Tycoon's One-Night Revenge by Bronwyn Jameson

Satisfaction churned rich and strong through his blood, but he waited, his posture deceptively casual while she prepared her answer.
    “I can try.” She lifted her chin a notch. “But I want to make it clear that all I’m providing are the facts.”
    “That’s all I expect.”
    “I can’t promise to remember everything.”
    “I’m sure you remember the important things.”
    Her gaze fell away, and she lifted a hand to rub at her upper arm. Cold…or nervous? “We can talk over dinner, but afterward I have things to do.”
    “Hair to wash, laundry to do,” Van murmured. She’d already swung away to gather up the clothes scattered around the table. A pink skirt and white sweater. Lacy white bra. A wisp of nothing that had to be underwear.
    She held them all tight to her chest as she faced him across the table, clearly unamused by his aside. “I have phone calls to make.”
    To Carlisle, Van guessed. The man who’d won what he had lost.
    That thought killed the buzz of warm satisfaction he’d had going. The touch of mean left in its place wouldn’t let him watch her scurry off with her armful of clothes without one last bite. “You don’t have to change on my account. I imagine I’ve seen you in a robe before…and without.”
    At the door to her bedroom, she paused to cut him a disparaging look. “That is precisely the reason I suggested this dinner was a bad idea.”
    “Because I’ve seen you naked?”
    Colour flared in her cheekbones, but her eyes remained cool and steady on his. “Because I can’t trust you not to mention that fact.”
    “And that makes you uncomfortable?”
    “I’m engaged to marry another man. Of course it does.”
    As if Van needed that reminder. Or that extra jab to his prickly mood. “Do you think I would try to seduce another man’s bride?” he asked.
    “I think you would do whatever it takes to get your hands on the contract to The Palisades.”

    With the hair dryer on high, Susannah blasted the remaining dampness from her clothes before turning the appliance on her hair. That was a necessity, not a vanity. Plus it ate up some time while she worked on her composure. Perhaps if she remained locked in the bathroom long enough, her “guest” would go away and leave her to regret past mistakes in peace.
    Or perhaps not.
    She allowed her memory to slide briefly to that weekend, to recall an exchange where she’d described him as a can-do man. With an amused grin he’d shaken his head and said, “No. I’m more will-do. ”
    She didn’t allow herself to dwell on the memory of how he’d demonstrated that will-do quality. Instead she used the knowledge to bolster her defences. She had agreed to help him out because she did sympathise over his lost memory and the circumstances that had led him to lose the deal.
    But it was only a deal. He would get over that loss and move on to another deal, another property, another asset. Alex did not have the luxury of that time. He needed a wife now, and The Palisades was part of that marriage contract.
    Tonight’s dinner was only about helping Donovan fill in some blanks in his memory. She could do that. And she could do it while remaining cool and calm and not letting him get to her with his incendiary taunts.
    She was not going to let him forget that she was another man’s bride.
    Leaning back from the mirror she studied herself in the unforgiving light and crinkled her nose. Not exactly the picture of cool, calm and collected that she was aiming for. Despite her best efforts, her hair had taken on a life of its own. A pulse beat noticeably at the base of her throat. Her skin remained rosy-pink from the blow-drying.
    Well, at least the colour matched her skirt.
    With a last wry grimace at her reflection, she padded through to the bedroom. Wet boots or bare feet? Stitched-up composure or comfort? Dithering over that choice she heard the low rumble of his voice from beyond her closed door.
    Perhaps the storm was easing. Perhaps