exhaled. “This feud can’t go on forever.”
Tristan crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the Opera House shells. The surrounding silky-blue harbor glistened with postwinter sunshine. Narrowing his eyes against the glare, he sipped again, clenching his jaw as he swallowed. “You’re too young to understand.”
“I’m twenty-eight and I do understand that Mum would roll over in her grave if she knew about the rift between you two. You both need to get over it and on with your lives.”
“Because what Cade did to me wasn’t reprehen-sible, right?” Tristan’s voice was thick with sarcasm. If Josh even knew the half of it…
“If you’re talking about the board voting him sole chairman over you not long after Dad’s death, Cade offered to continue to share the seat.”
If Tristan went along with every decision Cade made. In Tristan’s book, that was called chronic egomania. No way could he agree to such terms.
Tristan turned to face Josh. “It was better for everyone for me to decline. The arrangement Dad put into place was never going to work.”
He and Cade were to jointly run the largely family-owned Australasian hotel chain. Josh was to be incorporated into the combined chairman’s role on his twenty-seventh birthday, which had, indeed, happened last year. If it were only himself and Josh running the show, no problem, they were great friends as well as brothers. But as for the eldest of the trio…
Tristan stared straight through Josh to the imagined figure of his adversary. “Cade and I have never got on,” he growled.
Too much competition, only one person willing to budge. As the older brother, Cade had always called the shots, won the praise and Tristan had been expected to smile and follow.
“Profits were down,” Josh recalled. “You both had different views on how to strengthen the figures. You wanted to borrow to refurbish the older hotels. Cade said the company couldn’t afford the debt. The board agreed.”
Tristan deadpanned, “Yet he found the money to buy me out.”
“If I remember correctly, you were the one who sug-gested the split.”
“And it was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
He’d examined the refurbishment proposal from every angle and had been certain of its viability. But, once again, Cade had played God.
Tristan knocked back his drink and smacked the heavy glass down on a corner of his desk. The echo reverberated through the room like the fall of a gavel.
He’d gotten out from under the Barkley Hotels’ weight and had started a property development company. No more kowtowing to big brother. This recent project would be his largest and most successful enterprise yet—if he got the nod on rezoning from Mayor Rufus.
Which brought to mind the other reason Tristan couldn’t care less if he ever spoke to Cade again—the fact that Cade had slept with Bindy Rufus while she and Tristan had been dating. Minutes before she’d driven off without him and died in that auto wreck, Bindy had announced to Tristan that she preferred his more mature and wealthier brother.
Talk about a kick in the gut.
Thoughtful, Josh swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Tristan,there’s something else…I’d like you and Cade both to stand beside me when Grace and I say our vows.”
Tristan shoved a hand through his hair and tried to laugh. It was either that or cry. “You’re not making this easy for me.”
Josh’s smile was hopeful. “I want us to be a family again. All going well, one day soon you’ll both be uncles.” He pulled a card from his jacket’s breast pocket. “Cade asked me to give you his cell number.” He grinned wryly. “In case you’d lost it. He said to call anytime.”
Tristan put the card on his desk and changed the subject. They chatted for half an hour and, as soon as Josh was out the door, Tristan found and crushed Cade’s card in his fist. Taking particularly careful aim, he shot the wad into the trash basket.
He’d sort out something for the family get-together. He was happy for Josh. In fact, he envied him. Would he ever be fortunate enough to find a woman who didn’t think of marriage as nothing more than an astronomical weekly allowance with a single child to cement the deal? A woman who wasn’t a heartless gold digger as Bindy Rufus had so obvi-ously been.
Ideally, he wanted a woman who was in love with the idea of half a dozen kids and believed in the whole-some riches of “family comes first.” Wouldn’t it be great if he could simply whip up the perfect wife?
Later that day, on his way through his building to a midafternoon meeting, Tristan passed a jewelry store and an item caught his eye. The price tag was horren-dous, but the diamond and Ceylon sapphire earrings would look stunning dangling on either side of Ella’s slender neck. The dazzling blue stones matched the color of her eyes precisely.
He walked away remembering the impulse that had gripped him when they’d stood in the kitchen after their dinner out almost a week ago. He’d wanted to bring her near and taste her lips, see how they fitted with his. Crazy stuff. She was his housekeeper. Yes, he was looking forward to taking her to the black-tie affair tomorrow evening. She certainly was sexy out of that drab uniform. But she was also a simple, unassuming and honest soul.
He frowned, then slowly smiled.
The perfect wife?
At the dining table that night, Ella poured gravy over Tristan’s beef Wellington, feeling his lidded gaze not on the gravy boat but her arm—and inching ever higher. She bit her lip trying to tamp down the tingling sensation radiating from her center. What might happen if, instead of looking, he reached out and touched?…
The instant the thought hit, sizzling arrows shot heat to every corner of her body. She sucked in a breath and stepped back. She’d enjoyed their dinner out last weekend…perhaps a little too much. That time together had fed fantasies she’d secretly dreamed of for eight months. Fantasies about being a rich man’s bride.
She held the gravy boat before her, a reminder of her place. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
His jaw jutted before he nodded, and Ella’s heart-beat skipped. Every night that he dined in, she asked Tristan that same question. He’d never once said yes. From the ardent look in his dark eyes now, she knew he didn’t want more ground pepper on his potato.
He sat back, elbows on the chair arms, tanned, mas-culine hands laced over his lap. “Have you eaten yet?”
Worried, she examined his meal. Did something look suspect? “I was about to sit down to mine.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “In that case, join me.”
Ella could only blink. She ate in the kitchen or in her room. She’d never sat at this long, polished oak table. Never.
Then understanding dawned. He probably wanted to discuss something he needed from her tomorrow evening. Perhaps he wanted to fill her in on some background of the people attending so there’d be less chance of her feeling out of place. But it didn’t really matter what he wanted to discuss. If Tristan had suggested she eat with
