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  LIKE EVERYONE ELSE at the Fog Bank, Frank Larkin watched the nasty little squabble taking place at the bar. He recognized Jenner Redwine, because he’d studied her photograph when he had her and the Hazlett woman reassigned to the suite beside his, but he didn’t know the squabbling couple.

  “Who is that?” he asked Keith Gazlay, an industrialist from Seattle. Gazlay was a sharp-eyed man who was there with his third trophy wife; they kept getting younger, and this latest one was younger than his children—at least the three by his first wife. He’d had a second family, a girl and a boy, with his second wife—the first trophy wife—who had been a mere fifteen years younger than him. Number one had taken him to the cleaners, and their relationship was bitter; after that, he’d been smart enough to get prenuptial agreements.

  “I don’t know,” replied Gazlay, eyeing the screaming woman’s breasts, which were about to pop out of her tight red dress. “But I’d like to.”

  Evidently marriage number four was already in trouble. Frank hid his contempt for Gazlay and turned to signal Dean Mills. He had a brief word with his chief of security, then turned back to watch the rest of the show while Dean followed his instructions.

  The black-haired woman was drunk and unreasonable, not listening to anything anyone said. The man she was screaming at was watching her with a distant, dismissive look on his face that said he was finished, regardless of any apologies she might offer the next day. Another man was trying to explain that the whole incident was his fault, while Jenner Redwine looked acutely uncomfortable and kept trying to edge away, only to be prevented by the crowd, which had thickened around the scene.

  Dean Mills returned, his voice low as he imparted the information Frank had requested. The man was Cael Traylor, from northern California; he owned a series of restaurants, car washes, and Laundromats. The woman was Tiffany Marsters, who evidently did nothing except fuck for her bread and board.

  Dean didn’t elaborate on his recital; he didn’t have to. They both knew that businesses such as Traylor’s were an excellent cover for money-laundering, so he was probably dirty. Frank found that reassuring. A man who had something to hide wasn’t likely to go poking his nose into anyone else’s secrets.

  Frank’s head was aching, the pain more intense than usual. The music was making the throbbing worse, and even his vision seemed to be throbbing. He’d had to put in an appearance tonight, the first night, so he pushed the pain away. No one could know there was anything wrong with him, or the vultures would be picking his bones before he was dead. All of them were vultures, rich vultures who thought their money made them better than everyone else. He’d show them. Once and for all, he’d show the world how stupid they all were, how he’d always been smarter and laughed at them as he took their money.

  Someone else whose face he recognized moved into the scene by the bar: Faith Naterra. She and her husband, Ryan, had originally been booked into one of the suites adjoining Frank’s. He watched as she approached the Marsters woman, putting an arm around her shoulders and leading her away.

  This was better than a soap opera, and just as idiotic. Now Ryan Naterra had gone up to Traylor and was talking to him, evidently introducing him to Jenner Redwine because the two shook hands. He turned back to Dean. “See what’s going on,” he murmured, and Dean melted into the crowd. Shortly afterward, Traylor and the Redwine woman left the bar, with Dean discreetly following.

  Frank suspected he’d just seen Traylor seize the opportunity to dump a woman who was more trouble than she was worth, and latch on to one who was worth a few hundred million. That was fine with him; it wasn’t as if either of them was going to live much longer, anyway.

  Chapter Twelve

  JENNER WAS ALMOST HYPERVENTILATING WITH TERROR by the time they reached her suite. The more frightened she was, the angrier she became. No matter how often or how deeply she had to kiss him in public, she’d be damned if that meant she’d let him do whatever he wanted in private. Her willingness to touch him, and be touched by him, stopped at the door.

  He was a damn good actor, and that scared her even more, because it put her at an even greater disadvantage. How would she know what to believe, and what not to believe? He was so convincing in his role that, if she hadn’t known better, her heart would be pounding at being the focus of so much male intensity. He wasn’t playful, he wasn’t giving her time to get to know him better; every move he’d made, every look he’d given her, had been those of a man who had his sights on a woman he wanted.

  In real life, Jenner would have been running for the hills if any man had tried to be so dominant with her. She didn’t like bossy men and didn’t tolerate them. Cael was more than just bossy; he was downright ruthless, and the knowledge had her so scared her teeth were almost chattering.

  He took her tiny red leather shoulder bag from her and opened it, taking out the key card for the door. She stood mutely, gritting her teeth to keep from grabbing the bag back. No one who knew her would ever believe for one minute that she’d let a man get away with such high-handed behavior, but who, besides Syd, really knew her? She and Syd were such close friends precisely because neither of them fit in with the rest of the crowd.

  Someone was coming down the passageway toward them. Jenner carefully didn’t look to see who it was, instead keeping her head down and her gaze focused on his hands as he inserted the card in the lock and the little light flashed green. They were big hands, but well-shaped and hard, with a look and feel to them that she recognized. He worked out, long and often, and he had quite a bit of training in the martial arts. Her little bit of judo would be useless against him.

  Removing the card, he opened the door and ushered her inside, his callused palm warm on the small of her back.

  As soon as they were inside and the door was closed behind them, though, Jenner whirled away. Her cheeks red with temper, she spat, “I will not let you rape me, is that understood?”

  “Keep your voice down.” Clamping one hand on her arm just above her elbow, he forced her farther into the room, away from the door. He paused then, his cool gaze raking her, her red bag still in his hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think the definition of rape means there isn’t any ‘letting’ involved. You can rest easy, though; I’m not interested.”

  “Yes, I felt how uninterested you are,” she snapped, then wished she hadn’t, because she really didn’t want to be discussing the state of his penis. His reassurance had failed in its purpose because she didn’t feel reassured at all. She was still practically jumping out of her skin from nervousness, and her instinctive reaction was to fight.

  He looked amused. “You don’t know much about men, do you?”

  “More than enough, thank you! Hey!” The last word was yelped as he dragged her through the bedroom door to the left. The bottom dropped out of her stomach and, just like that, panic washed over her in a tidal wave, obliterating thought. She exploded into a flurry of movement, fighting him for all she was worth. She punched him with her free hand, pulling back as hard as she could in an effort to break his grip on her arm, twisting, trying to stomp his feet, elbow him in the gut, head butt him—anything and everything she could do, without any strategy in mind except the blind need to fight. He grunted when her first blow hit his jaw, then he thwarted most of her efforts by simply turning his body so she was left with no target except his shoulder and back. His hard grip never once loosened. Infuriated, terrified, she used the only weapon she had left and bit him, sinking her teeth into the back of his upper arm.

  “Shit!” he said between clenched teeth, and with a twist of his body she went airborne, sailing across to land with a teeth-rattling bounce on the bed. Desperately she twisted, trying to regain her balance and roll off the bed on the other side but he pounced with the quickness of a snake striking, snagging her wrist and dragging her bodily off the bed to sling her into the bedside chair.

  The violent speed of the move left her sprawled in the chair, disoriented and stun