Chapter Four
Gabe
Stretched out on the surprisingly comfortable couch, considering the age of it, I’d grown bored waiting for Mitchell Houghton to come out of the bedroom he’d holed up in for the last half an hour or so. There’d been heated conversations as he presumably tried to find any viable way to get us off the property.
Didn’t sound like his discussions were going too well from where I sat.
Sure enough, a few minutes later he emerged from the bedroom, his face a mask of fury as he stomped past the sofa, ignoring us completely, and headed straight out the front door.
Leo made to go after him, but his attempt was a pointless exercise.
“He didn’t hear me.”
“Didn’t want to, more like.”
“And whose fault is that?”
I tried for the affronted look but knew I hadn’t pulled it off.
“And you can stop with the bullshit comments while you’re at it.” He shook his head. “Christ, you’re exactly like my stepfather.”
I frowned, unsure of what he meant by the remark but guessed he wasn’t handing me a compliment. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sitting up, eyes narrowed, I completely focused on him. He’d taken off his coat and his suit jacket, both of which were now folded neatly over the arm of the leather wingback near the fire, then stood, staring out the window, waiting for Houghton to return.
Turning to face me, his steady gaze unwavering, he said, “It means, this is all a game to you. You spin whatever crap makes you look good and don’t give a shit about the effect your deceit has on anyone else.”
“Now wait a goddamn minute.”
“How long have you known?”
“Known what?”
He gave me a hard stare and waited me out. What the hell was wrong with me today? I’m the one who liked the silence, would use it to my advantage, had proved so when in Leo’s office. He’d been the one to break then, so how did he learn so quickly to use my trick against me?
“Fine,” I gritted out. “We’ve been talking to him for a while. He signed a couple weeks ago.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me, so I’d be more prepared for today’s meeting?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You work for the seller, do you not?” he nodded. I spread my hands. “So why would I give you a vital piece of information and lose my advantage in the sale negotiations? You’re the lawyer here, so you understand how this works, how business works. Besides, I expected Jared Houghton to have clued his brother in on his intensions. It’s hardly my fault if he hasn’t.”
He left the window and flopped onto the sofa beside me, causing a pang of guilt to trickle through my veins. I hadn’t meant to pull out the ace card so early, if at all. I’d hoped to have an intelligent conversation with them both and get Mitchell to sell without ever having to. Try to make him see how beneficial our offer was, without the added threat of me revealing our company already owned half of it.
And what on earth had happened between him and his brother anyway? Why hadn’t Jared Houghton told him he’d sold his share of the property, or he planned to? The news was bound to come out at some point. Plus, he sure as hell knew how volatile his brother was. Perhaps he’d been so scared of the reaction he’d have gotten he didn’t want to tell him. Even so, a text or email, or something to give the guy a heads-up might well have prevented the disaster happening earlier today.
The disbelief on Mitchell Houghton’s face and the following pain cut me deeply, something which never happened. I didn’t do emotion in my business deals. Yet his reaction had been far stronger than I would have expected, given the amount of money he stood to gain. Okay, money wasn't everything, but the way he acted, as if we were trying to rip out his heart and stamp all over it had concerned me, and I’d been trying to work out the reason why ever since.
We’d made him a substantial offer, and he’d be foolish to turn that amount of cash down. Also, from my analysis of the drone footage I’d received, the place needed a lot of repair, maintenance, and upkeep, and it clearly wasn’t happening. But seeing the dilapidated state of the buildings for myself had left me even more confused as to why he remained so reluctant to sell. Something else must be going on, and if I worked out what, I’d adjust my approach, figure out the right angle to get him to see our offer is the best deal he’d ever get. With his appalling attitude to people in general, it’s probably the only deal he’d ever get.
“Sorry,” I apologized to Leo, not wanting to get into another argument.
He huffed, but didn’t say anything else, probably feeling as deflated as me. I hated hanging around, waiting on tenterhooks for what might happen next, especially with no escape route now we were unable to drive out of here or easily walk into town with the amount of snow piled up around us. I studied my dirty suit trousers and mud-stained leather shoes. In my currently inappropriate attire, I’d likely freeze to death before I managed even a mile, trying to hike in the forest with the current two-to-three-foot-high drifts.
The scratch of claws outside on the porch had us both automatically looking at the front door. Sure enough, a second later, the door opened and two wet and messy dogs came rushing in, and because fate decided to give me the finger today, they aimed straight for me. Leaning forward, arms out, I tried to stop them but no such luck. They were on me in seconds with their great, dirty paws leaving muddy prints all over my two-thousand-dollar suit. “Get down,” I ordered, but this only seemed to excite them all the more. Tails wagging and tongues licking, I was never going to win so gave up and let them have at it, stroking both on top of their heads. A suit could be cleaned or replaced, after all. “So who’s Chuck and who’s Norris, eh?”
