A High Stakes Seduction

Her brain wouldn’t form thoughts at all, but her mouth had no trouble responding to his.

Heat rushed through Constance to her fingers, which were suddenly on the soft cotton of his shirt. She felt his hands on her back, his touch light and tender. His tongue met hers, sending a jolt of electricity to her toes.

The stubble on his chin scratched her skin slightly as the kiss deepened. His arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in their embrace. She dug her fingers into the roping muscle of his back, plucking at his shirt as their lips moved together.

A humming sound startled them both and they broke the kiss. “My phone,” he murmured in a low voice. He didn’t reach for it. Still frowning slightly, he raised a thumb and smoothed a strand of hair from her cheek.

She blinked, wondering what had just happened. And why? “I really must …” She wasn’t even sure what she really must do. Go to bed? Take a cold shower? Throw herself out the window?

Did he really just kiss her?

A High Stakes Seduction

Jennifer Lewis

JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. She would love to hear from readers at jen@jenlewis.com. Visit her website at www.jenlewis.com.

For Dwnell

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to my editor Charles Griemsman.

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

One

“Just get rid of her as quickly as possible. She’s dangerous.”

John Fairweather scowled at his uncle. “You’re crazy. Stop thinking everyone’s out to get you.”

John didn’t want to admit it, but he too was rattled by the Bureau of Indian Affairs sending an accountant to snoop through New Dawn’s books. He glanced around the grand lobby of the hotel and casino. Smiling staff, gleaming marble floors, paying customers relaxing on big leather couches. There was nothing he didn’t love about this place. He knew everything was aboveboard, but still...

“John, you know as well as anyone that the U.S. government is no friend of the Indian.”

“I’m friendly with them. They gave us tribal recognition. We ran with it and built all this, didn’t we? You need to relax, Don. They’re just here to do a routine audit.”

“You think you’re such a big man with your Harvard degree and your Fortune 500 résumé. To them you’re just another Indian trying to stick his hand in Uncle Sam’s pocket.”

Irritation stirred in John’s chest. “My hand isn’t in anyone’s pocket. You’re as bad as the damn media. We built this business with a lot of hard work and we have just as much right to profit from it as I did from my software business. Where is she, anyway? I have a meeting with the contractor who’s working on my house.”

The front door opened and a young girl walked in. John glanced at his watch.

“I bet that’s her.” His uncle peered at the girl, who was carrying a briefcase.

“Are you kidding me? She doesn’t look old enough to vote.” Her eyes were hidden behind glasses. She stood in the foyer, looking disoriented.

“Flirt with her.” His uncle leaned in and whispered. “Give her some of the old Fairweather charm.”

“Are you out of your mind?” He watched as the woman approached the reception desk. The receptionist listened to her, then pointed at him. “Hey, maybe that is her.”

“I’m serious. Look at her. She’s probably never even kissed a man before,” Don hissed. “Flirt with her and get her all flustered. That will scare her off.”

“I wish I could scare you off. Get lost. She’s coming over here.”

Plastering a smile on his face, John walked toward her and extended his hand. “John Fairweather. You must be Constance Allen.”

He shook her hand, which was small and soft. Weak handshake. She seemed nervous. “Good afternoon, Mr. Fairweather.”

“You can call me John.”

She wore a loose-fitting blue summer suit with an ivory blouse. Her hair was pinned up in a bun of some kind. Up close she still looked young and was kind of pretty. “I’m sorry I’m late. I took the wrong exit off the turnpike.”

“No worries. Have you been to Massachusetts before?”

“This is my first time.”

“Welcome to our state, and to the tribal lands of the Nissequot.” Some people thought it was cheesy when he said that, but it always gave him a good feeling. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No! No, thank you.” She glanced at the bar, looking horrified, as if he’d just thrust a glass of neat whiskey at her.

“I mean a cup of tea, or a coffee.” He smiled. It would to be quite a challenge to put her at ease. “Some of our customers like to drink during the day because they’re here for fun and relaxation. Those of us who work here are much more dull and predictable.” He noticed with chagrin that his uncle Don was still standing behind him. “Oh, and this is my uncle, Don Fairweather.”

She pushed her glasses up on her nose before shoving out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Don’t be so sure, John wanted to tease. But this was a business meeting. “Let me take you up to the offices, Ms. Allen. Don, could you do me a favor and see if the ballroom is set up for the Shriners’ conference tonight?”

His uncle glared at him, but moved off in the right direction. John heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn’t always easy working with family, but in the end it was worth the hassle. “Let me take your briefcase. It looks heavy.”

“Oh, no. I’m fine.” She jerked away as he reached toward her. She was jumpy.

“Don’t worry. We don’t bite. Well, not much, anyway.” Maybe he should flirt with her. She needed someone to loosen her straitjacket.

