Mysterious Millionaire Read online

"A misunderstanding," Tony said smoothly. "Nothing to worry about."

  "He lies," Ramon wailed from the floor. "He has insulted me. And my beautiful Charlene."

  Ben lifted him off the floor as if the muscular young man weighed no more than a sack of feathers. Ben's large hand clamped around Ramon's throat.

  "Charlene is Jerod's wife," Ben reminded him. "She doesn't belong to you."

  Charlene rushed forward. "Let him go, Ben."

  "I want this son of a bitch out of here."

  "Too damned bad." Charlene tossed her head. "This is my house. I say who stays and who goes. Ramon amuses me."

  A vein in Ben's forehead throbbed, and Liz sympathized with his anger. Some women enjoyed having men fight over them; the danger acted as an aphrodisiac. Indeed, Charlene appeared to be turned on. Her lips drew back from her whitened teeth. "I want Ramon to stay. And Tony, too."

  The lawyer found his voice. "Actually, I should be going. Thought I could catch a ride with Doctor Al."

  "If you must," Charlene said.

  "Thank you," he said in a formal tone that was comical, given the threatening situation. "For a lovely evening."

  When the lawyer sidled out of the hallway, Ben released his hold on Ramon who slouched forward, rubbing his throat.

  "One more thing," Ben said to him. "Apologize to the lady."

  Ramon turned toward Charlene. "You know I would never hurt you. From the bottom of my heart, I am—"

  "Not her," Ben interrupted by physically turning him toward Liz. "Apologize to this lady."

  Ramon's dark eyebrows pulled down in an angry scowl. His full lips pursed as he forced the words. "I am sorry."

  "Accepted," Liz said quickly. She definitely wanted this episode to be over.

  'There," Charlene said. "Everything's fine. And the night is young. I want to have some real fun tonight."

  In a low, dangerous voice, Ben warned, "Be careful what you ask for, Charlene."

  Chapter Five

  Less than an hour later, Ben accompanied his grandpa upstairs to his bedroom suite, where the nurse would help him into bed.

  "Wish I could stay awake," Jerod said. "Charlene's friends remind me of the days when I used to party all night long. Then I'd go home with the prettiest little gal in the whole damn place."

  "Good times," Ben muttered with thinly disguised insincerity. He'd never been as social as his grandpa.

  "Listen up, boy. It's high time you find yourself a girlfriend."

  "Technically, I'm still married to Victoria." They'd been living apart for over a year—far apart. Victoria had taken up residence in the Denver house while Ben stayed in Seattle, where his business was based.

  The final court date for their divorce was in a couple of weeks, and he'd gotten to the point where he would gladly relinquish all the cash and property she wanted. But not custody. He'd never give up one precious moment with his beautiful five-year-old daughter. Natalie was the one bright spot in his life.

  "Ain't telling you to get married," Jerod said. "But it wouldn't hurt to start dating. Weren't you sitting next to some cute thing at dinner?"

  "Not my type."

  The only woman at dinner who had appealed to him was Liz. When he'd stepped into that hallway and had seen Ramon crushing her against the wall, he'd wanted to kill that sleazy jerk for laying his hands on her. If she'd given the word, he would have happily dragged Ramon out the door and thrown him in the lake. But those weren't Liz's wishes. Instead of fawning, she'd coolly informed him that she could take care of herself.

  He had no doubt that she could have handled the situation. If he hadn't intruded, she probably would have broken both Ramon's kneecaps and knocked out his front teeth. He grinned at his mental image of a karate queen with tangled hair and a prickly attitude. Definitely a woman who could kick ass.

  "What you need," his grandpa said, "is to get back on the horse. Sure, you got bucked off once. That don't mean it's time to hang up your spurs."

  "We're still talking about women, right?"

  "Women. Horses. Same basic rules apply."

  Ben chuckled. If he compared Liz to the old gray mare, she'd likely buck him through a plate-glass window. "Sleep well, Grandpa."

