Page 189 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

‘Just so you know how appreciative I would be.’

Her eyes widened. That was a lot of money.

‘Very appreciative,’ he said then, and he touched the screen of his phone lightly.

She blinked. Okay, that was a lot of zeroes. It was more money than she had earned in the last year. For a couple of days’ work. It would pay for a good lawyer. Actually it would pay for the best lawyer in the country, she thought, her stomach knotting fiercely with relief and hope. It would mean she could keep her brothers from a life behind bars and how could she not want that? They had freed her from a different kind of prison, and yet this was a line she had never crossed or wanted to cross,

She shook her head. ‘Even if I didn’t get caught, I wouldn’t be comfortable with what you’re asking me to do.’

‘Why?’ There was a note in Harris Carver’s voice that she couldn’t place. ‘Tiger McIntyre is no angel. From the outside, he looks like a winner but winning comes at a price. Yes, he’s smart and determined, I’ll give you that. He works hard but he also breaks the rules. Cuts corners. Crosses those lines that you’re being so squeamish about. There is nothing he wouldn’t do to get ahead. No one he wouldn’t trample over to reach his goal. If you don’t believe me, just read the Internet.’

He was telling the truth, she thought slowly, picturing Tiger McIntyre’s intense, challenging gaze. McIntyre had a reputation for sidestepping laws and using any number of dubious tactics to get ahead. He took what he wanted and he got away with it because of his looks and his wealth and his power. Unlike her brothers, he never had to suffer the consequences of his actions. But maybe it was time he did.

‘You don’t need to feel bad about this, Ms Truitt. Believe me, this isn’t the first time Tiger McIntyre has taken something of mine. But it will be the last,’ Harris Carver said, leaning forward, and such was the venom in his voice that she had to press herself deep into the seat to stop herself from flinching.

Steadying her breathing, she cleared her throat. ‘You said this was business, Mr Carver, but it’s sounding awfully personal to me.’

There was a short, pulsing silence as he leaned back languidly against the cushions. ‘Oh, it’s personal, all right. You see, I know McIntyre is a thief, but he’s picked the wrong person to steal from this time. So, first I want you to find what he stole, and get it back for me.’ The grey eyes had narrowed on her face. ‘And then I’m going to ruin him.’

Ten days later, Tiger McIntyre’s private jet.

‘So what was your gut feeling? Did we get it or not?’

Shifting back in his seat, Tiger McIntyre let the question from Nathan Park, his head of research and development, hang in the air. He knew the answer, of course. He always knew the answer. It was one of the reasons he had risen so far and so fast, turning his father’s failed business into one of the front runners in the race for off-world mining.

It was a growing industry now, the exploration of the moon, but McIntyre was leading the race. Not just leading. Its AI-powered robots were lapping its rivals. Or all but one of them.

He tilted his head to let his gaze drift up past the endless blue of the stratosphere. Sometimes he dreamed about living on the moon. Of course, there would be negatives. But up there he would be able to just stop and pause for a moment, sit back and enjoy the view, because surely the demons that drove him ever onwards would be unable to follow into space.

But until then—

‘On balance, yes.’ He turned back towards Park, a slight smile pulling at his mouth. ‘We have everything they want. Everything they need.’

In truth, there was only one other serious contender for this historic and extremely lucrative contract with the space agency. HCI. No surprise there, he thought, his lip curling. He and Harris Carver had been rivals for more than a decade now and their ongoing duel looked likely to extend into the foreseeable future and off-earth.

But then Harris had all the credentials. The college education, the astronaut father, the intergenerational cosmic bond. Whereas he had nothing.

Now was not the time to let Carver take up any more of his thoughts. In fact, he didn’t want to think. Big meetings always made him horny as hell. It was that mix of adrenaline and testosterone. But currently he was in the usual state of being single so sex was out of the question, unless he could face calling one of his exes.

‘Excuse me, Mr McIntyre.’ It was the steward. ‘Just to let you know that we will be landing in roughly twenty minutes so if you could fasten your seat belt.’

He nodded, but instead of buckling up, he reached for his phone and scrolled down the list of numbers. When he was younger, it had been different. Back then he had been happy just to casually hook up with women when he wanted sex.

He let his gaze drift back towards the window. Of course, that was no longer an option. He was too wealthy, too high profile. His security people would have a meltdown. So these days it was simpler to have a long-term but impermanent girlfriend. Although the friend part was a little inaccurate. He didn’t do friends, female or male, not since college when he and Harris had fallen out big time and he had realised that trusting anyone, even someone you thought of as a brother, was riskier than firing a rocket into space. Although, truthfully, Harris had come late to that particular party. Watching his father’s car crash of a love life over the best part of two decades had made it clear to him that the downside of relationships, particularly the romantic kind, was too high a price to pay.

But he was always upfront about what he wanted, which was exclusivity coupled with an understanding that the relationship was never going to end with an exchange of rings in front of witnesses.

And it worked. Okay, he only really saw them for sex and special events, but as his ‘girlfriend’ they got an entrée into his world and, besides, he always made his intentions clear from the beginning. It wasn’t his fault that they assumed he would change or that it would be different with them.

Sometimes they got clingy, wanting him to meet their family or to get a place together, and that was a signal to end things. Other times, they would lose patience or their temper and break up with him. Either way, it wasn’t a problem.

Usually.

But sometimes the timing was bad. Like now.

His hand tightened around the mobile. This year had been insane, in a good way. The business had doubled its profit in the first quarter and tripled it by the third. He had more than earned a vacation and typically he would head off to Italy, to his private island in the Venetian lagoon, and, in his opinion, September was the best month to visit. Temperatures were still warm but the summer glut of tourists had mostly left and Venice reverted to being the elusive, poetic city he loved.

And then there was the Regata Storica.

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