The Dangerous Billionaire Read online

  She hadn’t been able to stop staring at him. At the shift and flex of his muscles. At the dark ink of an eagle and a trident tattooed across his chest. There was another tattoo curling around his right upper arm too, with what looked like a skeletal frog in the middle of the design.

  The sight had made her feel restless and hot, and it had taken her a good week and a half to figure out exactly what that feeling was.

  Desire.

  She did not want to feel it again.

  Sullivan’s eyes gleamed as the light hit them, more gold than green, and one corner of his mouth turned up, the hard planes and angles of his face relaxing a fraction. “No,” he said, a note in his voice she didn’t understand. “You don’t, do you? I remember.”

  She stared at him. Hell, was he talking about that particular memory? Oh, God, she hoped not. She’d worked very hard to hide her crush from him and even now the thought of him knowing made her feel embarrassed.

  “Remember?” she asked warily. “Remember what?”

  “The day I first put you on a pony. It was raining and I told you we could do it another day if you wanted.”

  Relief shifted inside her. “Um … no.”

  “And you said that you didn’t care about the rain. You just wanted to ride the pony.”

  How odd. She really didn’t remember that.

  It must have been obvious to him, because he gave a soft laugh, deep and rough, that made the feeling in her chest kick once again, for absolutely no reason that she could see. “Ignore me. It was years ago. Come on, let’s get you home.”

  * * *

  Chloe said nothing as Van pulled the featureless black sedan his father had apparently preferred to drive up to the curb. She had her head tilted back, staring up at the stately historic building they’d just parked outside, her eyes widening for a brief second in what looked like surprise.

  Then, as if she knew he was staring at her, her expression abruptly changed, something more guarded taking its place.

  Pretty much the same expression she’d been wearing the moment she’d stepped off the plane and had continued to wear the whole drive back from the private airfield where he’d picked her up.

  Van turned off the engine and leaned back in his seat, staring at her.

  He’d been expecting anger to be honest, especially considering how their father had cut her out of the will. But no, she’d merely given him that slightly suspicious, guarded look.

  Very different from the eight-year-old he’d taught to ride. A small, narrow-shouldered kid, with long black hair and wide dark eyes. Who’d been shy of him at first, but then that had been understandable since he hadn’t spent much in the way of time with her. He’d been so much older and away at school while she was growing up.

  She’d gradually lost that shyness though, her face always lighting up to see him on his rare visits to the ranch. She had a beautiful smile. It used to illuminate her like a candle inside a lantern, and the way she reached out to him to grab his hand, pulling him along to the stables to “show him the horses” before he’d even set a foot inside the house, had slowly become one of the ways he knew he was home.

  Once, just before leaving on his first deployment, she’d given him a rock, a “special one” she’d found on Shadow Peak, so that he’d have something of “home” to take with him.

  He still had that damn rock, but the Chloe he remembered, that passionate, fierce, excited little kid, was long gone. And maybe, given the contents of his father’s letter, that was a good thing.

  He tilted his head, studying her.

  He recognized parts of the child she’d once been—the long black hair in loose tangles down her back and her big dark eyes, thickly fringed with soot-black lashes. Back then her face had seemed too small for all that hair and those eyes, but now it had filled out, matured. Her features were delicate, pointed, with a lush, pouty mouth and an obstinate-looking chin. She had the most incredible skin too, clear and fine-grained, the remains of a summer tan in her cheeks and neck.

  Beautiful. She was beautiful.

  Something inside him tightened, something familiar. Something he was not going to think about or even examine right now. Or ever, in fact.

  Chloe’s head turned and she met his gaze, the lights outside the car highlighting the purity of her features. “This is Dad’s house, right?” Her voice was light with a slightly smoky quality to it that he liked very much indeed.

  “Yeah,” he said. “You never saw pictures of it?”

  “I did, but…” She turned back to look out the window again. “Being here is different.”

  Van studied her again, noting the duffel bag on her lap and the delicate fingers splayed protectively over it. There were scars on her skin, plus a few fresh scratches and scrapes, the marks of someone who worked with her hands. Which was expected, given she worked on the ranch.

  It hit him with a weird jolt all of a sudden, that the shy, wide-eyed little girl he’d once taught to ride, was now this beautiful, self-possessed young woman. Who managed the Tate ranch single-handed and had in fact been doing so for the past couple of years.

  He shifted in his seat, feeling restless for some reason. “Dad never brought you to New York?”

  “No.” She tilted her head back, peering up at the building again. “This is my first time out of state.”

  Van frowned. “Seriously? You’ve never been out of Wyoming?”

  She gave him a brief irritated-looking glance from underneath thick black lashes. “Didn’t you listen? Like I said, this is my first time out of state, which means no, I haven’t been out of Wyoming.”

  There was the faintest edge of impatience in her voice, as if he’d asked her the stupidest question ever. Which, if he was honest, he kind of had.

  Maybe it was the shock of seeing her again and how different she was.

  “Why not?” he asked bluntly, a little irritated at her tone.

