The Winner Takes It All Page 2

  The kitchen told another story, thrusting her out of the past and into the future. It gleamed with newness. With gorgeous, industrial stainless steel appliances, distressed white cabinets, and polished granite countertops in various shades of cream, gold, and brown.

  Under the extra-deep double sink, a man sprawled across the floor, his head under the cabinet. “Can you hand me that wrench?”

  That voice. It never failed to send an irritating trail of tingles racing down her spine. She ground her back teeth until her temples gave a sharp stab of protest. Of course, Shane Donovan had to be the first person she ran into.

  He bent one knee, pulling the worn fabric of his jeans across powerful thighs. Her throat went dry as her pulse sped.

  Why him? Out of every man she’d ever encountered—and in her line of work, she encountered plenty—why did it have to be him? For heaven’s sake, he even belonged to the wrong political party. She shuddered.

  It was all so . . . embarrassing.

  But her body didn’t care, hadn’t cared since the first time she’d met him at Mitch and Maddie’s engagement party. The second her palm had slid into Shane’s, a disconcerting jolt of electricity traveled through her fingertips and up her arm. She’d had to force herself not to yank away, to keep her face impassive.

  It was a good thing he didn’t like her. It was the one thing working in her favor. If she stuck to her current strategy of nurturing his disdain, he’d stay away, and her exposure would be minimal.

  She walked over to the box of tools and stood over him.

  Half hidden under the sink, he fiddled with her brother’s plumbing. Annoyed at his pure perfection, she wrinkled her nose.

  At six-four, his frame stretched beautifully across the hardwood. His hips were lean. His stomach flat. Shoulders ridiculously broad. Most of the times she’d seen him he’d been dressed in a suit, but today he wore a pair of beat-up construction boots, faded jeans, and a thin white T-shirt. It was a crime against nature that a man who spent most of his time in boardrooms had muscles like his.

  She’d analyzed her attraction, and for the life of her, she couldn’t come up with a logical explanation. Sure, he was good-looking, but so what? Good-looking men weren’t impossible to find. He was nothing like the men she dated. She preferred, well, men like her. Men who were more interested in politics and strategy than carnal pleasures. She enjoyed a relationship where sex was secondary to their intellectual connection. Not that she had a problem with sex—she didn’t. Her past encounters were all pleasant and civilized.

  But nothing about Shane Donovan was civilized. And somehow she doubted sex with him was pleasant.

  She shouldn’t be attracted to him. Period. End of story. Only her libido didn’t agree.

  A loud clang sounded under the cabinet followed by a grunted curse. He stretched out his hand. “The wrench.”

  Without a word she reached down, grabbed the tool, and plopped it in his palm with far more force than necessary.

  “Easy there, honey.” The warm tone of his voice clearly not meant for her.

  Who was ‘honey’? A moment of panic washed over her. Oh no. Was she going to be tortured by watching him with another woman?

  The thought bothered her so much, she blurted, “I’m not your honey.”

  He stilled for a fraction of a second, before sliding out from under the sink like the teasing reveal in bad porn. His strong jaw tightened as his piercing green eyes met hers. “If it isn’t the ice queen herself.”

  His favorite name for her. He’d never called her honey, not even once.

  The fine hairs along her neck bristled as something she refused to name sat in the pit of her stomach. It didn’t matter. Even if he tried, she’d have to put him in his place on principle alone. Endearments were dismissive, every good feminist knew that.

  She slipped into the role he expected, ignoring the jab to ask coolly, “Where’s the happy couple?”

  He got up from the floor with much more grace than a man weighing at least two hundred pounds should, turned, and flicked on the faucet with the touch of his fingers. “Your brother’s out back.”

  The muscles under his thin T-shirt flexed as he washed his hands.

  She squared her shoulders. Good thing broad shoulders, muscular backs, and lean hips didn’t affect her. She was a sane, rational woman, not driven by hormones.

  Her eyes locked on his ass.

  Good thing she was above all that.

  When the water ceased she snapped her gaze away and smoothed her expression into her most remote mask.