  The hallway on the upper floor was calm and quiet. This multi-level house had been well built and soundproofed with plenty of room for noisy family or guests. Ben was tempted to retire to his bedroom and forget about the party that was ongoing in the lounge, but Charlene and her friends were as irresponsible as two-year-olds. He needed to keep an eye on things. To quell fights if they got physical and make sure nobody ripped off their clothes and dived into the lake. For the rest of the night, Ben would be the self-appointed sheriff.

  He descended to the main floor, where Rachel and the staff bustled around, cleaning up the dining room and kitchen. He paused to compliment her and the chef on a job well done.

  Then he went downstairs into the noise. With the fully stocked bar, carefully placed lighting and a state-of-the-art sound system, the lounge easily duplicated the atmosphere of a small, private club for eight or nine of Charlene's friends. He wasn't sure how many, couldn't be bothered to remember their names. The guys seemed to be varying shades of Ramon. Big talkers. Some with trust funds. One of them—Andy?—Arty?—wanted to sell him a used Mercedes. As for the women—these were high-maintenance babes—much like his estranged wife. Been there, done them.

  He was glad to see Liz stationed behind the bar. She'd discarded her maid cap and rolled up the sleeves on her uniform. For an apron, she wore a black sweatshirt with the arms tied tightly around her tiny waist. It was a goofy outfit that she somehow made look sexy as she juggled a silver martini shaker, poured a drink and garnished it with two olives speared on a toothpick. She slid the glass across the bar to a young man with a shaved head, who sipped, gave her an approving nod and strolled back to the pool table.

  Ben rested an elbow on the bar. "You've done this before."

  "I'm a lot better at mixing drinks than serving a formal dinner."

  "You did fine."

  "Tell that to my growling belly. So, what'll you have?" Her nose crinkled when she grinned. "No, wait. Let me guess."

  "Another of your hidden talents? You're psychic?"

  "No, but I'm a pretty decent bartender. That means remembering what people drink."

  He gestured to the guy who was walking away. "How will you remember him?"

  "Baldy likes olives. That's easy." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. "See the woman with black hair and a hateful attitude? She's a Bloody Mary."

  And a potential problem. Bloody Mary looked like she might go ballistic. "What about Charlene?"

  "Top-of-the-line champagne. Lots of fizz and bubbles. And I wouldn't try to pull a substitute because she'd know the difference."

  "How about Ramon?"

  "Vodka and orange juice, the typical screwdriver. But with 7-UP. I call it a screwup."

  "Appropriate," he said. "If I hadn't shown up when I did, what would have been your next move?"

  "Groin." She illustrated with an emphatic jab of her knee.

  He winced in sympathetic pain. "I'm glad you're here. If things start getting out of hand—"

  "I've got your back." Her green eyes studied him. "Now, let me figure out your drink. Something basic and manly. No frills. Outdoorsy."

  He liked that description. "Go on."

  "Something strong. Maybe tequila. Are you the kind of guy who likes to get blitzed?"

  An odd question. Even more strange was the way her attitude shifted from playful to serious, as if probing for a deeper answer. "I'm not a drunk."

  She held out both her fists. "Suppose in my right hand, I had a magic pill that would give you energy. In my left is one that makes you sleep. Which would you choose?"

  "An upper or a downer." He closed his hands over both her fists and pulled them together. "Neither. I like to be in control at all times."

  Charlene bounced up beside them. "What's goi
ng on here? Ben, are you propositioning the help?"

  "Go away, Charlene."

  "You're such a grump." She made eye contact with Liz. "You'd be doing everybody a favor if you got this guy to lighten up. He really needs a woman."

  Liz pulled her hands away from him. "That's not part of my job description."

  "Speaking of uptight jerks," Charlene said, "Where are Patrice and Monte?"

  "You don't want to see my sister," he advised.

  "Oh, but I do. I want my chance to gloat."

  The background music got louder and a couple of the women started dancing. Charlene shimmied toward them. When Ben turned back toward the bar, he saw an opened bottle of dark beer. The logo showed a sailboat scudding in the wind. "Good choice, Liz. It's my favorite drink."

  "I knew somebody liked it." She poured the beer into a tall, frosted glass. "There were two six-packs in the fridge."

