Eye of the Beholder

  She held his gaze. “Do you?”

  His smile took on a thin, lethal edge. “What do you think?”

  Folks who courted risks were supposed to be cool types, she reminded herself. “Let’s just say I’m reserving judgment.”

  “Hard to go wrong that way.”

  “You sound as if you don’t approve of that approach.”

  “I was thinking that our relationship would function as a partnership,” he said with a considering expression. “I was hoping for a measure of trust between us.”

  “Trust?” She gave him amused disdain. “Don’t talk to me about trust. You don’t trust me any farther than you can throw me. You’re still waiting for the reviews of your new art collection to hit before you decide whether or not I’ve defrauded you, remember?”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “You’ve made your point,” Trask said finally.

  “Good.” It was a small victory, but, she discovered, a heady one. It emboldened her. “By the way, you may be wrong.”

  One dark brow climbed. “About what?”

  “About the possibility that everyone here tonight is concerned with your intentions toward me. I suspect that quite a few people may be wondering if I’m with you because I’ve got a deep, dark scheme of my own.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Did you agree to go out with me in order to seduce me into agreeing to abandon my plans?”

  She felt herself turn very warm and was suddenly grateful for the low light level in the restaurant. “What do you think?”

  “I think it might be interesting from my point of view, but not particularly effective from yours.”

  She closed the menu with a smart snap. “Okay, we’ll take it as a given that I can’t talk any sense into you. I can promise you that I’m not going to give you any inside information that concerns Lloyd Kenyon, either. Guess we’re even, hmm?”

  “Sort of limits the scope of the conversation, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does.” She gave him another cool smile. “So what are we going to talk about?”

  “Us?”

  The suggestion caught her completely off guard. “Us?”

  “Why not?”

  “Uh…”

  “We’ll stick to strictly neutral territory.”

  “Well…”

  The return of the waiter rescued her from having to come up with something more intelligent. Unfortunately, the reprieve did not last long. When they were alone again, Trask looked at her.

  “Let’s get the basics out of the way,” he said. “I’m not married and neither are you.”

  She stared at him. “How do you know that I’m not married?”

  He flicked a glance at her left hand. “My first clue is that you don’t wear a wedding ring. Just to be on the safe side, I asked around.”

  “You asked around? About me?”

  “Don’t worry, I was discreet. Now, moving right along—”

  “Stop right there.” She eyed him narrowly. “What do you mean, you were discreet?”

  “Don’t go getting paranoid. It was just a simple precaution.”

  “A precaution?”

  He watched her very steadily. “I don’t date married women.”

  “I see.” She wanted to accuse him of something, but she was not sure what. She could hardly fault him for his policy.

  “Are you going to tell me that you didn’t know whether or not I was married when you accepted my invitation?” he asked.

  She hesitated and then shrugged lightly. “I’m aware that you’re divorced.”

  “Who was your source?” he asked very casually.

  “Edward Vale mentioned it in passing.”

  Trask nodded. “Fair enough. As I said, moving right along, care to tell me why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why you’re still single?”

  She summoned up a breezy little smile. “It’s a matter of opinion. My therapist, Dr. Ormiston, whom I saw for two whole months, told me that I’m not very good at commitments. She said that I’m overly cautious and risk-averse, especially where men are concerned.”

  “Risk-averse?”

  “Uh-huh. Means I’m afraid to allow myself to be vulnerable. A result of having had an unreliable father.”

  “Ah.” Trask nodded wisely. “Risk-averse. Got it. What did you say when she came up with her diagnosis?”

  “I told her that I just hadn’t met the right man yet.”

  “I see.” He eyed her with a considering gaze. “Which opinion is the correct one? Yours or Dr. Ormiston’s?”

  “Danged if I know.” Alexa decided it was time to turn the tables. “Why did your wife leave you?”

  “Let me see.” He looked briefly thoughtful. “As I recall, she said that I was obsessed with building an empire, that I didn’t understand her needs, and that I failed to share my deepest feelings.”

  Alexa cleared her throat. “But other than that it seemed like a pretty good marriage?”

  “Yeah. But I didn’t have much to compare it with.”

  “Was any of it true? The empire building and the failure to communicate, etc., etc.?”

  “Probably. But personally, I think the real reason she walked out was that she never really forgave me for insisting on a prenuptial contract.”

  Alexa slowly lowered the chunk of bread she had been about to put into her mouth. “I see.”

  “She left me for a software zillionnaire from Seattle who retired at forty and bought a house in the South of France. She said that he might be a nerd, but he was more of a romantic than I would ever be.”

  “Meaning he didn’t insist on a prenuptial contract?”

  “That seemed to be the bottom line as far as I could tell. “

  Alexa hesitated. “Why did you insist on one?”

  “I’m a businessman. I believe in contracts, not fairy tales.”

  “Funny you should say that.”

  “Yeah?” He looked intrigued. “Why?”

  “I never discussed it with Dr. Ormiston, but I think one of my problems with men revolves around the same issue.”

  “A prenup contract?”