  He turned and gave her an assessing once-over. “I didn’t think you’d show until the rehearsal dinner.”

  A muscle under her eye twitched. “I was invited. Mitch is my brother. Why shouldn’t I be here?”

  “You Rileys aren’t much for family support.” He assessed her with a shrewd gaze. “So there must be another motive.”

  Her spine bristled and she had the sudden urge to smack him across his smug face. Of course she didn’t, because that would be revealing and out of character. “I’m sure I don’t know to what you’re referring.”

  He scooped up a beer bottle and raised it to his lips, taking a long, slow drink while watching her in that predatory way he had.

  How could someone’s eyes be that green? So sharp and clear, it felt as though they pierced right through her.

  The continued scrutiny gave her the urge to tug at her navy suit jacket and smooth her knee-length skirt, but she refused to fidget. “Is my mother here?”

  “She went to the store with Maddie.” He placed the bottle back on the counter and rested his palms on the ledge of the granite that replaced the linoleum she remembered. “We’re out of Cheetos and Mountain Dew.”

  She planted her hands on her hips and returned one of his long, disdainful glances. Her gaze settled meaningfully on his flat-as-a-board stomach. “Ah, that explains it. I’ve heard after thirty-five things go south rather quickly.”

  His expression flashed with what looked like amusement. He straightened from the counter and took a step toward her.

  The urge to retreat rose in her chest but she didn’t dare step back.

  Never show weakness. Never break.

  His eyes narrowed. “How’d you know I turned thirty-five?”

  Damn it. See, this was why she ignored his barbs; she always said something far too telling. She shrugged one shoulder. “Oh, I hear things.”

  “Investigating my background? How sweet. I didn’t know you cared.”

  Of course they’d investigated all the Donovans when her brother became involved with Maddie. Just like Shane had investigated all of them, when his sister ran away to Revival. That’s the way it worked. Everyone knew that. Maybe she’d spent a little too much time on the oldest Donovan brother, but only because he was the most dangerous.

  So yes, she knew all about Shane. Had a list of stats she could rattle off in her head in her sleep.

  Occupation—CEO and owner of The Donovan Corporation.

  Last significant relationship—one year ago with some tech genius.

  High school grade point average—an abysmal 1.65.

  College degree—none.

  Arrests—one at sixteen, for underage drinking.

  The list went on, and as many times as she went over the facts, the essence of him was missing. How did he beat such impossible odds? Overcome such dire straits?

  All by his thirty-fifth birthday.

  Which she should not know was three months ago.

  One week after hers to the day.

  At the memory of her own birthday, she frowned. It hadn’t been a good day.

  She’d spent her birthday in strategy meetings concentrating on repairing her father’s tattered image. Other than a small fifteen-minute work break, when the interns shoved a cake under her nose, her mother had been the only person to call.

  That night she’d sat alone in her Gold Coast town house eating Chinese takeout by herself. After a bot
tle of wine, she’d contemplated her accomplishments, trying in vain to pat herself on her back.

  Only to realize the things she’d listed had nothing to do with her.

  She’d done nothing for her own life.

  Not a single damn thing.

  Chapter Two

  Was that emotion on the ice queen’s face?

  A frown curved the corners of Cecilia’s mouth downward, as she seemed to drift off and forget Shane was there. He’d never seen her look anything but distant and remote and the flicker of feeling transformed her classically beautiful face into something stunning.

  He didn’t like it.

  He preferred her inhuman. It helped cool the stab of irrational lust that kicked him in the gut every time he got within fifty feet of her. A lust he sure as hell didn’t understand but couldn’t seem to control. She was fast becoming an itch he couldn’t quite scratch, annoying as hell and impossible to ignore.

  Those mysterious, blue-gray eyes of hers darkened. Her expression was tight, highlighting her high cheekbones and the hollows of her cheeks. Twin lines formed over her normally smooth brow. Wherever she’d gone, her thoughts were distressing enough that her customary mask slipped away.

  Why was she unhappy?

  He shook his head. It didn’t matter. It didn’t have anything to do with him.

