No Matter What

Quinn

The wind howled furiously outside, lashing the windows with stinging sheets of rain. I shivered despite the warmth of the room, feeling unsettled in a way that went bone-deep.

My interview with Lachlan had taken an intense, unsettling turn. One minute he was all business, deflecting my probing questions with that infuriatingly vague charm. The next, the atmosphere seemed to thicken and churn with an electric, undeniable tension.

The way he'd looked at me, boxed me in with that powerful body...I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the visceral memory. That searing gaze had stripped me bare, igniting a rush of heated awareness unlike anything I'd ever experienced.

Get a grip, Quinn. He's just a man - an influential, wealthy one, sure, but still just a man. One who clearly knows how to use his natural magnetism to his advantage.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I moved toward the windows, watching the storm's fury escalate. Lachlan's words echoed in my mind.

"This storm doesn't appear to be letting up anytime soon."

Which meant I was effectively trapped here. On this isolated island, with that dangerously charismatic man and whatever game he seemed intent on playing.

The thought should have filled me with trepidation, or at least professional concern. After all, being stuck in close quarters with my interview subject went against every code of conduct.

Instead, it sparked a shiver of pure, unsettling thrill down my spine.

Don't go there, Quinn. This is business, not some tawdry romance novel fantasy. You're here to do a job - to uncover the truth about Lachlan McIntyre and his empire, no matter what it takes.

Nodding to myself, I moved away from the window and began to pace the lavish suite. I needed to stay focused, to resist getting pulled into whatever seductive game Lachlan was playing. This was too big an opportunity to risk on a silly infatuation.

A soft knock at the door startled me out of my reverie. "Come in," I called, frowning slightly.

The door opened to reveal a young woman in a crisp white uniform. "Pardon me, Miss Pearce," she said with a polite smile. "I've brought you a tray from the kitchen, in case you're feeling peckish."

My frown deepened as she wheeled a serving cart laden with covered dishes into the room. "That's very kind, but I didn't request--"

"Mr. McIntyre's orders, miss," she cut me off smoothly. "He wants to ensure you have everything you need while you're his guest here."

His guest. The words rang with a strange weight, one that made my stomach flip-flop in a most unsettling way. Clearly, Lachlan had no intention of letting me simply do my job and leave once this storm cleared.

No, he seemed determined to lure me into his world, with this luxurious setting and personal attention. To put me at his mercy, so to speak.

Well, two can play at that game. I was hardly a blushing debutante, easily swept off her feet. If Lachlan McIntyre wanted to try and seduce the truth out of me through lavish hospitality and innuendo, he'd find I was more than a match for him.

"Please, thank Mr. McIntyre for his...generosity," I said, forcing a polite smile. "But I'm afraid I'm not feeling very hungry at the moment."

The maid's brow furrowed slightly, but she simply gave a short nod. "Of course, miss. I'll leave the tray here in case you change your mind."

Once she'd gone, I eyed the tray of food almost warily. Part of me wondered if there was some sort of aphrodisiac or mind-altering substance mixed into the dishes. Surely Lachlan wasn't that unscrupulous...was he?

Shaking my head, I moved away from the tempting aroma wafting from the covered plates. I couldn't let myself get paranoid. That was exactly what Lachlan wanted, to put me off-balance and make me question everything.

Well, it would take more than a little disorienting charm and lavish hospitality to rattle me. I was Quinn Pearce, after all - an award-winning journalist who'd faced down corrupt politicians and cut-throat corporate raiders alike.

Lachlan McIntyre might be my biggest challenge yet, but I'd be damned if I'd let him seduce or intimidate me into submission.

Decision made, I strode toward the bedroom door, intent on exploring this island paradise that had become my gilded cage. The more I could learn about Lachlan's world, the better positioned I'd be to crack open the truth about the man himself.

Poking my head out the door, I searched for any staff before I made my way back into the main villa, driven by a sense of reckless curiosity. If I was going to be stuck here, I was damn well going to take full advantage and learn whatever I could.

The grand foyer opened up into a spacious great room with soaring ceilings and walls of glass framing the turbulent ocean view. Plush sofas and armchairs were arranged in intimate seating areas, giving the space an air of laid-back luxury.

