Read Online Tycoon's One-Night Revenge by Bronwyn Jameson - Free Book Online Page A

Susannah corrected, as inch by inch, he urged her nearer. With nothing to anchor her, she couldn’t resist, could do nothing but hold herself tall and stiff as the steely heat of his hand permeated her skin and raced through her blood.
    She came to a halt toe to toe with his black leather loafers. In bare feet, she barely reached his chin and that put her eyes on a level with the open neck of his shirt. She felt ridiculously weak, even before he slackened his hold and let his palm slide up to her elbow and back to take her hand in his.
    “Is this the part you thought you’d have trouble remembering accurately?” His words sloughed against her temple; their meaning swirled with liquid desire low in her belly. “Because when I get this close to you, I can’t believe that anything we did together would be forgettable.”
    Susannah hadn’t forgotten. Anything. Including the reason she shouldn’t be standing here thinking about touching him. Thinking about kissing him.
    Lifting her free hand to his chest, she pushed until he had to let her go. “This is the part I won’t let myself remember,” she said. “Now, I think you should go.”
    “You have phone calls to make.”
    Susannah nodded. “I do. If I’m going to be away more than overnight, there are people I need to let know.”
    “Family?”
    “My sister. Half sister,” she corrected herself. “And my neighbour. She worries.” She folded her fingers into her palm, trapping his heat there. It was a small thing to keep of him, but all she would allow. “Good night, Donovan.”
    He surprised her by turning to go, then he stopped and turned back. “If you’re thinking of calling Gabrielle, she’s off duty tonight. She said you’re welcome to call anytime, regardless. Front office has the number.”
    “Thank you, but I won’t bother her at home. I know she will call if there are any further developments.”
    “You don’t want to verify my story?”
    “I believe you. Who could make up a story like that?”

    It was supposed to be tongue-in-cheek, a reference to his comment about believing her convoluted explanation of how the deal on The Palisades had become tied up in her marriage contract. But after the door closed behind him, after she’d packed away the remains of their dinner and tried calling Alex, Zara, Alex’s brother Rafe, then the suite at the Melbourne Carlisle Grande where she and Alex should have been staying tonight—the only person who picked up was her mother, and at least she promised to call Alex—she had nothing left to do but think.
    And her thoughts were all an eddying whirl of Donovan Keane.
    Did she trust him? On the transportation issue, yes. It was a story she could easily check with the resort staff or the company which ran the helicopter shuttle.
    Did she trust him in a wider sense? No. Although she had to give him props for not taking advantage of the moment when he’d pulled her close. He could have kissed her. He could have insisted on staying, he could have pushed her for intimate details of their weekend activities. But he’d left almost too easily and without any goodbye, which made her more suspicious and more intrigued.
    Was that his intention?
    Standing at the scenic window looking out into the night, the dark shiver deep in Susannah’s flesh was part chill, part apprehension. She couldn’t stop her mind turning over the possibilities of why he’d accepted the end to the evening with such uncharacteristic compliance. Their dinner couldn’t have helped his memory a great deal. It couldn’t have furthered his need to reconstruct the lost weekend.
    Yes, they’d covered some of the same conversational ground as last time but he hadn’t pushed for specific details or asked the did-we-do-this, did-we-eat-that questions she’d anticipated. She understood his need to know, and she understood the kind of man he was—the kind who needed all the facts, the kind who controlled his own life, the kind who didn’t