The Tycoon's Seductive Revenge(50)

I love you, Carter .

“Oh, no.” Ellie rubbed her eyes. What had prompted her to admit that? The only answer came from a place deep in the center of her chest, a strong and sure pulse that made the words ring true. “Oh, my God. I love him.” Panic flooded her. “This is not good. So not good.”

How would she remain detached now, if he bought the hotel and kept true to his plans? In that future, she’d spend her days wondering where he was, what he was doing and with whom, while he “kept” her there. She’d be stuck on the island, trapped in a future of his making and her agreement. She’d be his lover when he returned, doomed to heartbreak when he left.

“I can’t live like that.”

Prepared to find another way, even if it meant scrubbing toilets at the vacation mansions on the island, she’d do whatever it took. Because of all the subtle, and not so subtle, warnings she’d received in the past twenty-four hours, she believed the curse would never allow her to leave the island.

One thing she knew for certain. She refused to love a man who regarded her as his possession. She wanted Carter’s devotion, his whole heart, or nothing at all.

Looking at the clock again, it blinked 10:12. If the power went out last night, there was no telling what time it was.

Russert’s words suddenly echoed in her mind. The auction has been moved up to ten o’clock .

“Crap!”

Scrambling to her feet, Ellie ignored the aches in her body, threw on one of Carter’s shirts and ran down the hall to her room. She checked the clock and exhaled relief. It was nine-thirty. A hot shower felt good on her cuts and bruises, but she couldn’t linger. Cold air caught her breath as she stepped out of the steam. She threw her damp hair up in a twist, pulled on a black turtleneck to hide her scrapes, a black wool jacket on top of that, a pair of white pants, black ballet flats, and she was out the door.

Despite her hurry to get to the auction, part of her feared running into Arnoff. Her stomach twisted in knots, but she forced herself continue to the conference room.

When she entered the main common area, Matilda looked up from some notes on the front desk. “Ellie, I’ve been looking all over for you. I have the most wonderful news!”

Ellie paused. “Is everything okay?”

Matilda stammered, “Ok-Okay? It’s more than okay , it’s a miracle!”

“What happened?”

Waving a piece of paper in front of her, Matilda rattled on. “I took the call early this morning. The cases of wine and rum sold at auction. Your broker, Neville, left the message with me.”

Elation and apprehension tangled inside Ellie. She worried the value wouldn’t be enough. “How much did it go for?”

“Two million!” Matilda shrieked.

Ellie felt light-headed. “What?”

“It’s true! He faxed over the contract details. Here, look.”

Dazed, Ellie scanned the document Matilda handed her. “The buyer is anonymous,” she read aloud, somewhat saddened she couldn’t thank the person for his or her timely generosity. Although, she noted the money was wired from a business called Beachfront Properties, Inc. She read further. “It says the funds have already been transferred to my account. Oh, my God.” She stared at Matilda. “ Oh, my God! ”

They squealed and hugged each other. “This means you can save the hotel,” Matilda said with a triumphant smile.

“This is crazy,” Ellie laughed. “Now I have the money to cover all my debts and loans and taxes—and refurbish the hotel. This is a miracle.”

Matilda nodded. “In the eleventh hour.”

Ellie checked her watch. “Speaking of the eleventh hour, I need to get to the conference room before the auction starts.”

“You have seven minutes. Run for it, Ellie.” Matilda grinned and nudged her forward.

After hugging the woman once more, Ellie raced down the hall. Her nerves rattled around inside her. She couldn’t wait to share the news. But she paused outside the door, wondering who—or what—awaited her inside. Would Arnoff be there? Was she too late to halt the auction?

The handle grew warm and slick in her palm. Better late than never.

Squaring her shoulders, she pulled open the door and stepped inside. She walked into a wall of noise. A blast of shouting was followed by heated arguing. Accusations flung around the room.

The mayor and councilman huddled at the far end of the table watching the argument go back and forth like a tennis match. Uncle Russert looked beside himself, red in the face, trying to play mediator and failing.

Carter stood with his back to her. His muscles were strained, bulging under his white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his stance wide and intimidating. In front of him, Bill Marquell stood like a human barrier, his cowboy hat drawn low, arms crossed over his protruding stomach. She glanced past Marquell’s shoulder and met the beady black eyes of Arnoff Applestone.