The Undercover Billionaire Page 9

  But that was old news and he had no time to rescue things. He had to get her on his side and fast. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  “Do you know why I was adopted?” His voice sounded strange in the heavy silence, and almost as soon as he’d said it, he wished he hadn’t.

  She frowned, the change of subject clearly catching her off guard. “No. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Shit. Nothing to do but continue.

  He drained the rest of the scotch then tossed the bottle away. Put the heels of his hands on the edge of the counter and curled his fingers underneath, gripping tightly to it. “Dad used to tell me it was because of my eyes. That he’d thought the colors were cool and different. That they made me special. He intended to adopt only me, but then Van piped up and told him we were a team and he couldn’t take me without him and Lucas too. So Dad adopted us all.”

  “Oh. I’d never heard that before.”

  He smiled without amusement. “It’s a lie.”

  “Oh,” she said again, shifting on her feet, her frown deepening. “How so?”

  “Dad didn’t adopt me because of my eyes. He adopted me because my father was murdered by an enemy of his.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but near enough.

  Olivia’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  “He adopted me because he wanted to make me into a weapon. A fucking guided missile that he’d launch at the right time, to blow the shit out of his enemy.”

  Her arms dropped to her sides, the frown disappearing from her face. “Wolf…” She took a step toward him then stopped.

  No, he’d made a mistake. Again. Telling her this was wrong, because the more she knew, the more it would tie him to de Santis’s eventual assassination. But now he’d started he couldn’t seem to shut himself up. It was as if the truth was demanding to be let out to balance all the lies he’d told her. Like he was a fucking sinner confessing to a priest, needing absolution.

  “Dad was simply waiting for the right moment to light the fuse.”

  She didn’t say anything, simply stared at him.

  “A couple of weeks ago, after Dad’s funeral, all three of us got letters from him. They’d been written before he died and were to be sent to us in case of his sudden death. You want to know what mine said? That my father was murdered.” He shifted against the counter, forcing himself to hold her gaze. “It was the match to that fuse, Liv. And guess who my target was?”

  * * *

  She didn’t understand why he was telling her this or what it meant. Clearly it was supposed to mean something though, because she could hear in his rough, gravelly voice the sharp bite of what sounded like pain.

  He’d backed right off from her, leaning against the coffee-making counter, those long, strong fingers gripping the edge of it as he’d fall over if he was to let it go. That beautiful mouth was in a hard line, no sign now of those sexy, slow-burning smiles. His stubble-darkened jaw was tight, his massive shoulders tense, giving the impression of a powerful, leashed animal ready to explode into movement at any second.

  The expression on his battered features was very definitely anger, but she could see, glittering in his eyes, the same pain she’d heard in his voice.

  He looked like a man at the end of his rope, and dangerous with it.

  A guided missile …

  He’d asked her who she thought his target was, but she had no clue. She was too busy focusing on the pain in his voice. As if the father who’d beaten him had meant something to him. But that surely couldn’t be right. Why had he come to her father then for support? For help? He’d wanted out, at least, that’s what she’d always been told.

  She swallowed, overwhelmed.

  First the kiss and then him trapping her in the hallway, telling her he wasn’t going to let her leave. The heat in his eyes and the note of rough sexiness in his voice had vanished utterly, leaving her in no doubt that all of it had been a put-on, a façade. A trick to get her to give him the information he was so desperate for. Information she wasn’t going to give him—and couldn’t anyway.

  She’d been furious at him for that and still was, not to mention furious at herself for falling for it, for ignoring the doubt that had pulled at her. Hurt too, that he would stoop to using her attraction to him against her, to using their friendship too.

  But getting carried away by anger or hurt, or anything else, would be a stupid thing to do. She had to shove all those messy emotions away and concentrate on the most important thing. Which was getting out of here and away from him.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know who the target was, Wolf.” A part of herself—the part that wasn’t furious with him, that was his friend and always would be—wanted to go to him, touch his arm, soothe his pain. But she stayed where she was.

  Half an hour ago she would have trusted him with her life.

  Now? Now, she wasn’t sure she trusted him with anything at all.

  “Think about it,” he said curtly. “Dad only had one major enemy who was any threat to him.”

  There was only one person that could be. Cesare de Santis. Her father.

  “No.” She seemed to be saying that a lot lately. “That would mean that Dad had your parents killed. Which is quite patently ridiculous. Sure, he wasn’t the most ethical person when he was in charge of DS Corp, but he wouldn’t have people killed.”

  “How do you know? Do you have any proof that he didn’t?”

  “Do you have proof that he did?”

  He shifted against the counter, and she tried not to watch the flex of his abs as he did so, angry with herself for even noticing. “Yeah. I do.”

  A stab of something sharp shot through her, making her shudder, like the first blow of an ax against the trunk of a tree. “You might think you have,” she said quickly. “But whatever it is, you’re wrong. Dad would never hurt anyone.”

  She wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t. Her father was no saint, she’d always known that, but he’d never resort to murder. Just as he’d never “give” her to some man she didn’t even know, the way Wolf was insisting.