  “Yes. I received a rather hefty inheritance from my grandmother on my father’s side. It came to me after Dad was killed. Mom turned it over to Lloyd to manage.” She paused. “Lloyd is very good at managing money.”

  “So I hear,” Trask said softly.

  “Early on he convinced me that no matter whom I married I’d better make certain that I had a prenuptial agreement. I agreed with him. But wouldn’t you know it? Every time I bring up the subject with a date, the relationship always seems to cool off in a hurry.”

  “Hell of a coincidence,” Trask said.

  “Struck me that way, too.”

  “How come you never explained the facts of life to that therapist who told you that you just couldn’t commit?”

  “Like your ex-wife’s zillionaire, Dr. Ormiston was, at heart, a romantic. I didn’t think she’d understand about prenups.”

  Trask grinned slowly. “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like you and I have something in common, after all. We’re both afraid of being married for our money.”

  The sort of silence that could be termed pregnant descended. Alexa felt the immediate onset of panic. Mercifully the waiter chose that moment to show up with the cilantro-and-lime-laced avocado salads.

  When he disappeared again, she fumbled to change the conversation.

  “I think that’s enough on the topic of marriage,” she said in a voice that sounded too brittle, even to her own ears. “Let’s find something more interesting to talk about.”

  Trask picked up his fork. “Such as?”

  She thought quickly and leaped at the first obvious notion that sprang to mind. “Careers. That should be safe enough. You know a lot about mine. Tell me about yours. Obviously you followed in your father’s footsteps.”

  Without any warning, the incipient warmth vanished from Trask’s eyes. His expression b
ecame shuttered and withdrawn.

  “I’m very different from my father,” he said. “He was a dreamer.”

  She realized she had wandered into treacherous territory. The smart thing to do was to retreat to safer ground. But the newly discovered, decidedly more daring element of her nature lured her forward.

  “What kind of dreams did he have?” she asked gently.

  “It’s a long list. I guess you could start with his dream of playing pro baseball. That bombed, I gather, shortly after I was born.” Trask forked up a bite of avocado. “Not that the failure of that particular fantasy stopped him from trying to turn me into a major league pitcher.”

  “What happened?”

  “I played ball all the way through high school to please him, but when I got into college I drew the line. My excuse was that between work and studies, I didn’t have time for it. Truth was, I just wasn’t interested in living his dream. We had our first big battle over my decision to pursue a business career.”

  “Why business?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted something I could control.”

  “What were some of your father’s other dreams?”

  “He tried to make his fortune in real estate. When that failed, he ran for the state legislature. Lost in a landslide. He hatched a scheme to operate a private ferry service on Lake Washington. He went bankrupt before the first boat got launched. He came up with a plan to market hot air balloon rides…”

  “I think I get the picture. How did your mother cope with all this?”

  He hesitated. “It wasn’t easy on her. But she endured. She died right after my brother Nathan was born.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I have a hunch that if she’d lived, there would have been a divorce. I don’t have a lot of memories of her, but the ones I do have mostly involve listening to her plead with my father to be sensible. After she was gone, I guess I tried to take over that job.”

  Alexa nodded. “Hard for a kid to parent a parent. All of the responsibility and worry but none of the power of an adult.”

  His mouth twisted wryly. “I can tell you’ve been in therapy.”

  “No wonder you pursued a career that allows you plenty of personal autonomy.”

  “What can I say? I’m a control freak.”

  “What about your brother?”

  Trask’s expression lightened into something that resembled an almost paternal pride. “Nathan and I are a team. He’s the creative one. Hell of an architect. He was the lead on all three Avalon hotels, including the one here in town.”

  “If he’s the creative one, what part do you play?”

  “I look after the bottom line. No creative talent necessary, but lots of control.”

  “Why do you say you’re not a creative thinker?” She tilted her head slightly to the side to study him. “Avalon Resorts has a reputation for crafting fantasy vacation worlds.”

  “My brother comes up with the big concepts. All I do is figure out which ones will work financially.”

  She propped her chin on the heel of her hand. “I think that’s very definitely a creative talent.”

  “I don’t see it that way.” He shrugged. “But I do know that I never make the mistake my father always made.”

  She watched him. “What mistake was that?”

  “I know a great fantasy when I see one, but I never allow myself to get caught up in it.”

  Alexa thought about that from her new risk-taking perspective. “What good is a fantasy if you don’t get into it?” Belatedly old habits kicked in. “At least for a while.”

  12

  Trask was aware of a deep reluctance to end the evening. He tried to think of a way to make it last a little longer as he escorted Alexa out of the restaurant.

  The warm, velvety darkness of the desert night settled over them.

  He wondered what Alexa was thinking. Covertly he studied her as they walked between the rows of cars in the club’s dimly lit parking lot.

  The handkerchief points of her weightless little blue-green silk dress floated around the elegant curves of her calves. He had been studying the garment all evening, wondering if it was really a slip or a sexy nightgown in disguise. It had tiny little straps and it was cut so that it skimmed over her high, apple-shaped breasts and elegant thighs.

  It was exactly the sort of dress a woman could wear to descend the staircase in his new hotel.

