The Price of Scandal Page 5

  Reaching for the decanter, the smell of smoke hit me. Too late, I realized that the terrace doors in my bedroom were open. I wasn’t alone. I opened the vanity drawer and came up with a curling iron. Not ideal, but if an intruder picked today to tangle with me, they would live to regret that very unlucky choice.

  The slosh of water had me whirling around.

  Framed in a large bay window was the copper pedestal tub I’d had custom made. It was one of my very favorite spots in this entire house.

  And it was currently occupied by a very naked man.

  “Hello, Emily.”

  A very naked man with the slightest British accent. My brain was scrambling to keep up to assess and hypothesize. Was I about to be murdered by a nude serial killer?

  A cigarette dangled indolently from his lips. His hair was thick and dark, curling carelessly on top. The eyes that studied me were a glacier blue. His jaw was aristocratically carved, highlighted by delicate hollows just below breath-taking cheekbones. His lower half was covered under a frothy layer of my own damn Prosecco bubble bath.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, holding the curling iron like a short baseball bat. I needed to call Jane and have her cuff this guy and march him naked out my front door.

  My neighbors would love that.

  There was a scar under his left eye that gave him a roguish look. Lazily, he pulled the cigarette from his mouth with long fingers. He exhaled a blue cloud and eyed my skimpy sports bra as if he had the right to.

  “I’m here to help you,” he announced.

  This is how it ended. Being murdered by a crazy naked man. Yesterday, I’d been more likely to die in a private plane crash. How far I’d fallen.

  “You have five seconds to get out of my tub and another ten to get out of my home, or I’m calling the police and having my security team stun gun you to death in the tub,” I said.

  He smiled, a knowing kind of grin, and the urge to slap it off his face was so overwhelming I nearly bit through my lip.

  “Now what’s the fun in that?” he asked. His voice was smooth, amused.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” I’d had to disarm the alarm when I came in with Jane.

  Jane. More angry than scared, I stormed to the Hepplewhite side table next to the tub and picked up the phone. If this smug idiot and I didn’t kill each other in combat, I was going to have a long talk with Daisy about security in Bluewater.

  Tilting his head, the naked stranger blew another cloud of smoke toward the Baccarat chandelier and ignored me.

  “Jane? I need your stun gun in my bathroom.”

  “Another spider?” she asked.

  “No, it’s not another spider,” I hissed, eyeing the about-to-be dead man in my tub. “It’s worse.”

  “Are you in danger?” she asked, her tone clipped.

  “Probably only of committing murder.” I hung up.

  The movement took me closer to my stalker. Reckless with anger, I snatched the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it in the bubbles that barely covered his lap.

  “I don’t allow smoking in my home. Or naked strangers.”

  “Pity,” he said, and a dimple flashed to life in his cheek. “But it does make my job easier, I suppose.” Bracing his hands on the sides of the tub, he rose, sending bubbles and water cascading down his body.

  He stepped out and into my space.

  I stood my ground but made no effort to tear my gaze away from the soapy cock between his muscled thighs.

  If I had to be murdered in my own home by a naked crazy man, at least he was the embodiment of the perfect male form. It would have been more depressing had my murderer possessed a beer belly and hairy knuckles. Made-for-TV movies about my death would run for years with such a handsome, homicidal villain.

  His lips curved on one side as he let water puddle all over my marble.

  I was going to really enjoy watching Jane electrocute him. Then I’d have a scotch while I watched security drag him away, I decided. Perhaps I could instruct them to drag him through one of the thornier bushes?

  He reached toward me with a muscled arm.

  I flinched, wondering if I’d completely misjudged the danger factor.

  It amused him. “Do I make you nervous, Emily?” he asked, pulling a monogrammed towel off the shelf behind me. He began a slow, sensual show of toweling off. My eyes were glued to every place the towel dried.

  I took a step closer to him and trod on his bare foot. He towered over my five feet and seven inches, but anger made me stupidly brave.

  “I’m going to enjoy watching my security team crush you. And rest assured, I will press charges. Trespassing. Stalking. I’m in fear for my life right now.”

  I wanted to fight, I realized. The choreographed kickboxing hadn’t quelled the bloodlust I’d kept locked down all day.

  “Emily, Emily, Emily,” he tutted. “How will tasing an employee and parading them naked out of your house help your predicament?” He reached out and toyed with the strap of my bra. The brush of his finger against my still sweaty skin ignited something that felt hot like rage but meltier. Slicker.

  “Employee?” I sounded like I was being choked.

  “I’m Derek Price from Alpha Group. The man hired to help you keep your company.”

  Fuck.

  Jane ninja rolled into the bathroom from the terrace, landing in a crouch and pointing her stun gun at the naked man.

  “Wow.” It was as effusive as Jane got.

  “Focus more on the criminal aspect than the dick, Jane,” I reminded her when her brown eyes roamed south from his well-formed chest to what looked like several decadent inches of pure sin.

  “I’m multi-tasking,” she insisted.

  Derek grinned at her and stepped around me, irresponsibly disinterested in the weapon pointed at him and the curling iron I still wielded. At the bar cart, he poured two fingers of scotch into three glasses.

