Love Me if You Dare Read online

  Dedication

  To my wonderful editor, May Chen,

  on the occasion of our tenth book together!

  Thank you for so getting me.

  You rock!

  Acknowledgments

  I SOMETIMES FEEL that my acknowledgments read like a broken record, because I thank the same people over and over again. However, that’s because they are such a help to me—over and over again—and it would be remiss of me not to express my sincere gratitude.

  Thank you to Lindsey Faber for her amazing brainstorming and problem-solving abilities, along with the suggestion of using Peter Pan for the quotes and thematic aspects of this one.

  Thank you to Renee Norris, not only for always being my wise and helpful first reader when the book is done, but also for sharing her boating and sailing expertise for this particular story.

  Thank you to my amazing publishing team: Meg Ruley, Christina Hogrebe, and all the fine folks at the Jane Rotrosen Agency, and May Chen and the whole Avon Books/HarperCollins editorial, marketing, publicity, and sales crew. And thank you to Tom and the art department for yet another gorgeous cover!

  It takes a village, and all of you are mine.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  By Toni Blake

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  His courage was almost appalling.

  “Do you want an adventure now?”

  J. M. Barrie, Peter and Wendy

  Chapter 1

  CAMILLE THOMPSON tugged her suit jacket into place and smoothed down her skirt. She was overdressed for the occasion and she knew it. It was by design, a weapon. In her line of work, a woman needed weapons, both direct and more subtle, like a crisp red suit that showed confidence and authority before she ever even spoke a word.

  She stood before an old fifties-era row motel in a little Florida beach town named Coral Cove. The long, white building sporting a red roof was well kept and tidy, but the parking lot empty. The latter was definitely in her favor—another weapon. And when a glance up at the kitschy sign—of a large, smiling red crab outlined in a tube of red neon—shot a tiny twinge of something like sadness through her veins, she efficiently pushed it right back down from wherever it had sprung. In her line of work, there was also no room for sentimentality—or for being the least bit charmed by a gigantic smiling crab.

  She had a job to do—time to get started.

  The heels of her black pumps clicked across the asphalt as she headed for the motel’s front office, and she used the short walk to put on her game face. Another day, another dollar.

  She opened the plate glass door and stepped inside from the midday tropical heat, ready to face her opponent, but the only thing that greeted her was the old song lyric, “Sign, sign, everywhere a sign,” blaring from unseen speakers. It was the only indication of life in the room that sported a tall counter, some random wooden cabinets behind it, and a few large potted palms that had seen better days. She tapped the old-fashioned bell on the check-in desk, but when no one came, she figured the music made it impossible to hear. “Hello?” she called. “Anyone here? I’m looking for Reece Donovan. Hello?”

  The instant the second hello was leaving her mouth, the music went silent and a dark-haired beach bum type appeared in an open doorway behind the counter. He smiled. And Camille’s chest contracted slightly. She had no idea why.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, grin still in place. “Business is a little slow, so afraid you caught me rockin’ out.” He ended with a wink that other people probably found endearing. And he had that scruffy unshaven thing going—which never appealed to her since she liked her men well-groomed, the way she was.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked. Though that was when she sensed him taking in her appearance as well. Realizing that she didn’t look like a typical customer at the Happy Crab Motel.

  “Reece Donovan?” she inquired.

  “One and the same.” He still grinned. And she couldn’t help noticing his eyes were a rich, deep shade of brown. It was hard not to like him. But maybe that would make this less confrontational than it sometimes was.

  And with that in mind, she got straight to the point. “You can sell me your motel,” she told him with a smile of her own.

  At this, his mouth dropped open slightly and his eyebrows rose into a critical arch.

  Since he was clearly now tuning in to where she’d come from, she went on, confirming it. “I’m Camille Thompson and I represent the Vanderhook Company, developer for Windchime Resorts.”

  “Oh,” he replied. His tone said, You again.

  She continued undaunted, though, smile still in place, ready to help him see reason. “I know my associates have approached you with several offers to buy the property on numerous occasions over the past six months, and that you’ve declined all those offers. Clearly this place means a lot to you—understandable for any business owner.” She nodded perfunctorily, letting him know she related. “I’m sure you’ve put a lot of yourself into this place and I can appreciate its charm. But I’m also sure you’ll be pleased to know that Vanderhook is adding an additional one hundred thousand dollars to our offering price. Given that our previous offers were already considerably more than the property is worth, I’m certain you’ll agree that accepting this one is the only wise decision you can make.”

  Reece Donovan cocked his head slightly, an unmistakable glint of self-assurance in his gaze. “On the other hand, I’d say property is worth whatever somebody’s willing to pay for it. So it looks like I’ve got myself quite a valuable little motel here suddenly.”

