The Dangerous Billionaire Read online

  Wolf’s mouth went tight again, a muscle leaping in the side of his jaw, while Lucas’s pretty-boy features were absolutely expressionless. Neither spoke, which was good. It meant they got what Van was saying.

  “So,” he went on, “here’s what we’re going to do. No, we don’t like it, but we’re fucking SEALs and so we’re going to step up. We’re going to do what Dad has asked us to do and we’re going to do it with maximum effort. Got it?”

  Silence.

  Van gave a curt nod as he reached into the pocket of his jacket and extracted the three individually addressed envelopes that had accompanied the will.

  As good a time as any to see what other bombshells their father had in store for them.

  He put them down on the table so the others could see their names written on the fronts.

  “What the hell are these?” Wolf growled.

  “These were with the will,” Van explained, picking up the envelope addressed to him. “I don’t know what’s inside. I haven’t looked at mine yet. I figured we should all do this together.” And part of him still didn’t want to, if he was honest with himself.

  Christ, if that will had been a grenade, he was certain these envelopes contained enough plastic explosive to level a city.

  For a second none of them said anything, all of them looking at the envelopes as if they were IEDs ready to go off at the slightest touch.

  “Fuck this,” Wolf muttered, grabbing his, ripping it open, unfolding the paper inside. Then he went absolutely white.

  Van frowned, unease turning over inside him. “What’s up?”

  His brother looked up, glancing first at him then Lucas, his eyes brilliant spots of sapphire and emerald. Then quite suddenly he stood, shoving his chair back so hard it hit the wall behind him, the expression on his face full of savagely suppressed emotion.

  “Wolf?” Van’s unease tightened further. “What the fuck is the problem?”

  But Wolf didn’t answer. Instead he turned without a word and shouldered his way out of the bar.

  Van half-rose to go after him, but Lucas said quietly, “Let him go.”

  Cursing under his breath, yet knowing his brother was right, Van sat back down in his seat. Wolf had always needed time to cool off when he was pissed, except Van didn’t think Wolf had been angry. More like … shocked or even devastated.

  “You have any idea what that was about?” he asked, looking at Lucas.

  His brother shrugged. “No. Doesn’t make me want to open my fucking envelope though.”

  No shit.

  Van shoved the envelope addressed to Lucas in his brother’s direction. “You first.”

  Lucas eyed him. “Who was talking about us being SEALs again? Oh yes, that was you.”

  Ah, Christ.

  “Then I guess I’ll fucking open it,” Van growled, reaching for his own envelope.

  But Lucas had already picked his up and had torn it open, sliding out the piece of paper and looking down at it. There was no discernible change in his expression. A moment later, he folded up the paper into small squares and then, in a series of small, precise movements, he calmly ripped those squares into tiny little pieces.

  Holy shit.

  Van stared at him. “Good news then?”

  Lucas’s eyes had gone very gray, the blue leeched from them and glittering with ice. “You can count me in as a director. And if Wolf’s letter was along the same lines as mine, you can count him in too.”

  The unease already churning in Van’s gut got deeper, wider. “You going to tell me what Dad wrote?”

  “Open your envelope, then ask me that question again.”

  “That good, huh?”

  Lucas said nothing, just stared at him. There was a tension around his brother now, a tension that hadn’t been there before, a kind of brittle edge. As if all it would take was a tap and he’d shatter.

  Van gritted his teeth and looked down at the letter in his hands for a long moment. Finally, he ripped it open.

  Sullivan, his father had written, I don’t trust anyone with this information but you. There’s something I want you to do for me, something you must not tell anyone else about. It’s about Chloe …

  CHAPTER TWO

  Chloe Tate peered out the window of the jet as it slowly came to a stop, but since it was nighttime and raining, all she could make out were the blurry lights of the hangar they were drawing up to.

  She hadn’t seen much as they’d come in to land either, which was a bit of a disappointment. She’d been hoping for at least a glimpse of the famous Manhattan skyline, but there had been too much low cloud cover, so she’d seen absolutely nothing.