  “Who the hell are you?” I demanded.

  He pushed a glass into my hand.

  “I believe I mentioned that I’m Derek Price,” he said again. “I’m the fixer your board hired to clean up your mess. Imani can verify.”

  Double fuck.

  “So you show up here, break into my house, and take a bath?”

  “What’s for dinner?” Frank, the parrot that never shut up, squawked grumpily from the palm outside.

  “Shut up, Frank,” Jane and I said together.

  “You dodged my calls all day. And one thing you don’t have in this…” Those ocean blue eyes skimmed my body from head to toe and back again. “Situation,” he decided, “is time. Now that I have your attention, we can get started.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it again.

  Using two fingers, he nudged the glass in my hand to my mouth. I swallowed reflexively.

  “Good girl. You have another billion dollars on the line and the reputation of a company you built with your own two lovely hands. My job is to make sure you get everything you’ve worked for. Your job is to listen to me and do everything I say.”

  “Good luck with that,” Jane scoffed from her crouch.

  Still naked, Derek picked up one of the remaining glasses from the cart and handed it to Jane. She accepted it with her stun gun-free hand.

  “This isn’t happening,” I whispered.

  “I’m pretty sure this is happening,” Jane insisted, looking at his cock again. She took a drink. “Yep. Definitely happening.”

  Obligingly, Derek picked up the third glass and did a slow turn. God. His ass was the most perfect guy-butt I’d ever seen in my entire life. And I loathed him for it. What a waste of an ass like that on an asshole.

  He held out his hand. “Phone.”

  It was the cock. Or the ass. Or those blue, blue eyes. Whatever it was, I was hypnotized. I dropped the curling iron and handed over my cell phone.

  His thumbs flew over the screen, and then he handed it back. “There. Now I’m in your phone. W
hen I call, you answer.”

  “When you call, I answer?” I repeated with disdain. I wanted to smash my phone into his perfect face.

  None of this was happening. My carefully curated life was not suddenly spiraling out of control, dancing dangerously close to the drain. I’d just worked too hard, and now I was hallucinating.

  He leaned in so close that I could feel the heat pumping off his damp skin. Oh, God. I didn’t have the imagination to hallucinate this well.

  “If you don’t, you’ll lose everything,” he said.

  * * *

  “So he’s legit?” Jane asked as I hung up the phone.

  My father wasn’t responding to my calls. He was probably still in the air. But I did get another director on the phone, and she assured me icily that Derek Price was indeed my new guardian angel and babysitter.

  “It would appear so.”

  I sank down at the kitchen bar and watched listlessly as Jane poured two shots of something.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “Fireball,” she said. “Borrowed it from Daisy. Kind of comforting to know that billions of dollars still can’t buy a sophisticated palate. That girl has the best worst taste in booze.”

  She handed me a shot glass, and for the second time that night, I drank on command.

  “So here’s the plan,” Jane said. “You and I are gonna do a couple of shots, and then I’m spending the night here in case the naked burglar comes back to try out your steam shower.”

  “Good plan,” I wheezed and slid my empty glass back at her. “You’ll stun gun him next time, right?”

  “Promise.”

  8

  Derek

  I pulled my car into Emily’s crushed seashell driveway and hopped out whistling. It was a beautiful day. The humidity had broken a bit, leaving coastal Florida to enjoy the blue skies and ocean breezes. Best of all, I had a shiny new puzzle to solve.

  And she was going to be very unhappy to see me.

  Hands in pockets, I strolled up the winding walkway to her front door.

  I could let myself in again, but I’d scandalized Emily enough yesterday. I stabbed the bell with a finger and turned my back on the door to admire the neighborhood. Bluewater was an exclusive gated enclave that, according to my research, my pretty new puzzle had developed with three of her friends. Six years ago, these 2,500 hundred acres had been little more than a swampy mess of overgrowth and trash.

  Now, it was home to some of the wealthiest, most eclectic residents Miami had to offer.

  They’d built something incredible here. Waterfront mansions tucked away behind lush landscaping. Meandering golf cart and bike paths. Luxurious condo buildings. A secluded marina and private airfield. Even a colorful village of exclusive boutiques and restaurants.

  It was impressive. She was impressive.

  The door opened, and the security woman from last night eyed me with suspicion. Jane Gonzalez. Only daughter of Cuban parents. She’d been active duty Marines for several years before branching out into security consulting and personal assisting.

  “You’re back,” she stated, gaze lowering to my crotch.

  “I’m afraid I came fully clothed this time,” I said, offering my most charming grin.

  “She’ll be disappointed,” Jane predicted.

  “That I’m back or that I’m wearing pants?” I quipped. Humor was one of my best weapons. I was quite charming and funny when circumstances required.

  Serious Jane’s lips quirked as if they were considering a smile.

  “We’re getting ready to leave for the office,” she said.

  I stepped around her, rubbing my palms together. “Perfect timing. I’m here to drive you.”

  “Oh, she’s really not going to like that,” Jane sang under her breath.

  She followed me into the two-story foyer. Staircases on either side wound their way up to the second floor and a mezzanine that overlooked both the foyer and the living room or whatever the exorbitantly wealthy called it.