Now that he’d got a better look at her, he could see she wasn’t quite as young as he’d first assumed. She was petite but had a determined expression that showed she took her job—and herself—very seriously. That gave him a perverse urge to ruffle her feathers.

He glanced at her as they headed for the elevators. “Is it okay if I call you Constance?”

She looked doubtful. “Okay.”

“I do hope you’ll enjoy your time at New Dawn, even though you’re here to work. There’s a live show in the Quinnikomuk room at seven and you’re most welcome to come see it.”

“I’m sure I won’t have time.” Mouth pursed, she stood and stared at the elevator doors as they waited.

“And your meals are on the house, of course. Our chef used to work at the Rainbow Room, so our food here is as good as any fancy restaurant in Manhattan.” He loved being able to brag about that. “And you might want to reconsider about the show. Tonight’s performer is Mariah Carey. Tickets have been sold out for months.”

The elevator opened and she rushed in. “You’re very kind, Mr. Fairweather—”

“Please call me John.”

“But I’m here to do my job and it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to enjoy...perks.” She pushed her glasses up her nose again. The way she pursed her lips made him think how funny it would be to kiss them. They were nice lips. Plump and curvy.

“Perks? I’m not trying to bribe you, Constance. I’m just proud of what we’ve built here at New Dawn, and I like to share it with as many people as possible. Is that so wrong?”

“I really don’t have an opinion.”

* * *

When they arrived at the floor with the offices, Constance hurried out of the elevator. Something about John Fairweather made her feel very uncomfortable. He was a big man, broad shouldered and imposing, and even the large elevator felt oddly small when she was trapped in there with him.

She glanced around the hallway, not sure which way to go. Being late had her flustered. She’d planned to be here half an hour early but she’d taken the wrong exit ramp and gotten lost and—

“This way, Constance.” He smiled and held out his hand but withdrew it after she ignored him. She wished he’d turn off the phony charm. His sculpted features and flashing dark eyes had no effect on her.

“How do you like our state so far?”

Again with the charm. He thought he was pretty hot stuff. “I really haven’t seen anything but the highway medians, so I’m not too sure.”

He laughed. “We’ll have to fix that.” He opened the door to a large open-plan office space. Four of the five cubicles she could see were empty, and doors stood open to the offices around the walls. “This is the nerve center of the operation.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Down on the floor. We all spend time serving the customers. That’s the heart of our business. Katy here answers the phones and does all the filing.” He introduced her to a pretty brunette in a pink blouse. “You’ve met Don, who’s in charge of promotion and publicity. Stew handles building operations, so he’s probably out there fixing something. Rita is in charge of IT and she’s in Boston looking at some new servers. I handle all the accounting myself.” He smiled at her. “So I can show you the books.”

Great. He shot her a warm glance that did something really irritating to her stomach. He was obviously used to having women eat out of his hand. Lucky thing she was immune to that kind of nonsense. “Why don’t you hire someone to do the accounts? Aren’t you busy being the CEO?”

“I’m CFO and CEO. I take pride in managing all the financial aspects of the business myself. Or maybe I just don’t trust anyone else.” He flashed even white teeth. “The buck stops here.” He tapped the front of his smart suit with a broad finger.

Interesting. She felt as if he’d thrown down a gauntlet and challenged her to find something wrong with the books. She liked that he took personal responsibility.

“It’s a family-run business. Many of the people in the office are tribal members. We also outsource to other local businesses—printing, web design, custodial services, that kind of thing. We like to support the whole community.”

“Where is the community? I booked a room at the Cozy Suites, which seemed to be the nearest motel, but I didn’t see it as I drove up here.”

He smiled. “The nearest town is Barnley, but don’t worry. We’ll set you up in a comfortable room here. We’re booked to capacity, but I’m sure the front desk can figure something out.”

“I’d really rather stay elsewhere. As I said, it’s important to be objective.”

“I can’t see how where you stay would affect your objectivity.” Those dark eyes peered at her. “You don’t seem like the type to be swayed by flattery and pampering. I’m sure you’re far too principled for that.”

“Yes, indeed,” she said much too fast. “I’d never let anything affect my judgment.”

“And one of the nice things about numbers is that they never lie.” He held her gaze. She didn’t look away, even though her heart was thudding and her breath getting shallow. Who did he think he was, to stare at her like that?

She finally looked away first, feeling as if she’d lost a skirmish. Never mind, she’d win the war. The numbers themselves might not lie, but the people reporting them certainly could. She’d seen some pretty tricky manipulations since she’d gone into forensic accounting. The BIA had hired her accounting firm, Creighton Waterman, to investigate the New Dawn’s books. She was here to make sure the casino was reporting profits and income accurately and that no one had skimmed anything off the top.