  “Touché, Mr. Donovan,” she said, admiring his attitude but not looking forward to the work she now knew it would require to wear him down. Even though she would. She always did. She’d just hoped it might not take a lot of time. Often that was how it went—a property owner was a hard sell, but she showed up, sweetened the pot appreciably, appealed to his or her good senses, and closed the deal verbally in ten minutes or less.

  She was Vanderhook’s secret weapon and though no one knew exactly what made her so effective, she attributed her many victories to pairing a large sum of money with her sense of confidence and authority. Whatever the secret to her success, though, she’d earned the title of Special Acquisitions Negotiator with years of convincing resistant property owners to sell.

  “Of course you’re right,” she went on, boldly meeting his eyes with hers and still smiling. “It’s definitely valuable or I wouldn’t be here. But as it stands, you have no business, as sorry as I am to have to point that out. The property isn’t being put to best use, and we can both rest easy once you allow Vanderhook to change that.”

  He never broke the gaze. Most people did. Most people found that kind of direct eye contact with a stranger a little unnerving. “Maybe I’d have more business if there wasn’t a big ‘Windchime Resorts Coming Soon’ sign in the lot next door. Kinda makes the motel look closed. And I think you kinda know that.” He finished with a short nod.

  In fact, she didn’t know about the sign. But she di
d know the use of such signs on already acquired adjoining properties was often helpful in the very way he’d stated. “Actually, no—that’s a surprise to me,” she said.

  “Well, here’s another surprise. I’m not selling,” he told her, his expression still pleasant even if a little arrogant now—he clearly took satisfaction in shooting her down. Then he added, “At any price.”

  Now it was Camille who let her eyebrows rise—in challenge. A part of her was enjoying this, too. Yes, she wanted to close the deal and move on with her life, but she also couldn’t help respecting a worthy adversary. “At any price?” came her retort. “That’s a very strong statement.”

  Yet Reece Donovan simply answered with a shrug. In khaki cargo shorts and a faded yellow T-shirt displaying a surfboard emblem, he was clearly a man comfortable in his own body.

  But quit noticing that. Stick to work. Time to take a new approach. “You clearly love the business you’ve built here, and I respect that. However, I’m trying to make you a wealthy man, Mr. Donovan. With what we’re offering, you could buy five places like this. Just think, five brand new Happy Crab Motels—smiling crab signs could dot the Gulf Coast. Or . . .” Now she shrugged easily, too. “You could invest—do it smartly and you could live off the income. Regardless of what you do with the money, I’m offering you a future full of options, any of which leaves you far better off than you’re starting out.” Then she added, “No offense.”

  “None taken,” he answered smoothly. “But you’re assuming I don’t like where I am. You’re assuming I want more than I have. Thing is, I like it just fine. And I don’t need five Happy Crabs—just the one I’ve already got.”

  In truth, she was a little taken aback. Vanderhook intended to have this property and the amount they were offering was enormous—the kind of money few people would be able to pass up. She couldn’t help wondering exactly what made Reece Donovan tick.

  But mostly his attitude just made her want to win. So she prepared to barrel forward anyway. Sometimes it was about forcing the issue. And putting the actual dollar signs in front of someone’s eyes. Just in case they weren’t quite getting the full impact. She lifted her leather briefcase onto the check-in counter and opened it.

  “I’ve already had a contract drawn up with the new terms and amount.” She withdrew the document from a manila folder and turned it to face him on the counter. “Look it over. Think about how much we’re offering here. That kind of money will go a long way. Perhaps you have someone else you’d like to run the offer past—a wife or significant other? Additional family members?”

  He gave his head a short shake as he let his eyes drop coolly to the papers before him. “Nope, not married. I make all my own decisions.”

  Hmm. Why did that please her? Especially since the input of a spouse would have potentially strengthened her position.

  She used the index finger of one well-manicured hand to point to the dollar amount, just to make sure he focused on it. “Surely this is an offer you can’t refuse,” she suggested.

  His eyes held a hint of amusement when he lifted them to her. “Isn’t that what the Mafia says? Are you gonna make me sleep with the fishes, too?”

  Despite herself, she smiled, still rather liking his sense of fight. It was almost a shame she knew how futile it would ultimately be. “Sign on the dotted line,” she told him, “and I’ll be happy to take you out to a celebratory dinner at Coral Cove’s finest restaurant.”

  It surprised her when the proposition met with a laugh.

  “That would be the Hungry Fisherman next door,” he said, giving her another small grin.

  “Perfect,” she said. “You can eat the fish rather than sleep with them.”

  “But I’m thinking it’s not your style,” he added. “You’re dressed a little too fancy for the seafood buffet. In fact, you’re dressed a little too fancy for Coral Cove period.” Then he stopped, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cocked his head to one side, and for the first time looked a little distrustful. “I’m not sure you really get what we’re about here.”