  He settled onto a bar stool and spent the rest of the evening talking to Liz. Usually Ben kept to himself, but she was a good listener. He opened up. Spoke of his dreams, his love of the ocean and the purity of sailing in a hand-crafted wooden boat with a streamlined hull and perfectly designed sail—not unlike the wing of an aircraft—to catch the wind and soar.

  Her green eyes shone with a steady light, encouraging him to wax poetic about the lure of open sea. "In a different era, I could have been a captain on a tallship."

  "Or a pirate," she said. "A renegade."

  "Aye, matey."

  Though he probed, she avoided saying much about herself, claiming that her dreams generally revolved around mundane issues like paying her rent and having groceries. "What about your family?" he asked.

  "Raised by a single mother." She shrugged. "Her only dream for me was that I'd find a man to marry me and take care of me. And her."

  "You don't share that dream."

  "Nightmare," she corrected. "I don't like people telling me what to do."

  "Nobody does."

  "Your family is a lot more interesting." She refilled his beer glass. "From what I hear, you're in the midst of the divorce from hell."

  He wasn't surprised that she knew about Victoria. The staff overheard everything. Talk about his miserable marriage evolved into memories of better times. With his beloved daughter. With his grandpa.

  Though their conversation was frequently interrupted by Charlene's friends, he and Liz seemed to be afloat on an island of calm. When he looked at his wristwatch, he could hardly believe that it was after one.

  The party had begun to wind down. In a dark corner, Bloody Mary and Baldy carried on a breathy conversation with a lot of groping. Others played pool. Charlene swayed and danced by herself while Ramon watched with eager eyes.

  Ben was surprised when Patrice and Monte joined him at the bar. His sister was visibly upset, with makeup askew and eyes glowing like hot embers. She snarled at Liz. "Vodka and pomegranate juice in a tall glass. Make it a double."

  "Same for me," Monte said.

  "I didn't expect to see you down here," Ben said.

  "Couldn't sleep," Patrice complained. "I can't believe Jerod intends to leave everything to that witch."

  "We're family," Monte whined. "We deserve that inheritance. We need it."

  Ben filled his mouth with beer to keep from commenting. His sister had a healthy annual income from trust funds, owned houses and cars and anything else her greedy heart desired. Not exactly living in the gutter.

  "Maybe I should get pregnant." Patrice patted her concave belly. "Then Jerod would leave my child big bucks. The way he's done with your kid."

  Anger clenched Ben's throat. "What about Natalie?"

  Charlene sidled up to them. "She's the other big winner in the new will. A third for me. A third for your darling daughter. And the rest to be divided with dozens and dozens of others."

  Beside him, Patrice scraped her fingernails on the bar. "The new will won't stand up in court. You tricked my grandpa."

  "I love him," Charlene said. "That's something you wouldn't understand. Love. True love."

  Ramon had appeared behind her shoulder. It didn't take a behavioral scientist to see that this conversation was about to turn nasty.

  "Love?" Patrice spat the word. "Is that why you were humping Tony Lansing in the back hallway?"

  Charlene tossed her head. "Just a congratulations kiss. No big deal."

  Liz placed the drinks for Patrice and Monte on the bar. "Here you go, folks. Drink up. And settle down."

  "Shut up," Patrice snapped. "When I need advice from a maid, I'll ask for it."

  His sister closed her talons around her glass, and Ben guessed her intention. Patrice was about to throw her drink, just like a soap-opera diva. Before he could stop her, she let fly.

  Charlene ducked.

  Ramon got drenched.

  Ben waded in to stop the scuffle. Fortunately, Liz had come around the bar and helped. Between them, they subdued the women and their partners.

  Patrice and Monte flounced back up the stairs.

  Charlene stood at the bar beside him. Her chest heaved as she breathed heavily. "Go to bed, Ben. I'm not going to do anything naughty."

  He had absolutely no reason to believe her.

  Though Liz had been drinking nothing but ginger ale all night, she felt unsteady on her feet. It had been a long day; she was pooped.

  The momentary adrenaline rush from the catfight between Patrice and Charlene faded in about two seconds. All she could think about was bed.

  'Thanks for your help," Ben said.

  "I've been in bar fights before." It almost pleased her to see these upper-crust snobs get down and dirty. "But this is the first time with people wearing Manolos and diamonds."