She braced herself to meet his gaze again. “I specialize in looking beneath the shiny rows of numbers that companies put in their annual reports. You’d be surprised what turns up when you start digging.”

Or would he? She was looking forward to getting her fingers on last year’s cash-flow data and comparing it with the printed reports. She wouldn’t have time to look at every single number, of course, but she’d soon get a sense of whether there was fudging going on.

“The Nissequot tribe welcomes your scrutiny.” His grin did something annoying to her insides again. “I’m confident you’ll be satisfied with the results.”

He gestured for her to walk into one of the offices. She hurried ahead, half-afraid he was going to usher her in with one of his big hands. The office was large but utilitarian. A big leather chair sat behind the desk, and two more in front of it. A New Dawn wall calendar was the only decoration. Annual report brochures from the last three years sat on the big, polished wood desk, and filing cabinets lined one wall. A round table with four chairs sat in one corner. The realization crept over her that this was his personal office. He pulled open a drawer. “Daily cash register receipts, arranged by date. I add up all the figures myself first thing every morning.”

He rested a hand on the most recent annual report, fingers pressing into the shiny cover. Such large hands weren’t quite decent. He certainly didn’t look like any CFO she’d encountered. All the more reason to be suspicious.

“Make yourself comfortable.” He looked at the chair—his chair. She had to brush right past him to get to it, which made her skin hum and prickle with an unpleasant sensation. Worse yet, he pulled up another chair and sat down right next to her. He opened the most recent brochure, which had a picture of a spreading oak tree on the cover, and pointed at the profit data at the top of the first page. “You’ll see we’re not kidding around here at New Dawn.”

Forty-one million in net profits was no joke, for sure. “I’ve seen the annual reports already. It’s really the raw data I’m interested in.”

He pulled out a laptop from the desk drawer and punched up a few pages. “The passwords change weekly, so I’ll keep you posted, but this account information will get you right into our daily operation. You should be able to look up and analyze any data you need.”

Her eyes widened as he clicked through a few screens and she saw he was letting her peek right at the daily intake and outflow.

Of course the numbers could be fudged. But she was impressed by how quickly he could click from screen to screen with those big fingers. They were large enough to hit two keys at once. Was he wearing cologne? Maybe it was just deodorant. His scent kept creeping into her nose. His dark gray suit did nothing to conceal the masculine bulk of his body, which was all the more evident now that he was sitting only inches from her.

“These documents here are monthly reports I do of all our activities. If anything unusual happened, I make a note of it.”

“How do you mean, unusual?” It was a relief to distract herself from noticing the tiny dark hairs dusted across the back of his powerful hands.

“Someone winning a suspiciously large amount. Anyone who gets banned, complaints from the public or from staff. I believe in paying close attention to the small details so the big ones don’t take you by surprise.”

“That sounds sensible.” She smiled. Why? She had no idea.

Just being professional. Or so she hoped. He’d smiled at her, flashing those dazzling white teeth, and her face had just mirrored his without her permission.

She stiffened. This man knew he was having an effect on her. “Why do you produce annual reports when you’re not a public company?”

“I don’t answer to investors like a public company, but I have a greater responsibility. I answer to the Nissequot people.”

From what she’d read on the internet, the Nissequot tribe was mostly his immediate family, and the entire reservation was a creative interpretation of local history for the sole purpose of pursuing a very profitable business venture. “How many of you are there?”

“We’ve got two hundred people living here now. A few years ago, there were only four of us. In five years’ time I’m hoping we’ll number in the thousands.” There was that smile again.

She jerked her eyes back to the screen. “It probably isn’t too hard to persuade people to come when you’re offering a cut of forty-one million dollars.”

His silence made her look up. He was staring right at her with those penetrating eyes. “We don’t give individuals any handouts. We encourage tribal members to come here to live and work. Any profits are held in trust for the entire tribe and fund community initiatives.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you.” She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to.” She felt flustered. The last thing she wanted to do was put him on the defensive.

“I’m not offended at all.” He didn’t smile, but looked at her pleasantly. “And maybe we could build the tribe faster if we just handed out checks, but I’d rather attract people more slowly and organically because they want to be here.”

“Quite understandable.” She tried to smile. She wasn’t sure it was convincing. Something about John Fairweather rattled her. He was so...handsome. She wasn’t used to being around men like him. The guys in her office were mostly introverted and out of shape from sitting hunched over their computers all day long. John Fairweather obviously spent a good amount of time at his desk, judging from all the material he’d showed her, but somehow—tan and sturdy as the oak tree on the cover of his annual report—he looked more like someone who spent all day outdoors.

“Are you okay?”