  Her father loved her. He needed her. He would never get rid of her.

  Yes, he had his faults, but everyone did. At heart, he was a good man, she was certain.

  Anyway, that was all beside the point. Wolf might simply be manipulating her again the way he’d manipulated her before he’d kissed her. Giving her a sad story, pretending he was hurt and trying to get her sympathy.

  “You have no idea what kind of man your father is, Liv,” he said harshly. “No fucking idea at all.”

  She pressed her lips together, not wanting to tell him he was wrong yet again, because it was obvious he wasn’t going to listen. “You really expect me to believe any of this?” she asked instead. “You didn’t kiss me because you wanted me, did you? And you didn’t kidnap me to catch up. The only reason I’m here, the only reason you even touched me in the first place, is because you wanted that information and you didn’t care how you got it.”

  His features hardened, a dangerous light glittering in his eyes. “Okay, if you want the truth, then yeah, that’s exactly why you’re here. Why I kissed you. I don’t want you, Liv. I want what you know about Daniel May. I want access to your father’s schedule and his email accounts. Because you know what else I’m going to do when I get them?” He pushed himself violently away from the counter. “I’m going burn his fucking empire down and him along with it.”

  Shock was a knife in her side. “Why? Simply because someone told you he murdered your father?”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  “No, that’s insane. I mean, come on. After everything he did for you? You came to him, Wolf. You wanted his help and he gave it to you. He’s done nothing but—”

  “I came to him because Dad told me to. Because he needed a Tate on the inside of the de Santis family and thought I was the best bet.” He was moving now, slowly walking over to her, stalking her like a giant panther, and she coul
d feel fear kick hard in her chest. But she didn’t move, shock deepening all around her. “Everyone underestimates me, Liv. Everyone thinks I’m stupid. But it’s good, it means I can fly underneath the radar. So no one ever suspects, even your father.” He stopped right in front of her, staring down at her, eyes glittering. “Even you.”

  There was a weird roaring sound in her ears and some part of her was dimly aware that she recognized the flame in his eyes now and it wasn’t pain after all. It was anger.

  Awareness filtered through her, of the tension in his posture. Of how he was holding himself so carefully, so tightly leashed. Not moving too fast, like a person with a headache not wanting to make it any worse.

  But it wasn’t because he was in pain. It was because he was furious.

  “What do you mean, even me?” she asked stupidly.

  “There’s a reason I’m your friend, Liv. I was told to be. So I could get close enough to your father to take him down.”

  It didn’t make any sense. None of it did.

  She stared up at him, looking right into those furious mismatched eyes and his roughly handsome face. He wasn’t the unformed boy she remembered. He was a man and there were scars on that face. One near his blue right eye and another on his jaw. Signs of experiences she never shared, things he’d done that she didn’t know about.

  He was supposed to be her friend, someone she knew well, and yet it was becoming very clear that she didn’t know him at all.

  Did you ever know him? Or did you just tell yourself you did?

  “I…” she began thickly. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe what you want.” His mouth curled in something like a sneer. “It’s all true. The only thing you need to know is that that fucking fuse is burning and your father is going down.” Then before she could say anything, he brushed past her and headed toward the bedroom, slamming the double doors after him.

  Olivia couldn’t move, not for long seconds after the echo of that slam had died away. Eventually she moved over to the sofa and sat down, her legs shaking.

  It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. Ten years of friendship a lie. All those conversations they’d shared in the library, the sense that she’d found someone at last she could talk to, someone who listened to her the way no one ever had …

  It was all a lie.

  He hadn’t been her friend because he’d liked her. He’d been her friend because his father had told him to. Because it had given him an inside to the de Santis family.

  Grief twisted in her chest, stabbing deep into her heart, and then anger, roaring right behind it. Anger at him for the way he’d used her, and anger herself for believing him. She was supposed to be smart, supposed to be intelligent. And yet she’d been sucked in. One of those lazy smiles was all it had taken, the one that lit his eyes. One smile and she’d been his.

  Something cool slid down her cheek and splashed on the back of one hand clasped in her lap.

  Her jaw tightened. No, she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t sit here and give into grief and anger and recriminations. She didn’t have time to examine all the implications either. Her most important priority now was getting out of here, getting back home, and getting away from him.

  Olivia brushed another tear away, swallowing hard. Then she pushed all the pain and grief and rage firmly to one side. She’d deal with that later, when she had the time and space for it, but right now her number-one mission was to figure out how the hell she was going to get out of this hotel room and warn her father. Because he had to know that Wolf had somehow gone crazy and was throwing around wild threats.

  Pushing herself up off the couch, she went down the short hallway and tried the door handle again. Still locked, dammit.

  She stared down at it, frowning.

  How had he managed to lock it from the inside? Clearly he had the ability to unlock it too since there were those trolleys of food sitting there indicating that room service had made a visit. So how had he done it?

  It had to be something to do with what he’d done with the swipe card and the card reader since the lock still seemed to be functioning.

