“Let me introduce you to my Teutonic master chef, Andre Svensson.”
“How do you do?” the man asked. Then he said to Carter, “She is more beautiful than you described.”
Ellie straightened. “Very nice to meet you.” She glanced at Carter as Andre lifted her hand to his lips.
“Some things are beyond description.” Carter winked at her.
“I agree.” Andre made a slight bow and returned to the kitchen.
Carter shrugged. “Not the most conversational guy, but he makes a killer smoked brisket.”
Bewildered, she asked, “Where did he come from?”
“Originally?” Carter rubbed his jaw. “Some small town north of Stockholm in the archipelago islands. He opened a restaurant in Aspen, Colorado a few years back, and the first time I ate dinner there I knew I wanted this man as my personal chef.”
Ellie coughed. “You have a personal chef?”
“Makes life convenient.”
“Where did he get all the food?”
“Brought it with him.”
“How did he get here?”
“My private jet.”
Her jaw dropped. “You have a jet ?”
“Sure.”
She saw pride fill his eyes as he rattled off his list of mega-million-dollar amenities. “Must be nice,” she said in clipped tones.
“If it helps keep innocent women out of jail, then it’s all worth it.” He grinned.
An uncomfortable suspicion prickled up her spine. The notion had occurred to her in the shower and had gained momentum. She eyed him warily. “You don’t get it, do you?”
His look of puzzlement grated on her. “What’s your issue? I thought you’d be thankful.”
That was the crux of the problem. She set her glass down on the bar. “Carter, you’ve spent more money in the past four hours on food, travel and staff, for one dinner, than the repairs cost on this entire hotel.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Not likely.”
“My point is, all the things you’ve done since you got here—they only delay the inevitable.”
His gaze cooled. “My generosity insults you.”
“Your generosity has been amazing. But for what?” Finally she voiced the question digging at her. “You’ve been here three days, yet you haven’t met with my uncle once to discuss a purchase agreement or draw up a contract.” She wondered, “Do you have any intention of buying the Montgomery Hotel?”
His expression was inscrutable. “One piece has to fall into place before I decide.”
“I disagree,” she countered, as the weight of her suspicion grew. “I think you know exactly what you were after when you came back to the island.” She scraped her stool away from the bar, away from him. “Until you tell me what your intentions are, I’d appreciate if you didn’t act like you own the place and take matters into your own hands.”
Cockiness rang in his voice. “Too late now, sweetheart.”
He turned away and went back to talk to the couple who complimented his chef. The woman was more than happy to see him return.
Appalled by his attitude, she left the dining room.
Doubts and uncertainties about Carter’s true intentions swirled through her mind as she entered her room. She took her time slipping on a silky black gown, burgundy Giani Bini heels, and preparing herself for the night ahead. She felt edgy, distracted, wondering what scheme Carter was pulling—and how she fit into that diabolical equation.
If he thought he could waltz back into her life for one week and sweep her off her feet and into his bed...well, he pretty much had.
Damn him .
On top of which he’d saved her from possibly being burned alive, and had gone to enormous lengths to ensure tonight’s success. So that she wouldn’t be taken into custody for her father’s poor investment choices.
So far, he’d been her savior. Which made her wonder. What exactly did he expect from her in return?
Carter wasn’t a man who made decisions lightly. He was calculating, cunning, intuitive, and incredibly smart. All the things that made him a real estate genius and brought him such enormous wealth and success.
He said he was waiting for one piece to fall into place. Did he mean her?
Forcing herself to be honest, she admitted she did want Carter to buy the Montgomery Hotel. She wanted him back in her life.
Her heart ached with that desire, and so did her body as she recalled how Carter had taken her, fast and furious, in the lighthouse. She tingled with yearning to be back in his arms.
Using brisk strokes, she brushed out her hair while the curling iron heated. The problem is I have nothing to lose, and he has nothing to gain.
That imbalance made his reentrance into her life at this crucial time intriguing.