  He didn’t even like her. He liked his women smart, soft, and warm. While she was plenty smart, nothing about Cecilia Riley—from her patrician bone structure to her severe suits—spoke of softness or warmth.

  Except for her mouth.

  That mouth had been designed for a different woman. His gaze dipped to her full, pink lips. Lush and bitable, they looked like sex. Raw, dirty sex. The kind he was positive she didn’t have.

  The back door banged opened and Cecilia’s expression jerked back into focus. She blinked, those stormy eyes of hers shuttering closed before he could decipher the emotions lurking in their depths. And just like that, the mask was back in place, leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.

  She raised one elegant brow, crossing her arms and closing herself off.

  He wanted to ask what she’d been thinking, but Gracie Roberts called out in a singsong voice, “Oh Shane, where are you?”

  Cecilia’s porn-star lips tightened.

  “In here,” he called back, his gaze never leaving her face. That was twice now. When they’d first met he’d tried to rattle her and there hadn’t even been a flicker of awareness. But today, he’d seen more emotion on her face in the last ten minutes than in their entire acquaintance.

  What was going on in that brain of hers? And why the fuck did he care? She wasn’t his business.

  Mitch and Maddie’s neighbor waltzed into the kitchen, a stark contrast to the woman across from him. Unlike Cecilia’s golden-brown hair, cut razor sharp and falling in perfect place at her shoulders, Gracie’s curly blond hair was wild and carefree. Just like the woman. With a pretty face, dancing cornflower-blue eyes, and a body out of a teenage boy’s wet dream, she was a walking, talking fantasy come to life.

  He couldn’t work up even the slightest interest.

  Why couldn’t he be like any sensible red-blooded man and have the hots for Gracie? It was irritating as hell. He tried. Hell, so had she. And while they flirted like mad, there wasn’t a lick of heat between them.

  Fucking annoying.

  When Gracie saw Cecilia, she jumped, sending her Playboy-worthy breasts jiggling in a red tank top. “Ce-ce!”

  Ce-ce?

  Cecilia’s chin tilted to a regal angle, but she overplayed her hand when she ran a smoothing palm over her sharply cut navy business suit. A prim, contained nod. “Hello, Gracie, it’s been a long time. You’re all grown up.”

  Gracie beamed, and in her normal exuberance, opened her arms and ran to Cecilia. Gracie locked her in a big bear hug and squeezed her tight. “It’s so great to see you.”

  Cecilia’s brows furrowed as she patted the other woman awkwardly on the back. “Thank you.”

  Gracie pulled back, still holding Cecilia by the shoulders, and gave her a thorough inspection. “Well, look at you. You haven’t changed one bit. You’re still all fancy.”

  “I came from morning meetings,” Cecilia said, stepping out of the other woman’s grasp.

  Gracie planted her hands on curvy hips encased in skintight white capris. “Every summer, Ce-ce would show up, all neat and proper in her shiny shoes and ironed clothes.” She winked at him, laughing. “But we managed to mess her up.”

  “Did you now?” Shane cocked a brow at Cecilia, who stood with such perfect posture she’d have made a finishing-school teacher proud.

  Her lips pressed together but didn’t speak.

  Gracie nudged Cecilia with her elbow. “By the end she was as wild and dirty as the rest of us.”

  He couldn’t imagine her wild and dirty. “That’s hard to believe.”

  Cecilia tugged at her suit jacket. “I’m sure she’s exaggerating.”

  That, he believed. “Ce-ce?”

  “My grandmother used to call me that.” Her voice was cool, but something flashed in her eyes, darkening the gray.

  The nickname didn’t suit the woman, but Shane couldn’t help wondering about the girl she’d been before the power suits. Apparently, she’d been wild.

  And dirty.

  He searched her face but couldn’t find any trace of carefree.

  She sensed his gaze, turned and stared at him as though to say, What are you looking at?

  “Well, come on, everyone’s out back.” Gracie waved an arm in the direction of the backyard.

  He didn’t glance away. Instead, his gaze drifted to Cecilia’s mouth and his mind filled with illicit images.

