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Why, of all places, my father decided to steal a house from a tour boat operator on the coast of Washington State is beyond me. The sand here is dark. Pine, fir and spruce trees cover the craggy mountains, casting shadows. As soon as I arrived in Seattle, I was met with rain.
That was nearly three hours ago.
My glance slides from the gloomy landscape to the house just beyond my car. It sits on a bluff with a good view of the ocean. Architecturally speaking, it’s beautiful. A Victorian manor painted dove gray with dramatic touches like a wraparound porch, tall arched windows on all three floors and at least two towers I can see from this angle. The lawn surrounding the house is lush green and trimmed.
I have a hard time believing Juliette would care for the house like this. She’s methodical in her work. But she’s also brash, bold. If the house was hers, I’d expect overflowing flowerpots with no rhyme or reason to the blooms, and the siding painted in a bright shade as if to let the whole world know she was there. Organized chaos.
Which leaves me with the ugly conclusion that Lucifer maintained the house to this level of immaculate perfection simply to taunt Juliette that it was no longer hers.
I breathe in. What I’m about to do could cement my future. Ensure Drakos Development survives while also taking care of one pesky reporter. All good things. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I’m about to sentence myself to hell.
Proposing to one’s sworn enemy tends to do that.
It was Juliette who gave me the idea. When she deserted me at the pool with lust pounding through me like a sledgehammer and the single bridesmaid—who I swear licked her lips as she batted her eyes at me—her last words had crawled under my skin.
I’m not the kind of girl a guy like him goes for. And, she’d added with that brazen smile I couldn’t get out of my head,vice versa.
I’d gone to my suite that night alone with the weight of Juliette’s insinuations pressing on my chest. That and a throbbing need to fill myself with her, to tug at the ties pulling back her hair and watch it tumble free around her shoulders before I buried my fingers in it. To taste her skin as I drove myself inside her. I’d stroked myself in the shower that night, and the morning after, to rid myself of the desire that had sunk its claws into me. Even after giving myself a release, it hadn’t fully taken the edge off.
So I’d changed my focus and turned to business. Starting with a thorough investigation into Juliette. I’d anticipated creating a stronger foundation for myself as I tried to figure out what hold she might have over me. I hadn’t foreseen the shocking ties she had to Lucifer, or how far back her connection to Drakos Development went.
I’d sat on my private balcony twenty-four hours after the press conference, golden sand just beyond the railing and rich blue ocean past that, with a brandy in one hand and my tablet in the other as I read through the report provided to me by the private investigator I kept on retainer. Knowing the deepest secrets of my business associates—and my enemies—had come in handy more than once.
As it had this time. Learning that Juliette’s first report on Lucifer had been based on a vendetta dating back to her childhood instead of the good girl persona she presented to the world had been deeply satisfying. She’d always struck me as black-and-white. But she had her own shades of gray layered beneath her confidence. A complexity I couldn’t help but find intriguing. Coupled with how much willpower it had taken not to kiss her in the spa, she had become something of an obsession. A threat, yes, but also a mystery to unravel.
My lips curl back from my teeth in a snarl. I have no need to know her on a deeper level. Don’t need the temptation that offers, especially when I’ve woken up the past three mornings with the scent of her filling my head and my fingers burning from the memory of her skin beneath my touch. Yes, she’s sexy and complex, more than just a damned moral crusader fighting against her so-called villains.
But I don’t care. I don’t care about her reasons. I don’t care about her backstory. The only thing that matters is getting her to agree to be my wife, stay married for a year, and then go on her merry way. The snarl smooths into a smirk as I think about how her name will forever be tied to mine, even after the divorce. Even if she chooses to target Drakos Development in the future, any stories will be easily dismissed as the bitter writings of an ex-wife.
I get out and walk quickly through the cold rain to the cover of the porch. I glance down at my watch. Thirty minutes until she’ll be here. I texted her last night requesting a meeting and included the address. Nearly an hour had passed before I received her one-word reply:Fine.
It had been deeply satisfying to picture her face, brows raised in shock, eyes narrowed in anger at me figuring everything out. I’d held on to that image throughout my trip, especially the long drive from civilization to the middle of nowhere.
I walk up and down the length of the porch. A quick glance into the windows confirms the rooms are devoid of furniture, but the flooring has recently been stained a dark gray. White trim gleams despite the shadow of the storm. I start to pull the key out of my pocket. The drumming of rain on the porch roof softens. I turn to see it abruptly give way to a light mist. Despite my preference for sun and warmth, the effect is not unpleasant.
Curiosity drives me down the steps and out onto the wet lawn. I circle around the house. There’s a veranda off the back that overlooks the ocean. Empty garden beds sprawl across the backyard, a defiant plant pushing up through the soil here and there.
In my mind’s eye, I can picture the house as it could be. Gardens lush with native plants that would thrive in the wet, cooler climate. The veranda dotted with cozy chairs and subtle lighting for the darker days. Still not my preferred setting. But it could be a nice one.
Still doesn’t answer the question of why. Why my father snatched this property away from one Simon Jones, father of Juliette Grey. Why he kept the house maintained, at least on the outside, but did absolutely nothing with it.
But Lucifer never did need a valid reason to indulge his cruel nature. It could be as simple as Simon bragged about his house and Lucifer decided he had to have it. Like a spoiled child who always wants what others have. Never satisfied.
I move past the gardens toward the cliff. A wooden fence runs the length of the property on the south side of the lawn, marked by a small gate. The plateau the house sits on slopes down at the fence line. The hill is fairly steep and falls out of sight. But I can still spy a glimpse of a roof at the bottom.
A roof of a cottage that, way back when, belonged to a gamekeeper back when Grey House presided over hundreds of acres. A cottage that now belongs to Juliette.
Not liking the sudden uptick in my heartbeat, I turn away from the sight of the cottage and focus on the ocean. No reason to be on edge. She had the upper hand back in Malibu. She knew it, and I can’t help but respect her for how she played it. But the tide has turned, and I’m back in control once more.
Satisfaction heats my blood despite the brisk wind pulling at my coat. Juliette is the key I need to move forward, to be free from Lucifer’s hold once and for all and ensure Drakos Development’s success for decades to come.
I won’t leave until my ring is on her finger.
I stop within a dozen feet of the cliff. The sea has settled, the waves still choppy and capped with white, but smoother, more graceful. The mix of pine and evergreen trees covering the slopes shift from craggy and peculiar to regal as the fog abates. Further down the coast to my right is the small town of Rêve Beach. A cluster of houses, shops, wineries, cafés and restaurants, with a luxury resort and a couple small hotels. Not my idea of a vacation enclave, but my research showed it did well enough.
It’s where Simon Jones ran a tour boat that had brought in a modest income until a year before my father bought Grey House. That was when his finances took a nosedive as the occasional sports bet had turned into reckless gambling. He took out a second mortgage on the house at an exorbitant rate, sold his business, and then finally sold the house.
Three months later, he was found dead in a rock-strewn cove near the north end of town.