  “I’ve never needed to. Anyway, I can’t afford to be away from the ranch for too long. Plus, there would have been the usual protection issues and I didn’t want to have to deal with bodyguards and all of that.” Her gaze returned once more to the view out the window. “He used to tell me about New York though, send me postcards, stuff like that. It sounded pretty cool…” She stopped, her fingers tightening on her bag, and he didn’t miss the faint note of pain in her voice.

  Of course. She must be grieving. Noah’s death had happened only three weeks ago, barely any time at all.

  She’s not going to like what you have to tell her either.

  Yeah, that was pretty much a definite. She was not going to like it at all.

  Anger threaded through him, aimed squarely at the man who’d caused all of the current bullshit Van was now having to deal with.

  Noah and his feud with his old friend turned bitter enemy, Cesare de Santis, a billionaire weapons manufacturer and the source of the threat that had been hanging over the Tate family for most of their lives.

  A threat that could loom even larger now that Noah was dead.

  It was one of the reasons Van had called Chloe to New York, and he had another, even larger, secret that he had no idea how he was going to tell her.

  Except not right now, not in the car when she’d only just gotten here.

  Van narrowed his gaze at her, searching her face for the signs of grief he’d heard in her voice. But there were none. Still, he wondered if he should offer her some words of comfort, even though he’d never been that type of man. Moral support and encouragement sure, but comfort definitely wasn’t his thing. Then again, he hadn’t seen her for eight years. What did he know about what she needed? So all he said was, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She stiffened, but didn’t turn. “Yes.”

  The flat way she said the word was indication enough that she didn’t want to talk. Fine, he wasn’t going to push. He didn’t particularly want to talk about Noah’s death either.

  Van reached for the keys and pulled them out of
the ignition. “Come on. Let’s go inside and I’ll show you around.”

  Getting out of the car, he came around to the passenger side and opened her door. She stepped onto the sidewalk clutching her bag, that guarded look of hers dropping for a moment as she stared up at the old, turn-of-the-century limestone building.

  It wasn’t raining like it had been out at the airfield but the air was pretty frigid and he could see moisture on the ratty leather jacket she wore. One long, inky strand of hair was stuck wetly to her cheek and even though it didn’t appear to bother her, she must be starting to feel the chill at least.

  She was very small, very slender. As if a strong wind would blow her away.

  An old protectiveness shifted in his chest, which was pretty damn annoying since feeling protective over vulnerable-looking women wasn’t something he needed right now. Still, it had been years since Columbia. And it was cold. And apart from anything else, he had some shit to tell her that she wasn’t going to be pleased about, especially not on top of all that will crap.

  She needed to get inside and perhaps eat something too. He had no way of knowing how she’d deal with what he had to tell her, but sometimes things were easier to handle when you had food in your belly.

  Anyway, hanging around outside was a bad idea. Especially given the reason he’d asked her to come to New York as soon as she could.

  “Chloe”—he pitched his voice low—“the weather’s too shitty to be standing around out here on the sidewalk. We need to get inside.” Glancing down the street, he did a reflexive perimeter check to be on the safe side. Luckily, it seemed clear.

  She blinked, her jaw taking on a determined slant once more. “Uh, sure.”

  Van pushed away any lingering protectiveness, headed up the steps to the front door, and unlocked it. The security in the Tate mansion was pretty good, but he was obviously going to have to get it upgraded now that Chloe was here.

  Noah’s letter had been very clear: the danger to her was real and imminent, and whatever Van’s personal feelings were about having someone in his care again, there was a threat and he had to take it seriously.

  In this instance, he took it very seriously indeed.

  “So. Dad’s will.” Chloe’s soft footsteps came up behind him as he pushed open the door. “We need to discuss what we’re going to do about it.”

  “Uh-huh.” Van gestured for her to go inside.

  But she remained on the threshold, looking up at him, an intense expression burning in her dark eyes. “The ranch is mine, Sullivan.”

  Great. He really did not want to have that discussion right now either. Because he hadn’t brought her here to talk about the will or the ranch, though he had words to say about both topics. He’d brought her here because Wyoming was no longer safe for her. Not that New York was any less safe, but at least New York had him. Had Lucas and Wolf too.

  And that was another issue. He hadn’t heard from either of his brothers since Leo’s a whole five days ago. Neither of them had come back to the mansion, and Van had no idea where they’d gone. Whatever had been in their respective letters had obviously been pretty fucking serious, which was a worry. He’d sent them a number of texts, plus left messages on their voicemails, but all he’d gotten was silence.

  Assholes.

  If they didn’t call in soon, he was going to have to go find them, which would really piss him off. Especially since they were due for a directors meeting at Tate Oil and Gas in a couple of days where they would deliver the happy news to the rest of the company that the Tate brothers were taking over and everyone’s ass was fired.

  Yeah, that he was not looking forward to.

  “Go sit in the front room,” he ordered, gesturing to the doorway on the right, irritation at his brothers creeping into his voice. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  Chloe bristled, her finely drawn black brows drawing down in an abrupt scowl. “Hey, watch your tone. I’m not a damn dog.”