“Sit. Now.” Mitchell Houghton’s deep voice commanded the dogs who instantly obeyed.
“They were only being friendly,” I countered.
He glared at me but remained quiet. His aggression didn’t intimidate me in the slightest, as even though we’d barely interacted at all, I was already beginning to work him out. From what I’d gathered during our brief time together, he had two distinct settings: angry and shouting, or broody and silent. I kind of liked broody and silent; it made for an easier life. Also, I wouldn’t have to hear him speak, hear the rich baritone of his voice wash over my skin and give me yet another set of goose bumps.
He may be a prickly asshole, but now he’d taken off and hung his cap on the rack by the door along with his thick, wool-lined jacket, I could see he was a fucking handsome one: messy, rich chestnut-brown hair with a slight wave a tad too long, tumbling across his forehead and over his shirt collar; thick beard trimmed but not too neat; strong nose and firm-looking lips peeking out from under his moustache. He was the archetypal hairy bear. So not my type but intriguing, nonetheless. His eyes, though, are what kept drawing me in—light hazel with pale green flecks and long lashes, holding a world of despair deep within their depths, a despair that would never heal.
For an instant, the tiniest of moments, I wanted to get up off the sofa, go over to him, and wrap him in my arms to try to ease his ache. Of course, my brief pang of sympathy went right out the window when he opened his mouth and reverted to the huge asshole I’d first met.
“The dogs don’t need to be friends with you. You won’t be here long enough.”
I stood to face him, not liking how he used his height to tower over me. Even at my full five eleven, I’d always have to look up. “Well, aren’t you a bright ray of sunshine on this dreary day.”
He glared some more, and I don’t know why, but I smiled at him nice and cheesy. That’s a lie. I do know why I did it. He was determined to piss me off, and I was determined to do the same to him. Antagonizing him wouldn’t help my cause in trying to win the man over, but it sure made me feel a whole lot better.
He growled, actually growled, and the sound travelled right down to my balls, forcing me to work extra hard to suppress the moan climbing my throat, threatening to expose my reaction to him. If thinking of getting Leo into bed wasn’t bad enough, there’s no way I’d cope with having a hard-on for Mitchell at the same time, not anymore.
Nope. Not going to happen.
Didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate his rugged looks though.
My smile widened. Did he just look at my lips? No way, no fucking way. He ignored my retort, and performing a swift one-eighty, headed toward the kitchen. Checking him out, my eyes automatically dropped to his ass. Nice and round and chunky, the full cheeks, wobbling slightly as he walked away, were so unlike my preference for a smaller bubble butt but more than perfect to grab a couple handfuls of, and then some.
Prepared to walk around the couch to follow him and see if I managed to elicit the same reaction again when we were face-to-face, an angry Leo brought me to an abrupt halt. “Can you lay off him for five minutes,” he whisper-hissed in my ear. “We might well be stuck here overnight or longer.” My head snapped up to look at him. “You didn’t think about that did you?” I continued to stare at him. “So being constantly antagonistic is not going to help make an easier time for any of us, now is it?”
We may be stuck here overnight or longer. Longer?
Stuffing my hand into my suit pocket I pulled out my phone and began to rapidly scroll through my contacts.
“What are you doing?”
I didn’t look up. “Finding a way to get us out of here.”
“Don’t you think Mitchell Houghton would have tried to do that already?”
I shrugged, concentrating as I flicked through every friend or business contact I’d made since buying my beach house, hoping something or someone would magically appear to get me out of the hell I’d been dropped into. “Who has any clue what he’ll do. I wouldn’t put it past him to keep us here just to piss me off.” The solution to the problem scrolled into view and a pang of relief washed over me. “There’s a helicopter company close by. If I offer them enough money, I’m sure they’ll come pick us up.”
A strong hand grabbed my shoulder and, digging in deep, spun me sideways, Leo right in my face. “You,” he spat. “You, you, you. No one—” He pointed at the kitchen. “—especially him, gives a fuck about pissing you off.” He pushed me away, forcing me to steady myself against the back of the couch. “You’re so up your own ass, it’s unbelievable.” He stepped forward into my face. “And do you think any helicopter company would risk their license by taking off in this weather?” He shook his head. “And where do you think the chopper would land anyway? We’re in the middle of a forest, for god’s sake. There’s no area big enough for rotor clearance to set the damn thing down.” He stopped talking, his breathing heavy, and stalked over to the window, body held tight, tension clear in his wide shoulders.
Okay, he may have a point about the helicopter not being able to land right outside, but this place had a lake on the property. I’d seen it on the drone footage during the summer after being unable to get hold of Houghton to show me around. There wasn’t much of a flat, open area, as the trees ran up close to the water’s edge, but there were small rocky beaches here and there, so surely one of them had enough space to land, right?
