“And you’re not seeking some sort of misguided revenge.” He stated it as fact, wanting clarification on that point.
Or perhaps he just needed to rile her.
A light trill of laughter bubbled up from her throat. Rising from the couch, she paced closer to the fireplace, peering back over one shoulder at him. “I’d have to feel something for you if I wanted revenge, Gage.”
She said it so coolly, he almost believed her. But at the last moment, a hint of something else flitted through her gaze. The look was fleeting, but it had been there before she quickly turned away. In that moment, he’d glimpsed something more than cool detachment.
Getting to his feet, he closed the distance between them to join her beside the sleek stone hearth. Eyes locked on her subtle curves as she stared down into the flames, he remembered a thousand other times he’d touched her. Tasted her. Made her moan with pleasure.
The past simmered around him, hotter than any blaze.
“I don’t believe you.”
Gage’s words, spoken while he stood far too close to her, stopped her short.
Her breath caught. Her pulse stuttered for a protracted moment.
Thankfully, her back was to him. So she closed her eyes and steeled herself against the tingling in her nerve endings that reminded her of how hot they’d burned together, once upon a time. That hint of bourbon she’d sipped danced in her veins, seeming to warm her everywhere.
But she wasn’t here to play games with him. And she couldn’t afford to let her guard down for a single second. She needed this story to shore up her finances. If she happened to inconvenience Gage Striker in the process, all the better. Revenge? She preferred to view it as a reminder to him that a Striker couldn’t pay his way out of all life’s inconveniences.
“It hardly matters whether you believe me or not.” She shrugged and traced a pattern in the dark gray stone of the fireplace surround with her finger—anything to delay facing him.
“You feel something for me.” That voice, pitched so low for her ears alone, was like a fingernail stroke down her spine. “It’s probably nothing good, but I am one hundred percent confident you aren’t indifferent.”
He’d dropped the gauntlet, and they both knew it.
The silence between them stretched. She’d tried acting once, when she’d first fled her father’s run-down desert shack for Los Angeles at seventeen. She hadn’t been any good at it then, either, but she’d never had as much motivation as she did right now. Taking a deep breath, she spun on her heel to look Gage in the eye.
“Sorry to disappoint you.” She flipped a few curls over her shoulder. “But I’m in Montana for work, not to rehash a long-dead past. So if we’re done here, I’ll see myself out.”
She sidled past him, but at the last moment, his palm landed lightly on her elbow.
“Wait.” His touch fell away, quickly breaking their connection.
Because he didn’t care to make contact with the woman who’d betrayed him? Or because he felt the same jolt of attraction she felt?
She stopped and turned back around to face him.
“You really plan to stay in town to chase this story?” His voice had lost some of its antagonistic edge.
“I’m not going anywhere until I have answers.” She would be in Mesa Falls for as long as she could afford it, anyway. Rooms at the main lodge weren’t cheap, but she didn’t think Gage would ban her from the ranch property altogether given how hard his PR team had worked to bring the place into the public eye. She didn’t think he’d risk the potential bad press.
He gave a decisive nod. “Then stay with me.”
She blinked, certain she’d misheard. “Excuse me?”
“If you are that indifferent to me, it should hardly be a problem to stay under the same roof while you research your piece,” he told her mildly, heading back to the couch to retrieve their drinks. He drained the rest of his bourbon and then returned with her water.
“So you can keep an eye on me while I’m here? Make sure I don’t find the answers I seek?” She clutched the glass, savoring its coolness against her palm while she struggled to keep her edge. She had no illusions he was opening his home to her out of the goodness of his heart. “I don’t think so.”
“Why waste your mental energy figuring out how to sneak into my home when you could have full access?” he asked, his tone deceptively reasonable.
“Why not just kick me out, the way you threatened to upstairs?” She didn’t trust the offer. Couldn’t trust him.
“While I don’t mind negative publicity for myself, I’d rather not stir it up for Mesa Falls.” He paced past her toward the huge table that seemed to function as a desk. Withdrawing her phone from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket, he laid it on the glass-topped surface. “So I’d rather not resort to removing you from the property altogether. But to answer your earlier question, I would find it convenient to have some awareness of your movements while you’re in town.”
Her gaze had dropped to her phone, but his words made her attention snap back to him. “So you admit you want to keep tabs on me?”
“You’re hardly making your movements secret when you’re posting them online,” he scoffed. “But yes. Having you under my roof will help me stay informed so I don’t have to check my social media accounts.”
He had a point. She’d be deceiving herself if she thought he was going to ignore her presence in town altogether now that she’d made it clear she wanted answers about Alonzo Salazar.
“For that matter,” he continued, perhaps sensing her indecision, “you’d have access to me twenty-four/seven.”
“For what purpose?” she asked coolly, not appreciating the implication that she might desire such access.
Gage shrugged. “You tell me. I assumed you might have questions about the ranch. Moving forward, I’ve committed to spending more time on-site to ensure the ranch’s mission is fulfilled.”
“Are you saying you’d be willing to answer my questions?” she pressed, draining her drink and trying not to think about what it would be like to move into Gage’s home for days.
Or weeks.
Her stomach knotted. His easy dismissal of what they’d shared six years ago had hurt her deeply. For the first time, she debated the wisdom of coming to Montana and reopening that old wound.
“I can’t promise that. I’m simply offering you the opportunity to ask.” He moved toward her again, plucking her empty glass from her fingers and setting it aside on the fireplace mantel. “Put your money where your mouth is, Elena. If you’re not out for revenge, and you don’t feel a damned thing about me, then work on your story from my home, where you won’t have to sneak around my security. And yes, I get to pretend I at