She jerked herself out of the train of irrelevant thoughts. “Maybe a cup of tea would be a good idea, after all.”

* * *

Constance lay in her bed at the Cozy Suites Motel, staring at the outline of the still ceiling fan in the dark. Her brain wouldn’t settle down enough for sleep but she knew she needed to rest so she could focus on all those numbers at the casino tomorrow. She wanted to impress her boss so she could ask for a raise and put a down payment on a house. It was time to move out from under her parents’ wing.

It was one thing to move back home to save money after college. It was another entirely to still be there six years later, when she was earning a decent salary and could afford to go out on her own. Part of it was that she needed to meet a man. If she was in a normal relationship with a nice, sensible man, a practiced charmer like John Fairweather would have no effect on her, no matter how broad his shoulders were.

Her parents thought almost everyone on earth was a sinner who should be shunned. You’d think she’d told them she was planning to gamble all her savings away at the craps tables the way they’d reacted when she announced she was going to Massachusetts to look into the books of a casino. She’d tried to explain that it was a big honor to be chosen by her firm to undertake an important assignment from a government agency. They’d simply reiterated all their old cautions about consorting with evildoers and reminded her that she could have a perfectly good job at the family hardware store.

She didn’t want to spend her life mixing paint. She tried to be a good daughter, but she was smart and wanted to make the most of what natural talents she had. If that meant traveling across state lines and consorting with a few sinners, then so be it.

Besides, she was here to root out wrongdoing at the casino. She was the good guy in this situation. She shifted onto her side, trying to block out the thin green light from the alarm clock on the bedside table. If only she could get her brain to switch off. Or at least quiet down.

A high-pitched alarm made her jump and sit up in bed. Something in the ceiling started to flash, almost blinding her. She groped for the switch on her bedside light but couldn’t find it. The shrieking sound tore at her nerves.

What’s going on? She managed to find her glasses, then climbed out of bed and groped her way to the wall light switch, only to discover that it didn’t work. The digital display on the clock radio numbers had gone out.

A jet of water strafed her, making her gasp and splutter. The overhead sprinkler. A fire? She ran for the door, then she realized that she needed her briefcase with her laptop and wallet in it. She’d just managed to find it by the closet, feeling her way through the unfamiliar space illuminated only by the intermittent blasts of light from the alarm, when she smelled smoke.

Adrenaline snapping through her, Constance grabbed her briefcase and ran for the door. The chain was on and it took her a few agonizing seconds to get it free. Out on the second-floor walkway of the motel, she could see other guests emerging from their rooms into the night. Smoke billowed out of an open door two rooms away.

She’d forgotten to bring shoes. Or any clothes. She was more or less decent in her pajamas, but she could hardly go anywhere like this. Should she go back in and get some? Someone behind her coughed as the night breeze carried thick black smoke through the air. She could hear a child crying inside a room nearby.

On instinct she yelled, “Fire!” and—clutching her briefcase to her chest—ran along the corridor away from the fire, pounding on each door and telling the people to get out. Had someone called the fire department? More people were coming out of their rooms now. She helped a family with three small children get their toddlers down the stairs to the ground floor. Was everyone safe?

She heard someone calling 911. She rushed back up the stairs to help an elderly couple who were struggling to find their footing in the smoky darkness. Then she ran along the corridor and banged on any doors that were still closed. What if people were still in there? She hoped that the sirens and lights would have flushed everyone out by now, but...

A surge of relief swept over her as she saw fire engines pull into the parking lot. It wasn’t long before the firemen had finished evacuating the building and moved everyone to the far end of the parking lot. They trained their hoses on the fire, but whenever the flames and smoke died down in one area, they sprang up in another.

“It’s a tinderbox,” muttered a man standing behind her. “All that carpet and curtains and bedspreads. Deadly toxic smoke, too.”

Soon the entire motel complex—about twenty rooms—was ablaze and they had to move farther back to escape the heat and smoke. Constance and the other guests stood there in their pajamas, watching in stunned disbelief.

At some point she realized she’d put her briefcase down while helping people out, and she had no idea where it was. It had her almost-new laptop in it, her phone and all the notes she’d made in preparation for her assignment. Most of the information was backed up somewhere, but putting it all back together would be a nightmare. And her wallet with her driver’s license and credit cards! She started to wander around in the darkness, scanning the wet ground for it.

“You can’t go there, miss. Too dangerous.”

“But my bag. It has all my important documents in it that I need for work.” Her voice sounded whiny and pathetic as she scanned the tarmac of the parking lot. The fire glowed along almost the entire roof of the motel, and acrid smoke stung her nostrils. What if she didn’t find her bag? Or if it got soaked through?

“Constance.”

She jerked her gaze up and realized John Fairweather was standing in front of her. “What are you doing here?”