  It didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if she was here for sightseeing.

  She was here to meet with her oldest foster brother, Sullivan Tate.

  His email demanding her presence couldn’t have come at a worse time, not with the new stable complex in the process of being constructed and needing her direct oversight. And definitely not while she was still trying to deal with her grief at her father’s untimely and sudden death.

  Chloe swallowed past the sudden thickness in her throat. No, she couldn’t allow herself to think about her father. The grief was still too raw and she wasn’t ready to face that, not now, not when she had so many other things she had to handle.

  Such as finding out, in the funeral’s numb aftermath, that the ranch she loved and had managed for the last few years hadn’t been left to her in her father’s will. In fact, she hadn’t been named in his will at all. Everything had gone to Sullivan. Every. Single. Goddamn. Thing.

  Anger rubbed against grief, creating yet another raw patch. She’d grown up on the Tate ranch, had spent her entire life on it, and for the last ten years she’d poured everything she was into it, into the land and the horses that were in her blood, in her bones.

  Her father had always promised her that Tate Oil and Gas—which she had no interest in whatsoever—would go to her foster brothers, while she would get the ranch.

  But apparently that was just one more promise her father would never keep.

  The ranch was instead going to the foster brother who hadn’t even set foot on it for nearly eight years.

  “We’re here, Miss Tate.”

  Chloe looked away from the window and gave the stewardess who’d paused beside her seat a smile. “That was quick.”

  The woman smiled back. “Did you enjoy your first flight?”

  “Oh yes, I did. It was amazing.”

  Possibly it was strange to have never been on a plane before at twenty-five, but Chloe didn’t much care. She’d never particularly wanted to go anywhere, not when Wyoming and the ranch gave her all she’d ever needed. Still, the experience had been better than she’d expected—she’d never imagined how lovely the land would look from the air.

  “Well, you know the corporate jet is at your disposal whenever you need it,” the stewardess said. “I’m going to open up the doors now and then you can disembark. Mr. Tate will be waiting for you.”

  Chloe nodded her thanks and undid her seat belt, conscious of a certain twisting in her gut that couldn’t possibly be nervousness. Sure, she’d hadn’t seen Sullivan for years—if you didn’t count their foster father’s funeral, which she didn’t. A couple of glimpses in the church didn’t really count as “seeing,” nor did the stiff and awkward conversation they’d had back at the ranch for the post-funeral reception. In fact, she’d avoided him and her other foster brothers as much as possible. Dealing with her own grief had been bad enough, let alone having to witness theirs as well.

  You can’t avoid him now, though.

  No, unfortunately she couldn’t, not if she wanted her ranch back. And she did. That place was her home, her passion, her life’s work, and apart from anything else, it was the only link she had to her father now he was gone. She couldn’t give it up without a fight. She wouldn’t.

  Chloe reached down and picked up her practical duffel bag, the only piece of luggage she’d b
rought with her since she wasn’t actually going to be in New York all that long, and held it in her lap, feeling the telltale hard lump at the bottom of the bag rest against her knees.

  Her snow globe—the one her father had given her back when she was ten; the one she shook every night to watch the snowflakes whirl around the tiny Rockefeller Center ice rink; the one she’d packed in a fit of rage because somehow she’d forgotten that her father never kept his promises and the globe had always been her reminder of that.

  She resisted the urge to take it out and look at it now, that not-nervousness fluttering annoyingly in her stomach.

  Stupid to be nervous. All she was going to do was tell Sullivan exactly what her issue with the will was, explain why it was wrong that he now owned it—not that he would argue with her, she thought, because he knew very well what it meant to her—and then ask him to give it to her.

  Not hard. All very simple.

  And if he didn’t give it to her? Well then. She’d have no choice but to start legal proceedings to contest the will.

  It wasn’t a path she wanted to take, but she would if she had to. Her father had given her total control of the ranch, had made it her responsibility, and she was used to managing it on her own, answerable to no one. It was hers. And she wasn’t going to stand for anyone else telling her what to do with it.

