Tycoon Takes Revenge by Anna DePalo

stopped him to ask irritating and probing questions about the true nature of his relationship with Kayla. She suspected all was not as it appeared, or at least as he’d been insisting publicly. He’d finally gotten rid of her with a dismissive comment.
    And, to top off the evening, of course, he’d never have guessed Kayla was Bentley Mathison’s biological daughter.
    No wonder she seemed to have issues with men. Particularly rich, to-the-mansion-born types, a class into which he fell.
    What was it that her sister had started to say before being cut off? Something about Kayla’s dislike for him not being personal. After tonight, he understood why:Kayla’s issue was with all guys who bore a superficial similarity to Bentley Mathison.
    Yet, the joke was on him. Because he’d been checking his symptoms and there was no doubt about it: he had a major case of lust for Kayla.
    He watched as Kayla set her sequined purse on the table. With her back still to him, she lifted the hair from her neck and shook her head. He lapped up the view of her smooth, bare back before the curtain of sleek hair fell back into place.
    He cleared his throat and she glanced back at him over her shoulder.
    She looked doe-eyed and lost for a second. Her shoulders lowered. “Sorry, I’m being rude,” she murmured.
    â€œI was just going to ask if you needed anything. A glass of wine, coffee.” Me.
    He tamped down the well of lust that came unbidden with that last thought.
    She forced a little laugh as she turned fully toward him. “Quite a role reversal. Those are things I should be asking you.”
    He just looked at her. She was good to look at, her shoulders toned in the top that she wore, her breasts round and full and her calves shapely beneath her longish skirt.
    She broke the awkward silence by starting toward him. “I’ll just get us both a drink. How’s that?”
    â€œYeah, sure.”
    He should have moved back. Instead, he let her brush by him on the way to the kitchen.
    The effect was electric. On him, anyway. Had he imagined the quiver that had gone through her?
    He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from grabbing and kissing her. Instead, he watched as she poured him a scotch on the rocks.
    She set it on the kitchen counter near him. “There you go,” she said without glancing at him.
    Had she been afraid to touch him? He couldn’t tell because she refused to look up.
    He took the drink, then walked into the living room as he heard her open and close the refrigerator. He took a sip, felt the burn, then loosened his tie with one hand before raking his hair.
    He felt more than heard her enter and turned to look at her. She came toward him, all cool Grace Kelly allure dressed up as 1950s bombshell, her stiletto heels clicking on the wood floor before hitting the area rug in front of the couch.
    She held up her glass. “Cranberry juice with a splash of vodka.” She clinked her glass to his. “Cheers.”
    A smile pulled at his lips. “Feeling reckless, are we?”
    â€œHmm.” She shrugged. “Aren’t you the expert on living dangerously?”
    He took another sip, regarding her through narrowed eyes. “If I lived dangerously, I wouldn’t be standing over here and you wouldn’t be standing over there.”
    She smiled, a gleam in her eyes. “But I’m only inches away.”
    â€œExactly.” Tonight, it seemed, was the night for her to confront all the disreputable males in her life: her biological father, him. “Let’s get to the bottom of what this is about, okay? Running into Bentley Mathison threw you for a loop.”
    â€œMmm.” She licked her lips.
    He forced his mind to stay on topic.
    She walked away. “So boring. Can we talk about something else?” She sat on the couch, crossed her legs and patted the seat next to her. “I don’t understand how you got your reputation as