  "You look tired. Time to close down the bar."

  "I promised Rachel I'd stay until all these people went to bed."

  'They're all spending the night. Could be here until dawn." He came around the bar to stand beside her and took the white towel she'd been using to wipe down the bar surface from her hand. "Allow me to escort you upstairs to your bedroom."

  When she gazed up into his dreamy blue eyes, she had trouble focusing. For a second, she saw him in double vision. Two Bens. Twice as sexy.

  Tired. She was so very tired. At the same time, a thread of arousal wove through her consciousness, making her aware of her own sensuality and awakening her guarded passions.

  Allowing Ben to take her to bed seemed like a risky plan. Her defenses were down. She didn't want to take a chance on succumbing to her natural urges and dragging him into the bed with her. "I can make it on my own."

  "I'm sure you can." A lazy grin lifted the corner of his mouth. "I was being polite."

  Polite was the furthest thing from her mind. After seeing him in action, she wanted to feel those strong arms wrapped around her, to snuggle against his chest and drown herself in his masculine scent.

  Enough. She lurched into action, dodging around him and heading for the staircase. "Good night, Ben."

  By the time she reached her third-floor bedroom, her legs weighed a thousand pounds apiece. The inside of her head whirled like a mad carousel.

  Collapsed across the narrow bed in her maid's garret, her last conscious thought was, Had she been drugged?

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Liz eased from her bed. She moved slowly, very slowly. Her muscles creaked. She'd picked up a couple of bruises in her scuffle with Ramon—minor injuries that were nothing compared to the morning-after agony following a karate competition.

  After a visit to the bathroom down the hall, she returned to her room, stripped off her stinky maid uniform and stretched. Knots of tension released with audible crackles. This stiffness and her groggy head reminded her of a hangover. But she hadn't been drinking.

  Sucking the cottony insides of her cheeks, she knew that she'd been drugged last night. During the skirmish with Charlene and Patrice, Liz had been distracted. Someone could have slipped a narcotic into her ginger ale. Had it b
een Ben?

  During the hours they'd spent talking across the bar, he hadn't seemed suspicious of her. The opposite, in fact. He'd shared his familial concerns and his memories. When he'd talked about sailing and being on the crew at the America's Cup, his voice had turned wistfully poetic, warm and so charming that she'd wanted to share his dreams, to sail away with him.

  She had to stop thinking of Ben with all those pastel, romantic sensations. He's not innocent. I saw him make a drug buy.

  But had he drugged her? It didn't make sense.

  If someone had slipped a Mickey Finn into Liz's ginger ale, the more likely suspect was Charlene. That woman was up to something, and Liz wanted to know what. Before she started her second day as an undercover maid, she'd pay a quick visit to Charlene's bedroom. Though the blond bombshell wasn't the target of her investigation, she didn't like being manipulated...or drugged.

  Dressed in a sleeveless maroon T-shirt and jeans, she crept barefoot down the staircase to the second floor. The smell of bacon and coffee wafted from the kitchen downstairs. Longingly, Liz gazed toward the staircase. She'd love a mug of dark French roast. At the dinner last night, her growling stomach had taught her an important lesson. Before she started serving everybody else, she needed to take care of her own needs.

  Charlene's bedroom stood directly opposite Ben's. Their bedrooms flanked the end suite that belonged to Jerod. His door was ajar, and she heard Ben's voice coming from inside. Quickly, Liz turned the knob on Charlene's door and stepped inside—prepared to confront the blond diva.

  Charlene wasn't there.

  The curtains were drawn, and the queen-sized bed looked like it hadn't been slept in. Discarded clothing scattered haphazardly on the antique desk, makeup table, dresser and pink-upholstered lounging chair. This large room was cluttered with too much furniture. Like Charlene herself, the bedroom seemed greedy.

  Liz's detective instincts told her that something was wrong. The general messiness felt different than the usual clutter left behind by a woman getting dressed for a party.

  For one thing, the smell of perfume was overpowering. The open jewelry box on the dresser glittered in a flashy display. Diamonds? Was Charlene dumb enough to leave valuables lying around?