  A gust of frigid swirled suddenly around her.

  Okay, looked like it was time to go.

  Chloe got to her feet, slinging her bag over her shoulder and gritting her teeth against a sudden wave of unexpected reluctance to leave the warm cocoon of the Tate corporate jet.

  Making herself move over to the door of the plane, she stood there a moment, checking the darkness outside, the wind catching her hair and blowing it around her face, icy pellets of rain striking her skin.

  There was a gigantic man standing on the tarmac waiting for her.

  Chloe swallowed, shoving down another sudden spike of nervousness so it wouldn’t show.

  The lights from the hangar were behind him, shadowing his face, his hands buried in the pockets of the long black coat he wore. He was motionless, in stark contrast to the way the wind took the hem of his coat, making it billow out behind him then wrap around his calves.

  There was something dangerous about his stillness. Something menacing. And it wasn’t just the fact that he seemed to be about seven feet tall and built like Superman. It was the kind of stillness that reminded her of the cougars she’d seen sometimes in the hills behind the ranch. The kind of stillness before they pounced.

  Don’t be stupid. You know who this is.

  Of course she did. It was the man she’d come here to meet, her oldest foster brother, Sullivan.

  Not that she’d ever thought of him as a brother. He was ten years older than her and had been sent to boarding school when she was all of two and then joined the Navy when she was eight. So apart from brief visits during school vacations and when he’d been on leave, they hadn’t exactly been brought up together.

  A gust of wind brought more stinging rain with it and she shook herself, gripping the icy rails of the steps and starting down them. The rain and the cold didn’t bother her so much—winters in Wyoming weren’t any worse than this—but for some reason meeting Sullivan was getting to her.

  Nothing to do with that massive crush you had on him back when you were sixteen and the fact that you’re pissed with him about the whole “not visiting” thing. Nope, nothing to do with that at all.

  No, of course it wasn’t. That crush was old news and one she’d gotten over years ago by the simple expedient of having an affair with Jason, one of the ranch hands. And as for him not visiting, well, she’d been so busy with the ranch she’d barely thought about him.

  Stopping at the bottom of the steps, Chloe pushed her freezing hands into the pockets of her old and worn leather jacket, curling her cold fingers into her palms. Then she walked slowly toward the tall figure standing on the tarmac, a long black car waiting beside him. His stillness was unnerving and with that annoying light behind him, she still couldn’t see his features.

  Squinting against the rain and the wind tangling her hair, she eventually pulled her hand out of her pocket and pushed her hair back, wiping away the rain and shading her eyes. “Sullivan?”

  At that moment one of the plane’s lights flickered, illuminating his face for a second. High forehead. Carved cheekbones. A strong jaw, dark with black stubble. A wide mouth, set in a hard line. Hazel eyes, the color striking against thick, inky lashes.

  Something kicked hard in Chloe’s chest, which was a ridiculous reaction considering she’d seen him at her father’s funeral only a couple of weeks earlier. Then again, that funeral and those subsequent weeks had been a bit of a grief-soaked blur, so maybe her reaction wasn’t so surprising after all.

  “Hey, pretty,” Sullivan said, his voice deep and dark as the night around them.

  And a sudden burst of memory hit her.

  He’d been seventeen, all shaggy black hair and long lean muscle, and those hazel eyes, the color caught somewhere between a brown so light it was nearly gold, and green, like the light on a pond in the deep forest. He’d taught her to ride her first pony, lifting her up on the saddle with his big hands, so patient, making her want to do her very best to impress him.

  No, he’d never felt like a brother to her, not when he was so much older. He’d been more like a teacher she idolized, or like her dad, a distant, awe-inspiring figure, coming into her life for brief moments at a time and then leaving again. He’d taught her to ride; how to take care of the tack; how to groom her horse and muck out the stable; how to feed her favorite pony an apple, holding her hand flat so the big soft lips of the animal could scoop it off her palm.