  The high heels of her strappy sandals clicked on the parking lot pavement. The sleek, sophisticated curve of her bobbed hair swung forward, just past the high arch of her cheekbones, partially veiling her face.

  She appeared to be lost in deep, mysterious female thoughts. He wanted to haul her back out of that dark pool and get her to focus on him again as she had during dinner. But he had no inkling of how to go about it.

  He wondered if she considered the evening a total waste because he hadn’t confided any of the substantive details of his plans.

  Alexa halted without any warning. Her eyes widened. “Trask, your Jeep.”

  The shock in her voice got his full attention. He looked at the Jeep, which was parked between a BMW and a mammoth SUV. There was something wrong with the way the light hit the front windshield. Then he saw the web of glittering glass shards.

  “My insurance company is not going to be thrilled.”

  “Trask.” Alexa’s voice was infused with shocked urgency. “Behind you.”

  He heard the soft thud of heavy-soled boots on the pavement and turned quickly.

  They exploded out of the dark void between parked cars: two men dressed in denim shirts, jeans, and ski masks. One of them carried a length of metal. The tire iron that had been used on the Jeep’s windshield, Trask thought.

  He had only a fleeting second to contemplate the incongruity of ski masks in the desert before they closed in.

  “Get out of here, Alexa. Run, damn it.”

  He saw her mouth open on a scream that was probably meant to summon help. The man in the red ski mask seized her from behind, threw an arm around her throat, and hauled her back against his chest.

  The second man, the one in a blue mask, came straight at Trask, tire iron raised.

  “You’re lucky,” Blue Mask snarled. “Tonight all you get is a warning and a little something to think about.”

  He swung the metal rod in an arc intended to connect with Trask’s ribs.

  There was something to be said for having worked heavy construction to pay his way through college and to support Nathan for a few years, Trask decided. Life occasionally got rough on job sites. He had broken up more than one fight in the past, had more than one enraged combatant turn on him in frustration.

  He leaped back. Heard the whoosh of air as the tire iron skimmed past, inches from his rib cage.

  “Listen up,” Blue Mask said, dancing closer. “You’re not wanted here in Avalon. Understand?”

  “Who sent you to tell me that?” Trask moved back into the narrow space between the Jeep and the BMW. “Guthrie?”

  “All you need to know is that you’re supposed to go back to Seattle.” Blue Mask advanced, coming forward between the two vehicles.

  He raised the tire iron again and brought it down in a savage motion.

  Trask was already moving. He vaulted up onto the hood of the Jeep. There was another rush of air as the tire iron whizzed past his thigh.

  He heard the crack of metal on metal, knew that the tire iron had collided with the Jeep’s fender. Irresistible force meeting immovable object.

  Blue Mask grunted in pain and staggered under the jolt. Trask launched himself from the hood of the Jeep before the thug could recover.

  He dropped straight down on Blue Mask. The weight of his body carried them both to the pavement. Blue Mask, however, was on the bottom. He took the brunt of the impact.

  It probably did not help that his head struck the Jeep’s fender a glancing blow on the way down, Trask thought.

  Blue Mask lay stunned and unmoving. Trask grab
bed the tire iron.

  “Sig?” Red Mask sounded alarmed. “Sig, what the fuck is going on? Finish it, man, or I’m gonna get outta here. The bitch is too much trouble.”

  Trask got to his feet and moved out of the dark place between the Jeep and the BMW.

  “Your friend decided to take a little nap.” Trask did not look at Alexa’s face. He walked straight toward Red Mask, the tire iron dangling loosely from his hand. “Let the lady go.”

  “Sig?” Red Mask tightened his arm around Alexa’s throat. “Sig? Where are you? We gotta get outta here.”

  “Let her go,” Trask repeated softly.

  “Get away from me.” Red Mask sounded truly freaked now. “Stay back, you hear me? Or I’ll hurt her. I swear, I will.”

  Trask stopped. He kept his voice low and calm. “Let her go and get out of here while you still can. I hear some people coming out of the restaurant. They’ll see what’s happening.”

  “We were just supposed to give you the warning, man.” Red Mask’s voice rose on a shrill whine. “That’s all.”

  “Tell Guthrie to deliver his own warning next time.”

  Car lights flashed on at the far end of the parking lot. Red Mask’s head whipped around to stare in that direction.

  Trask saw Alexa’s knee come up. She brought the high heel of her sandal back smartly against Red Mask’s shin.

  Red Mask screamed with rage and lurched to the side. He fetched up hard against the grille of the car parked directly behind him. He still had his arm around Alexa’s throat. She fell back heavily. Her weight destroyed what was left of Red Mask’s balance.

  Trask dropped the tire iron and leaped across the small distance that separated him from the struggling pair.

  Red Mask had had enough. He shoved Alexa into Trask’s path and tore off down the aisle of parked cars. The second man, the one called Sig, had managed to drag himself to his feet. He chased after Red Mask, albeit unsteadily.

  Trask caught Alexa close. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” She sounded breathless and scared but still in command of herself. “What about you?”

  Trask listened to the echo of two vehicle doors slamming shut. Headlights flashed. He glimpsed a battered pickup as it roared out of a parking space and careened toward the exit.