  My bank accounts were by no means anemic. But this was another level… Yet I didn’t find it cold or over-the-top luxurious. There was a pair of running shoes next to the door, papers and a candy wrapper on the entry table. They were next to an exquisite orchid arrangement. But the details suggested there was a human somewhere underneath Emily Stanton’s layers of polish.

  “Boss? Ride’s here,” she called.

  “All I can say is if this day is as bad as yesterday was, I’m selling everything and buying a tiny house on an island.” Emily jogged into view, stilettos clutched in one hand. She was dressed like she was headed to the club for a girlfriends’ lunch. A pale pink linen skirt and jacket. A lady who lunched.

  Her bare feet skidded to a stop on the cool marble. “No!” She pointed at me like one would a bad dog.

  I grinned. “You need to change,” I insisted, giving her a once-over.

  “Absolutely not,” she snapped. “I refuse to pretend to be someone else just to distract from one stupid misstep that should have no bearing on—”

  “Your outfit, love. Change your outfit,” I clarified.

  Emily sputtered and glanced down. “My outfit?”

  “You do look a little ‘Easter church dinner,’” Jane observed.

  I was really starting to like this woman who hadn’t stun gunned me.

  “I’m respectable.”

  “What else is in your closet?” I asked, taking Emily’s hand and pulling her down the hallway toward the master suite I’d snooped through last night.

  She tried to dig in, but her heels couldn’t find traction on the smooth marble.

  “Let go of me!”

  Releasing her, I pushed through the double doors of her closet.

  “You need to be human,” I instructed, pawing through the meticulously organized racks. “Showing up as Boardroom Barbie isn’t helping your case. Here,” I tossed a pair of cropped jeans at her.

  She caught them on reflex. “Jeans? Are you insane?”

  Her horror was laughable. I turned to face her. “You’ve never worn jeans to the office?”

  “On Sundays, when no one else is there. I have an image—”

  “That’s precisely the problem. Your image is frosty corporate princess. Who wouldn’t love to see cracks in that armor? We need to humanize you and take advantage of the attention.”

  “Take advantage? I want it to go away,” she said, still clutching the jeans to her chest.

  “What would you wear if you were going out with friends?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Shirt. Fun. Casual.” I snapped my fingers.

  Still smoldering with anger, she pointed to the far end of the closet. I rifled through a handful of t-shirts and neatly folded sweaters. “Here.” I tossed her a sleeveless peplum sweater in black.

  “We’re going to be late,” she complained, glaring down the length of the dressing room at me.

  Her anger was… entertaining. And a little arousing. I’d expected a prim and proper, polite hostess. Finding a temperamental woman instead was a bonus.

  “I rescheduled your morning,” I told her, perusing her shoe selection.

  “You did what?”

  I looped my fingers through a pair of strappy magenta heels. “Emily, love, I understand your desire to remain in control. However, while revolutionizing skin care might be your area of expertise, polishing images and managing crises is mine. This would go more efficiently if you’d just trust me.”

  “Trust you? You broke into my house and took a bath!”

  “We can argue in the car. Go change.”

  “I will never trust you of all people. Not if you were the last human being on the face of the planet.”

  I would have bet money that she was going to stomp her bare foot, but she restrained herself. Another point in her favor. Restraint meant she was capable of being reasoned with.

  She disappeared from the dressing room, muttering a string of four-letter words.

&n
bsp; “Wear your hair down,” I called after her.

  I heard a distinct “Kiss my ass” before she closed the bathroom door and locked it with a snick.

  I took a quick look inside a few drawers in the large custom island and found many of them empty. I pulled out a belt, then chose a pair of aviator sunglasses from her rather paltry collection. Obviously, Emily Stanton had other interests in life besides clothes and accessories.

  I sensed her in the doorway before she spoke.

  “Well?” she said, annoyance dripping.

  The jeans were fitted and ended a few inches shy of her ankles. The top accentuated her waistline, and the cut made it fun yet stylish.

  “Exactly right,” I said, handing her the shoes.

  She steadied herself on the granite of the island and slipped her feet into them. I guessed the designer would sell out by tomorrow.

  “Very nice. You don’t look at all like a drug addict.”

  “Your approval means the world to me,” she said dryly.

  In response, I took the end of the belt and fed it through the first loop at her waist. Emily slapped my hands away and took over the task.

  “I can’t believe I’m listening to you,” she muttered.

  “Trust me, love. I won’t lead you astray.” I shoved my fingers into her hair and ruffled the honey blonde tresses.

  She batted at my hands and nearly fell into her collection of trousers. “What are you doing?”

  I flipped her hair over in a messy side part. “Perfect.”

  “I thought that was the problem,” Emily said snidely, securing her belt with a violent tug.

  “Come on. We’re late,” I said, brushing past her.

  “You are infuriating! I am going to murder you and have Jane feed your body to Steve!”

  I led the way out of her bedroom, noting the massive bed was precisely made.

  “Steve?” I was intrigued.

  “It’s better you don’t know,” Jane piped up from the kitchen where she was checking the locks on the terrace doors. The entire house offered a panoramic view of blue water.