I wandered further, trailing my fingers along the polished wood surfaces as I took in the striking blend of modern and tropical design elements. This place was like something out of a fantasy novel, lush and vibrant and utterly removed from the real world.

Which begged the question - what had driven a man like Lachlan McIntyre to create such a paradise? Wealth alone didn't seem a sufficient enough motivation for such an undertaking. No, this place reeked of secrecy, of a desire to remain utterly detached and in control.

The thought was oddly chilling, despite the warmth and beauty surrounding me. I found myself wondering what other secrets this island sanctuary contained.

Perhaps a bit too curious for my own good, I continued exploring, eventually finding myself in what appeared to be a home theater or entertainment room. Plush leather recliners faced an enormous flat-screen TV, while one entire wall opened up to a climate-controlled wine cellar.

Frowning, I moved toward the bar area, trailing my fingers along the polished wood surface. This whole place was like an ultra-exclusive luxury resort, designed specifically to cater to the every whim of its owner and his guests.

My gaze snagged on a row of framed photographs lining the back wall of the bar. Moving closer, I realized they were professional portraits - all of an achingly beautiful woman with tumbling blonde curls and a dazzling smile.

In each photo, she was posed in different haute couture gowns and designer looks, her expression warm and engaging. Clearly a model or actress of some sort. But who was she, and why were her portraits so prominently displayed here?

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Lachlan stood in the doorway, hands resting in the pockets of his tan linen slacks. His white dress shirt was open at the collar, the sleeves rolled casually up those powerful forearms.

My mouth went dry at the easy, masculine grace of his stance. How long had he been watching me?

"I...I'm sorry," I stammered, feeling heat flood my cheeks at being caught snooping. So much for maintaining my professional poise. "I didn't mean to intrude, I was just--"

"Exploring?" One dark brow arched, though his expression remained unreadable. "Yes, I rather thought you might."

He moved toward me with that same predatory, liquid grace I'd noticed before, coming to stand just a few feet away. Close enough for me to catch the faint, masculine scent of his cologne - something woodsy and spiced and utterly devastating.

"Her name is Julia," he said, following my gaze to the portraits. "My wife."

The words were like a bucket of ice water, dowsing the slow smolder of attraction I'd been trying to deny. He was married? There had been no hint of a wife in any of the extensive research I had done.

"I...I didn't realize," I said, struggling to recover my composure. "The portraits are just...stunning."

Those pale eyes drifted over me, holding a look I couldn't quite decipher. "Yes, she's quite a beauty, isn't she? Though I'll admit the portraits don't do her full justice."

There was an undercurrent to his words that made me frown. Something almost...mocking, perhaps? As if he was laughing at some private joke.

Before I could pursue it further, a deafening boom of thunder shook the pavilion. I gasped, instinctively gripping the bar top to steady myself.

In a blur of movement, Lachlan closed the distance between us and came to stand in front of me so close that the sudden heat of his body made me suck in a sharp breath. My pulse thundered in my ears louder than the storm outside.

"The storm..." His voice was low, that faint accent seeming to caress each syllable. "It seems to be growing worse by the hour. Perhaps you should return to your rooms for now. We tend to lose power during storms."

His face was a mere breath away, those pale eyes blazing with an intensity that made my mouth go dry. I could feel the power thrumming through his frame, the restrained strength and virility.

Something dark and forbidden sparked between us in that charged moment, the air thickening with unspoken promises and unmet cravings. I felt utterly transfixed, unable to look away or even draw breath.

Then, as quickly as it happened, the spell shattered. Lachlan straightened, taking a deliberate step back and breaking the heated tension.

"Sims will escort you back," he said, his tone clipped and remote once more. "You'll join me for dinner later and we can continue our...chat."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving me staring after him with my heart still pounding a wild, dizzying beat.

What the hell was happening here? One minute he was issuing veiled threats about boundaries, the next he was pinning me against a bar with that scorching gaze. Seducing me with that whiskey-rough voice and masculine potency. And casually throwing out he had a wife at the same time.

Was this some crazy psychological game of cat-and-mouse. Did he think to throw me off balance to avoid my tough questions? Little did the enigmatic Mr. McIntyre know, trying to dissuade me was the best way to have me dig my claws in even deeper. If I was going to be stuck here, I was going to get my story no matter what it took.