And okay, he may also have a point about everything not being only about me, but from where I stood it was two against one. He worked for Houghton. If push came to shove, he’d be on his side, not mine. Privately, he might want the sale to go through, for the fees if nothing else, but I wasn’t going to rely on his help when I was the one forced up against the wall.
“Feel better now you’ve got that off your chest?” I drawled. “You’re holding onto some real anger there, Mr. Taylor.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed his jacket off the chair and stomped outside, determined to get away from my presence as fast as possible.
“Do you feel better now you’ve succeeded in pissing him off?” Mitchell spoke right behind me, making me jump. Damn he was sneaky. I whirled around to face him, where he leaned casually against the jamb of the wide-cased opening to the kitchen, his arms and ankles crossed.
Watching me.
“Oh, so, finally, you have something to say?” I rested my ass against the rear of the couch and mirrored his pose.
“I always have something to say, Mr. Sanchez. You just don’t want to listen.”
I cocked my head to the side, uncrossed my arms, and pushed my hands into the pockets of my pants, the action deliberately drawing attention to my crotch. “I’m listening now, Mr. Houghton.”
His eyes narrowed at my statement as they flicked briefly down to my pants before returning to my face, analyzing, judging.
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
I raised my eyebrows and waited.
“How long have you been sniffing around my property? Three, maybe four months?”
“Five, actually, but who’s counting?”
He nodded. “Five months. And yet after all this time, you don’t know when to take the hint.”
“I’m a determined man, Mr. Houghton.”
“Or a foolish one.”
I shrugged, not prepared to admit I was beginning to agree with him.
“Time after time, you were told no, but unlike any decent man, any honorable man, you didn’t leave me alone and walk away, did you?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “No, instead, you went behind my back and began pressuring my brother to sell, recognizing he’d be the more gullible of us, the weaker of the two.”
I frowned at his answer. Obviously, there was far more bad blood between them than I’d originally suspected.
Not my problem.
“And you think it’s me who’s foolish.” I chuckled and shook my head. “I’m here today because you requested this meeting. You. You were the one who’d finally decided to sell.” I lifted my shoulders. “Don’t kid yourself into believing I’m the bad guy in this scenario. It’s pretty obvious as soon as you received our offer and caught sight of all those zero’s, you had a very rapid change of heart.”
“A momentary lapse in judgment,” he snapped at me.
“Whatever.” I balled my hands into fists in my pants, trying to remain relaxed, knowing my next admission wasn’t going to be well received. “Oh, and by the way. To be clear, your brother came to us, not the other way around.”
“No.” His sharp rebuttal sounded almost painful.
I shrugged again. “Believe what you want, but I’m telling the truth. Until Jared Houghton offered up his fifty percent, I’d given up on the purchase, had decided you weren’t worth the time and effort to continue pursuing.”
Something flashed in his eyes at my comment but was gone too quick for me to decipher. “There are other cabins, other land”—removing my hands from my pockets, I spread my arms to indicate the shabby interior—“in much better condition.”
He moved off the jamb and was in my face before I had chance to blink, his voice low and threatening. “Be very careful what you say in my home, Mr. Sanchez.” He said my name like my presence left a bad taste in his mouth. “You’re a guest here, and you better remember that—and your manners.”
I took in a few deep breaths, wanting to calm down and ensure I didn’t say something inappropriate. I hated being threatened. Watching Mason after his attack, how he’d get jumpy and scared at the slightest hint of raised voices or aggression from others, I’d done everything in my power to help him work through his trauma. To the point I automatically placed myself in front of him whenever he got anxious, protecting him from anyone getting too close. So Mitchell trying his intimidation act on with me in the hopes I’d cower meekly? Well, I couldn’t help myself.
“Ah, but that’s not quite true anymore, is it?” My blood pumped hard in my veins, rapidly heading south, making me hard. I wouldn’t say I was enjoying our sparring match, but the male aggression filling the air, raising our body temperature, and releasing delicious-smelling pheromones of sweat and musk pushed all my buttons.
I glanced around the room with its worn couch, scuffed oak furniture, and thick log walls, thinking if renovated, the place would look amazing. “I’m not really here as a guest, am I? I own fifty percent, remember? So this place is as much mine as yours.”
I didn’t see the punch coming until it connected with my gut, winding me as it knocked the air from my lungs in a loud whoosh, doubling me over as pain ripped through my abdomen. The next thing I knew, I was grabbed by the collar of my expensive silk shirt and the back of my leather belt and heaved up as if I weighed nothing. He dragged me around the couch to the front door, which, typically, opened as we got there, to a horrified Leo.
Mitchell pushed past him, me firmly in his grip, my struggling useless against his power and strength as he swung me back, and then let gravity pull me speedily forward before releasing me, sending me flying across the porch to land in the snow and frozen dirt at the bottom of the steps in front of the cabin.
“My house,” he roared. “My home. Mine.” Then he slammed the door firmly behind him, leaving me there on my ass and out in the cold.