The discreet vibration of his cell interrupted Damon Smith’s stride as he jogged the hard-packed sand of his private island in New Zealand’s Hauraki Gulf.
The conversation was to the point. His younger brother, Ben, was quitting. He would not be in the office tomorrow, or in the foreseeable future.
Reason? He had run off with Damon’s pretty blonde personal assistant.
Jaw locked, Damon turned his back on the glare of the setting sun. An icy breeze cooled his overheated skin and flattened his damp T-shirt against the tense muscles of his back, but he barely noticed. For an odd moment sensory perception seemed to fall away and Damon was spun back in time. Almost a year to the day, when another PA, Zara Westlake, had run out on him, leaving her job and his bed.
Zara. Damon frowned at the image that instantly surfaced. Dark hair, direct blue eyes, finely molded cheekbones made more intriguing by a scattering of freckles. A faintly tip-tilted nose and a firm jaw, all softened by a quirky, generous mouth, which added a fascinating, mercurial depth to a face that was somehow infinitely more riveting than conventional prettiness.
The wind gusted more strongly, the chill registering, as an old wound in his shoulder and another at his hip—both courtesy of his time in the military—stiffened and began to ache. Grimly, Damon dismissed the memories of Zara, annoyed that they still had the power to stop him in his tracks, despite his attempts to put the brief fling in its proper perspective.
After all, their involvement had lasted barely a month. On a scale of one to ten, given that he had once been married for seven years, it shouldn’t have registered. Especially since Zara herself, with her usual trademark efficiency, had made it crystal clear she had only ever been interested in a short, very private affair.
“We’re in love,” Ben helpfully supplied now.
The words in love made Damon’s jaw tighten. They echoed through a childhood he preferred to forget, one Ben had no knowledge of because he had been lucky enough to be born after the untimely death of their father. Ben had never been around to experience Guy Smith’s infidelities or his corrosive temper, the long nights when Damon and his mother had borne the brunt of that temper, and the scars.
“In love.” He tried to keep the distaste out of his voice, and failed.
The words dredged up memories of the beautiful women who had hung at the edges of his father’s life, expensive women who had demanded diamonds, exotic holidays and credit cards with dizzying limits that had eaten away at the family fortune. Guy Smith had claimed to be “in love” a number of times despite his marriage. When the money had finally run out, his latest mistress had left him. He had ended up in a bar, drunk enough to make the mistake of picking a fight with someone who could hit back. He had been found unconscious on the street the next morning, and had died of a fractured skull on the way to hospital.
When Adeline Smith had gotten the news of her husband’s death, she had broken down and cried, but the tears had been ones of relief. Damon, at ten years old, nursing two cracked ribs and a broken jaw courtesy of his attempt to protect his mother from Guy’s red-faced fury when he’d discovered they were broke, hadn’t shed so much as a tear. Life had been gray and drained of hope. In the instant he heard his father had died, it had felt like stepping out of the shadows into blazing light. Six months later, Ben had been born.
Now, as Ben’s only close family, Damon had to tread carefully. His brother hadn’t endured the experiences that had shaped Damon. Ben didn’t understand how destructive out-of-control emotions could be, and he carelessly fell in and out of love on a regular basis. In a way, Ben’s cavalier approach to relationships was an uncomfortable reminder of their father. Although, thankfully, Ben had none of their father’s meanness.
Flexing his stiffening shoulder, Damon paced the hard-packed sand of the curving bay, which was punctuated by dark drifts of rock at each end. He forced himself to concentrate on his brother’s latest crisis, which this time impacted Damon directly.
For the past eighteen months he had been training Ben to help run their family’s sprawling security empire. The one his mother, with the help of her brother, Tyler McCall—Damon’s uncle—had pulled from the financial fires of near bankruptcy. Unfortunately, like their father, Ben had proven to be spectacularly disinterested in Magnum Security. It was a fact that Damon would have gotten a great deal more done if Ben had not been in the office. His assistant, Emily, however, had been smart, intuitive and almost as efficient as Zara.
With effort, he shook off a further raft of memories and refocused on the problem at hand: saving Ben from himself and retrieving Damon’s assistant. Emily was significantly involved in a crucial deal he was working on. At this juncture, it would be nearly impossible to replace her.
“Walk me through this. I didn’t think you even liked Emily.”
“How would you know? You’ve had your head buried in the McCall takeover for weeks.”
Damon could feel his blood pressure rising. “So has Emily. If you will recall she’s my PA.”
Although, to put a fine point on it, he had never appointed her to the position. Emily was a temp, the third temp he had employed over the past year while continuing to interview numerous candidates, both male and female, some with impressive degrees. Unfortunately, not one of them had possessed the exacting qualities required for the position. Qualities that had been oddly defined in Zara and which he had not realized he needed until she left him.
“Uh, not any longer. Check your email and you’ll find Emily’s resignation.”
A boarding call echoed through the phone, informing Damon that Ben and Emily were already at the airport.
Damon kept a lid on his frustration. He could live with the inconvenience of losing Emily. What really worried him was what was happening