  Puzzling it out, Olivia paced back down the hallway and into the living area again, pausing to stare at the big double doors of the bedroom that he’d slammed behind him.

  Okay, maybe she could just ask him?

  She didn’t want to talk to him, she was still too furious, but she made herself go over to the doors and leaned in, trying to hear what he was doing. There was nothing but silence.

  “Wolf?” She made her voice loud. “Full marks for taking me prisoner, that’s really well done. But what if there’s a fire? The door’s locked from the inside.”

  There was no reply.

  “Okay,” she said to the door. “Thanks for your confession and everything, and for ruining the last ten years of my life, but I’m freaking out about the door. I don’t particularly want to burn to death—”

  “I can open it.” He sounded pissed, his voice rougher and more gravelly than ever. “The lock responds to a code on my phone. I can get us out if worse comes to worst.”

  Ah, okay. So he was using his phone to control the lock. She had no idea how that worked, but if she could get hold of his phone and maybe figure out what code he was using, then she’d be able to get out.

  Though, there was one small stumbling block to that plan.

  He was six five of solid Navy SEAL muscle and she was five five of not very much muscle at all. He’d be able to stop her leaving without even breathing hard.

  She cursed under her breath and paced the length of the living room, arms folded, her brain busy sorting through possibilities. What she really needed was to incapacitate him somehow, at least enough for her to get his phone and try the code. But how to do that?

  Pausing, she scanned the room, looking for anything heavy that she might be able to use to hit him over the head with. But almost as soon as the thought occurred to her, she dismissed it.

  He was a warrior, she was not. If by some miracle she even managed to hit him, she might not do it hard enough, or she’d strike a glancing blow and he’d get nothing but a bruised head instead of instant unconsciousness. Yes, and if that happened, he might tie her up. She definitely wouldn’t get a second chance, that’s for sure.

  No, she couldn’t hit him. She didn’t like the thought of hurting him anyway, even though he was a complete bastard who’d ripped her heart into a thousand tiny pieces. She couldn’t trust herself to go through with it. Which meant she had to think of something else.

  She paced the room again, turning over more options in her mind, when her attention caught on the small, empty bottle of scotch he’d tossed onto the floor. He’d drained it and that wasn’t the only thing he’d had to drink. There was the brandy he’d emptied into their coffee cups when they’d arrived here and then the glass of champagne. And that bottle … He’d emptied it quickly.

  Olivia bent and picked it up, the beginnings of an idea forming in her head.

  He must be tired, given it had been four a.m. when he’d come into her room. So he’d had to have been up even earlier than that. Not a lot of sleep. Then again, when he’d been talking about his training, he’d mentioned the fact that the candidates were used to operating on no sleep.

  But what if she added more alcohol to the mix? He was a big guy, so he’d need a lot, yet he didn’t seem to have any issues with draining that scotch. If she brought him more, he might drink that too.

  Sadly, given his height and build and the size of the mini bottles, she didn’t have enough alcohol to get him falling-down drunk. Especially if he wouldn’t touch the wine. But would it be enough to get him to fall asleep? And if it was, how long would she have to wait for that to happen?

  Letting out a breath, she moved over to the windows and looked out, her brain working furiously.

  Staying here for too long was impossible, she needed to get back home, tell her father what Wolf had been doing all this time, give him a wa
rning—and as soon as possible.

  “He killed my father.”

  Wolf’s voice floated through her head, but she shoved it away.

  She couldn’t afford distractions, not now.

  So, how to get a huge Navy SEAL to relax enough to lower his guard and fall helplessly asleep? Yes, that was the difficult question.

  A memory filled her head, of an embarrassing kitchen conversation she’d had after coming downstairs one morning to find a woman dressed in nothing but one of her father’s shirts, poking about in the fridge.

  She’d been someone he’d picked up the night before at a function—mercifully she’d been a good ten years older than Olivia—and Olivia had ended up having the world’s most awkward conversation with the woman. Especially when she’d started giving her details about her father she didn’t ever want to know.

  But one thing the woman had said was sticking in her brain, and for some reason Olivia couldn’t get it out.

  “Want to know my little trick for when you’re done and they’re still into it?” the woman had said, even though Olivia hadn’t wanted to know. “Scotch and a blow job, honey. Get ’em drunk then give ’em a really good orgasm. It’s more effective than a damn sleeping pill, honest.” She’d then winked at her. “You’ll thank me later.”

  It was later now and Olivia wasn’t sure she wanted to thank the woman for putting that idea in her head. Because she had a horrible thought that though she could handle the getting Wolf drunk aspect, she wasn’t sure at all about the orgasm part.

  Breathlessness caught in her throat, her heart beginning to speed up.

  Right, so even though Wolf Tate was a lying son of a bitch who’d single handedly destroyed their friendship within the space of a couple of minutes, her body apparently didn’t care.

  You could give him that orgasm.

  The tightness in her throat constricted even further and she found herself staring at the closed bedroom doors.

  She hadn’t wanted to get closer to him before, not when she’d been sure he didn’t actually want her—and she’d been right, he hadn’t.