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“Which brings me to the question I asked before,” I said. “Who are you?”
“I’ll give you the same answer I gave you before. I’m Ethan Masters. I am the owner and CEO of MasterTech. Among other companies.”
“Oh, my God,” I said blankly. “MasterTech? I use some of your products myself. Holy shit.”
There was a gleam of humor in his eyes. “Excellent,” he said. “That shows good judgment and taste on your part.”
“You mean, the MasterTech that does cybersecurity and encryption products, right?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, that explains you being so rich. But it doesn’t explain why people were shooting at you, or why you insisted on dragging me into a fucking helicopter.”
“There will be time to discuss all that later,” he said. “Tear me to shreds over lunch. But first, come in here.” He opened a door, and ushered me into an enormous bedroom. A wall of glass showed yet another stunning view. A king-sized bed held a stack of fluffy silver towels, and a pile of neatly folded clothing.
“What is this?” I demanded. “Is this your bedroom?
“God, no. I asked my housekeeper to prepare this room for you. It has an attached bath, so you can freshen up at your leisure. There are first-aid supplies in the cabinet.” He paused. “Unless you’d prefer some help with that.”
I imagined Ethan Masters ministering to my bumps and bruises and it made my heart skip a beat. “Um. No. Thanks.”
A smile flicked across his lips. “I didn’t mean me,” he said. “My housekeeper, Angela, would be happy to help. She’s very competent.”
“I’m fine,” I assumed him. “I can handle it alone.”
“Good. I just thought you might like to clean up and change. Your blouse is missing a couple of buttons.”
I looked down at it, suddenly remembering that my cleavage was on full display. I was not a prudish person, but it took all my self-control not to clutch the flapping sides of my blouse closed with a squeal, like an outraged heroine in a melodrama.
“Take your time. Get a shower, or lie down. I’ve asked for lunch to be served at twelve, which gives you an hour. Any dietary issues my chef should be aware of?”
“Chef?” I echoed.
“Yes. My housekeeper, Angela, is also an extremely talented chef. Anything she should know? Allergies, intolerances? Are you vegetarian, vegan, anything like that? Angela’s very flex.”
“I eat whatever,” I said faintly.
“Great. Then take your time. The door locks from the inside, so you’ll have all the privacy you want. When you’re ready, come out, go to the left, go down to the living room, and I’ll make you a drink. After everything that happened today, I could really use one.”
“Got it,” I echoed. “Turn left. Living room. Drinks. Great.”
I wasn’t much of a drinker, but it wasn’t a moral position, more an economic one. Drinking was expensive, and I had house and school rent to pay, girls to train. If somebody poured me a glass of champagne or mixed me a mojito, I did not complain.
But alcohol offered by Ethan Masters, with that gorgeous, come-hither smile? Hoo, boy. That was uncharted ground.
I just had to focus on my fact-finding mission. Figure out the dirt about Ethan Masters, and who wanted him dead, while at the same time figuring out how to get out of this place and back home. Aside from all my responsibilities at the school, there were several feral cats who had come to expect the water and kitty crunchies I left under the shelter I had built for them outside my back door. Plus, Ambrose, my friend Joanna’s cat, came to visit me every day. I didn’t want to let them down.
I looked over the clothes the housekeeper had left. Stretchy, comfy lounge wear, meant to keep me warm and relaxed. I wondered what this stuff was doing in Ethan Masters’ place. I would understand if he had a stash of silky unmentionables from his past conquests, but athletic pants and thigh-length cashmere sweaters? Odd.
I took advantage of the shower, since I was sticky from blood and stress sweat. It was stocked with luxurious perfumed soaps and shampoos and conditioners. The pounding water felt wonderful on my sore spots. My scrapes didn’t really need any bandages. Most of the blood had been from my nose, and that had stopped during the helicopter ride. I hoped I wouldn’t get two black eyes. I’d had many, in my martial arts career, but right now was absolutely not the time.
I pulled on the fresh clothes, since my blouse was trashed and had bloodstains, but I stayed with my own underwear and shoes. I combed my wet hair back behind my ears, like always. It was just long enough for a stubby, blunt ponytail, so I created one with a covered rubber band from my purse. I was going for severe, sexless. The peeled-onion look. The frowning schoolmarm.
I laced up my shoes, and studied myself in the full-length mirror.
I looked excited. Face pink, eyes bright. And the cashmere I wore felt soft, warm. Touchable.
Damn it. This guy was dangerous to my peace of mind, and I had a limited supply of that.