  Christ.

  As though she read his mind, her gaze flicked scornfully over his before shifting her attention to Gracie. “I’m afraid I’m not dressed for a picnic.”

  The other woman laughed and jutted her thumb to the swinging door. “Go change, silly.” Then she turned to Shane. “You, I need.”

  Cecilia gave a sharp tug at her suit jacket, her shoulders squaring.

  He slanted a wicked glance at Gracie. “What do you need, honey?”

  Cecilia’s lips pressed into a firm line. She looked past him, out the window overlooking the backyard.

  “Your expert advice. I experimented with a new recipe,” Gracie said, before blowing out an exasperated breath. “Maddie’s gone, Mitch likes everything, and your stupid brother refuses to eat one.” She gave him an adorable little pout. “That leaves you.”

  A baker, Gracie had made one delicious concoction after another and his health nut younger brother refused to try a single thing. Shane grinned at her. “I told you Jimmy hasn’t touched refined sugar since the great Christmas of 2012.”

  She threw up her hands and let out a scream.

  Cecilia’s eyes widened.

  “He’s impossible.” Gracie stomped a foot, her righteousness so cute he should have wanted to eat her up with a spoon, but Shane’s lust stayed stubbornly focused on the woman across from him.

  “He’s training for the marathon. You’ll never break him, so don’t even bother trying.” Shane frowned as that ever-present worry for his siblings niggled at him. It wasn’t healthy, James’s total self-control, but Shane didn’t know what to do about it. His brother was thirty-three, old enough to live his life the way he wanted.

  “How does someone pass up dark chocolate cupcakes?” Gracie asked, pulling him away from his thoughts. “They’re filled with warm caramel and iced with salted chocolate frosting. How do you refuse that?”

  Cecilia’s smooth brow furrowed.

  Gracie placed an open palm on her chest, appealing mournfully to Cecilia. “I mean, can you imagine?”

  “How many calories are they?” Cecilia asked, her tone so deadpan she had to be joking. Only, she wasn’t the joking type.

  She was like his brother that way. All serious. No cupcakes allowed.


  “Are you kidding?” Gracie’s tone indicating Cecilia belonged in a mental institution. “Who cares? It’s chocolate.”

  Her shoulders slumped, her expression so dejected, Shane took pity on her. He pulled her close and kissed her temple. “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll eat all the cupcakes you want.”

  In that split second, he saw what he’d been waiting for. She hid it very quickly, and if he hadn’t been paying such close attention he’d have missed it, written in big, bold letters all over her face.

  Cecilia Riley was jealous.

  And wouldn’t he just have to find out what that was about?

  She was not jealous. She did not get jealous. Jealousy was a base emotion. Uncivilized.

  So what if Gracie Roberts was ‘honey.’ It made sense; she looked sweet enough.

  Good. Great.

  This worked to Cecilia’s advantage. Two weeks watching Shane and Gracie fawn all over each other was certain to cure her of her fixation. Problem solved.

  She forced a smile to her lips. Perfect. It was all going to work out.

  She dropped her bags on the floor. The room hadn’t been changed since the last night she’d spent there. It was still the frilly girl’s room from her youth. Bright and hopeful in pale blue, white, and lavender. She ran her hand over the quilt her grandma had made for her, a soft white cotton with embroidered forget-me-nots that brought a sting to the back of her throat. She traced the flowers, quelling the ache in her chest, before moving to the white dresser.

  There was a vase of vibrant pink Gerber daisies with an aged silver frame sitting next to it. She picked up the picture only Maddie could have put there. It was of Mitch and Cecilia when they’d been young kids. Skin tan from the sun, they wore matching grins. They sat on a thick branch of the tree that hung over the river, dressed in their bathing suits, their gangly limbs dangling. They looked happy. Carefree. Like brother and sister instead of the strangers they were now.

  She traced the edge of the pewter frame and put it back on the dresser.

  Maybe this trip would help bridge the gap between them. Or at least she could pretend she wasn’t an outsider. If even for a brief respite.