that ridiculous
desk clerk. I do hope I didn’t spoil your dinner plans? I’m starving!” She
tried anxiously to make the smile a very ingratiating one.
    Dark lashes lowered to partially conceal the hazel gaze as
Gabriel slowly opened the gate. Samantha noted his whitened knuckles against
the iron filigree. She studied the rather grim expression on his face and decided
that her excuses were being considered very seriously, as if there was some
question about whether or not they would be accepted.
    “You checked out of the spa?” Gabriel finally asked, apparently
zeroing in on the most important piece of information she had given him.
    “I had to. Self-preservation,” she explained with great feeling
as she stepped through the gate. “I’ve decided I’ll find a motel somewhere
along the coast highway after dinner,” she confided easily. Behind her the
heavy gate was swung shut and locked. The solid, rather final sound of the iron
setting into place sent a strange shaft of unease through her, and she swung
around.
    “Something wrong?” Gabriel inquired as he politely took her
arm and walked her toward the door.
    “No, nothing,” she assured him, her mind leaping from the
sound of the closing gate to a sudden awareness of the tension in him as he
took her arm. Was he really this upset because she was half an hour late? “Believe
me, I’m normally a very prompt sort of person,” she assured him quickly. “As I
said, the scene at the front desk held me up. If it hadn’t been for your sweet friend,
Mr. Fortune…”
    “Emil Fortune helped you settle things with the desk clerk?”
The surprise in his tone was obvious.
    “Yes, he was there to see his sister who owns the place. The
desk clerk was very obliging once Mr. Fortune took a hand in the matter.”
    “I’ll bet.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Samantha wrinkled her nose as she
stared up at him.
    “I said, I’ll bet the desk clerk was very obliging once Emil
got involved,” Gabriel repeated patiently as he pushed open the door to the house.
    “I heard what you said,” Samantha retorted in quick irritation.
Hastily she stifled the emotion, reminding herself that this man took
everything very literally. “I meant, what did you mean by the remark? I’m sure he
carries some clout because of his sister, but you make it sound as though the
desk clerk might have some reason to be genuinely afraid of Emil.”
    That brought a tight smile to Gabriel’s hard mouth. “Samantha,”
he said very gently as he carefully closed the door, “a lot of people call Emil
Fortune a lot of names, but you’re the only one I’ve ever heard call him ‘sweet.’”
    “But he was! Very.”
    “He must have liked you.” Gabriel shrugged.
    “So?” she challenged. “I liked him, too!”
    “That’s nice,” Gabriel retorted laconically. “So, as a matter
of fact, do I. Sit down. I’ll get you a glass of wine.”
    “Gabriel, you’re being deliberately cryptic,” she accused,
glancing around curiously at the cool, uncluttered surroundings. The interior
of the house suited the inhabitant, she decided. The ocean side of the modern structure
had been opened with decks and balconies and a great deal of glass