  Van was used to taking control of a situation—he was a SEAL after all, and he was used to commanding his own team. He was also used to being obeyed without question, and that definitely included not being talked back to.

  He opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought of her tone, then stopped himself at the last minute. Taking his annoyance at his brothers out on her wasn’t a good idea, plus she wasn’t one of his men. She wasn’t a soldier. She also wasn’t that little girl who used to light up with smiles whenever he returned to the ranch, who used to be so excited to see him. And she certainly wasn’t a damn dog.

  No, she was a woman now, grieving the loss of their father and who’d been given a bitter pill to swallow in the shape of ownership of the ranch.

  A ranch that he was going to have to explain to her that he couldn’t simply hand over. Which was not going to make her any happier.

  Biting back the flat command he was used to issuing, he said instead, “Go sit down. Please. You need to get warm and you probably need some food too.”

  He’d kept only one of the quite frankly ridiculous number of staff his father had employed to run his household, and that was Linda, the housekeeper. He didn’t even want to keep her—he could tidy up after himself and organize his own meals thank you very much—but given that he simply didn’t have the time to keep such a large house maintained, he’d decided she might as well stay. With the proviso that she knocked off at five and didn’t have to come in over the weekend.

  Linda herself had been more than happy with this arrangement—especially seeing as how he was paying her exactly the same—and had cheerfully gone home at five that afternoon. Which meant that if he wanted food for Chloe, he was going to have to get it himself.

  She made no move toward the sitting room, still scowling at him. “I don’t need food. I ate on the plane.”

  “You don’t have to eat it.”

  “Then what’s the point making it?”

  He gritted his teeth. Great, an argument about food was exactly what he needed right now—not. “Because I’m a gracious fucking host, that’s why.”

  “I don’t care what kind of host you are. I’m only here to sort out this will bullshit, then I’m leaving.”

  There was a defiant gleam in her eyes, which for no apparent reason sent a small electric thrill down the length of his spine.

  Shit. Where the hell had that come from?

  Not wanting to examine the feeling, Van shoved it away as he turned toward the kitchen. “Sit,” he growled over his shoulder, not caring how it sounded this time. “I’m going to get some food. Then we’ll talk.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Chloe glared at Sullivan’s retreating back, his black overcoat swirling out behind him. Had he always been such an autocratic bastard? She couldn’t remember. Perhaps he was simply grumpy. Or maybe he didn’t want her here or something. Whatever, he was the one who’d demanded her presence in the first place, so it was weird of him to get pissy about it now that she was actually here.

  Maybe getting snippy with him isn’t the best idea?

  Possibly not. Then again, she was used to running things, and being ordered around by some guy—no matter that he was older and some kind of super soldier—had never been high on her “shit she had to put up with” list.

  Clearly he thought she was still ten years old.

  So? Show him you’re not.

  Yeah, he could probably do with a lesson. Because one thing was for sure. She wasn’t going to let him strong-arm her into accepting the status quo when it came to the ranch.

  Filing that thought away, Chloe took a look around at her surroundings.

  So she was here. Finally. New York. Her father’s house.

  He’d talked about the city a lot whenever he visited the ranch, telling her tales of soaring buildings and glittering lights. Green parks and crowds of people.

  The day Sullivan had gone away to the Navy, she’d asked her father whether she’d ever get to go away too, whether he’d ever bring her to v
isit New York the way he’d taken her foster brothers. At the time, he’d assured her he would—when she was older. But when she’d gotten older, things had changed. He’d kept promising he’d bring her, yet somehow there had always been a reason not to. The main reason being that the feud with Cesare de Santis, his old enemy, had gotten even more bitter and there was a real risk that de Santis would target her as Noah’s only surviving flesh and blood.

  She hadn’t been happy about that, not one bit. She’d wanted all the things her brothers had had—trips to New York, a chance to see the world, boarding school, college. But her father had nixed all of them. “Your place is on the land,” he’d told her. “The boys have their responsibilities. The ranch is yours.”

  Perhaps it should have made her angry that she’d been denied all those things. But she’d decided long ago that it was easier to accept the role her father had given her rather than fight it, especially when it had made him happy. And making him happy, making him proud, had been important to her. It wasn’t a big sacrifice anyway, not when the land and the horses gave her so much joy.

  Still, now that she was actually here in New York, she was kind of curious.

  Taking a couple of steps into the middle of the long gallery, she looked around at the magnificence surrounding her.

  The ranch house back in Wyoming was a massive, sprawling place, but it wasn’t particularly fancy. Certainly it wasn’t like this, with its gleaming parquet floor and a massive staircase with elegantly curving banisters. A huge painting of what looked like Shadow Peak covered one wall, while on a long console table beneath it were arranged various lamps, plus a few vases of white camellias. Gold gleamed off various surfaces, as lights made to look like candle wall sconces gave off a warm glow and softened the white walls.