  She remained undisturbed. It was her job, after all. Even if it had been a while since someone put her through her paces. “I’d be happy to go wherever you’d like, overdressed or not, once we close this deal, and then you can tell me exactly what Coral Cove is about over dinner.” She used the opportunity to push the document on the counter a little closer to him. “Take a look at the contract, Mr. Donovan. Consider what we’re offering here instead of just turning it down out of hand.”

  “No thanks,” he said as comfortably as if she’d asked him to buy a box of Girl Scout cookies. “The Happy Crab isn’t for sale. And by the way, you’re a little formal for my taste, too. Nobody around here calls me Mr. Donovan. I’m Reece.”

  “Okay,” she said pleasantly, but she was only affirming the part about his name, not about the motel. “I should warn you, though, Reece, that I don’t take no for an answer.”

  In response, he lowered his chin ever so slightly and pursed his lips, looking like he was trying to figure out how to deal with a misbehaving child. “That’s too bad . . . Cami. You don’t mind if I call you Cami, do you?”

  She let her gaze narrow slightly. The tone between them had begun to change and he was baiting her now—she could feel it. “Actually, I do.”

  “Your name is too fancy, too,” he informed her. “So . . . sorry, Cami, but the answer is still no.” Then he hiked his thumb over his shoulder to the right. “But if you want some seafood on your way out of town, the Hungry Fisherman isn’t half bad and they could use the business. I’m sure you’re all for supporting ailing, locally owned establishments because it’s the nice thing to do, right?”

  “Touché again, Mr. . . . Reece.” She didn’t manage to hide her smirk, though—which was a mistake, even if small. It was like revealing a chink in her armor, something she didn’t usually let happen. But now he was subtly insulting her, questioning her moral grounds. And she didn’t like the way he was shortening her name, trying to minimize her, make her sound like some simpering young girl when she was likely the most capable woman he’d ever met. Not that she’d never been insulted before while doing business. Some property owners were actually much ruder than Reece Donovan had been so far. So why was this guy having even an infinitesimal effect on her?

  “On the contrary,” she went on, “selling your motel to Vanderhook would benefit Coral Cove—including the restaurant next door—far more than hanging on to it ever will. I’m trying to help you take the first step in reviving the part of town that’s obviously fallen into decay.”

  When his whole body stiffened, she could tell that last part hadn’t gone over well. “Decay?” he shot back at her. “You’re calling my place decayed?”

  Her spine went a little more rigid, as well. “No,” she said sharply. “I’m saying that when other establishments around you have gone out of business and are left empty, as many have, in real estate and public affairs it’s commonly referred to as a state of decay. Don’t take anything I say personally, Mr.—” She stopped, blinked—she didn’t usually call property owners by their first name and wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “ . . . Reece. This is business. But make no mistake that part of my business is rebuilding areas that need it, and you can’t deny that this older part of Coral Cove is in trouble.”

  “And you think tearing down my place and putting up a generic high-rise resort hotel is gonna fix it all, huh?”

  She gave one succinct nod. “I do. Though I promise you that nothing about Windchime Resorts is generic. And I’m sorry that your business has to be the one to go in order to start progress here. But the land has to come from somewhere. And we have indeed already purchased the small lot next door. And as I keep reminding you, you’re being more than fairly compensated, and you can do anything you want after that.”

  He leaned slightly closer over the counter, his gaze sharp and penetrating now. “You’re talking as if I’ve sold you something.
I haven’t. And I won’t.”

  Her heartbeat kicked up a notch at his very intensity, and without quite planning it, she leaned forward a bit, too, her focus never leaving those big brown eyes of his. “Everyone has a price. Everyone.”

  As she waited for his reply, she heard the beat of her own heart in her ears now.

  “Not me,” he said, voice low, bordering on gruff.

  Her chest began heaving slightly beneath her suit. “We’ll see about that.”

  She’d never handled a negotiation during which she’d felt so very . . . unsettled. Ugh, did it have something to do with those damn eyes of his? And for some inexplicable reason, her attention returned to that unappealing stubble on his chin. Despite herself, she found herself kind of wanting to . . . touch it.

  “Yep, we sure will,” he said. “And in the end, you’ll be sorry you wasted so much of what I’m sure is your precious time, Cami.”

  She drew in her breath at his use of the shortened name again. She didn’t usually suffer that kind of response and she didn’t like feeling off her game.

  “You can tell the whole Vanderhook Company that it’s just not happening,” he said, then began shaking his head. “Man, something about that place just sounds unscrupulous.” After which he snapped his fingers, adding, “I know. It makes me think of Captain Hook. And I guess you think you’re some kind of Tinkerbell—you think it’s as easy as swooping in here to wave your magic money wand and sprinkle your fairy dust on me—but it’s not gonna work, honey.”

  Inside, she prickled, yet rather than let it show this time, she instead forced a hard smile to say, “First of all, I’m not anybody’s honey. And second, I’m a hell of a lot tougher than Tinkerbell ever was.”