  “Pretty” …

  The day he’d left to join the Navy, he’d crouched down beside her and ruffled her hair. “Bye, pretty. I’ll see you ’round.” And then he was gone, taking his warmth with him, making her feel as if winter had come early.

  So you idolized him once. So what? He hasn’t visited in eight years and now he owns the ranch, and getting it back is all that matters.

  There was a weird tension in her gut, but she ignored it, focusing on her anger instead. “Hi,” she said, using the brisk tone she adopted whenever she gave instructions to the ranch hands. “I gather you needed to see me urgently.”

  “I did.” He was silent for a long second, and she had the sense that he was studying her the way she’d been studying him. “You okay?”

  Strange question. “Yes, of course.” She stood a little straighter, ignoring that odd tension crawling between her shoulder blades. If she’d been at home she might have put it down to that feeling of having a cougar watching her. Except there were no cougars in New York.

  But there are predators. And he’s one of them.

  A shiver that had nothing to do with the rain passed over her skin.

  No, that was stupid. Sullivan wasn’t a predator and he wasn’t dangerous. She was being an idiot.

  An awkward silence fell, which he made no move to break.

  So, was her answer not what he’d expected? What did he mean by ‘Are you okay?’ anyway?

  Chloe lifted her chin. “Did you expect me not to be?”

  He didn’t move, seemingly impervious to the wind and rain. “I wasn’t sure.” The light had gone, his face falling into shadow once again. “I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to you at the funeral.”

  The grief she’d been shoving aside clenched tightly behind her breastbone, but she ignored that too. She wasn’t going to have a conversation about it now, not out here in the rain on the tarmac with a man she hadn’t seen in eight years, a man who was now in possession of the only thing that meant anything her.

  “Well, I’m fine.” She tried hard to make it sound like she was.

  Another silence, his head tilting as if studying her.

  Irritated, Chloe let out a breath. “I presume you want to discuss
the will. I mean, that’s the whole reason I’m here, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said after another moment. “But let’s get you out of the rain first.” Abruptly he turned and reached out, pulling open the car door. “You’d better get in. I’ll get your bags.”

  Chloe lifted the shoulder that had the bag slung over it. “This is all I bought with me.”

  He paused. “Seriously? One bag?”

  “I don’t need much.” She’d never been a clothes kind of girl, had never needed to be, out on the ranch. A couple of pairs of underwear, jeans, a sweater or two, toothbrush and comb, and she was good to go. Did she need anything more than that?

  Except his long silence indicated surprise, making heat climb into her cheeks. Though why she should feel embarrassed by her lack of luggage, she had no idea. Okay so, this was the first time she’d actually been out of state, but so what? She’d been busy with the ranch. She had no time for travel.

  “I’m not going to be here long anyway,” she said, not sure why she felt the need to justify herself and annoyed that she was doing so. “I only want to discuss the will, then go back home. Besides, you didn’t say how long—”

  “It’s fine,” he interrupted, his deep voice curt. “Come on, get in the car. You’re getting wet.”

  The irritation inside her needled, even though it was true—she was getting wet. It had been a long time since anyone had told her what to do, and she didn’t appreciate it. Good God, it wasn’t as if she was ten anymore.

  “I don’t care about the rain,” she said tartly. “Unless you do.”

  The lights of the plane behind her flickered once more, passing over his face, making that strange feeling kick in her chest again.

  She’d been sixteen, and Wolf—the last of her foster brothers to leave—had been gone three years already. The ranch had been quiet. Since she’d gotten older, her father only visited sporadically from his New York base, so when Sullivan had arrived for a week’s leave, she’d been thrilled.

  Then she’d seen him out by the stables, crouching down by one of the horses, its front hoof held in one of his big hands as he cleaned something out of its shoe. He hadn’t been wearing a shirt, and the sun gleamed on his tanned skin, outlining the strongly muscled lines of his back and shoulders. Then he’d straightened, one hand absently stroking down the horse’s neck, and in one smooth movement, he’d swung himself up into the saddle.