Fierce fire blazed in her eyes that, frankly, scared the shit out of him.
But she was maybe five-four, tops, and standing there with that teal blanket and candle sword, she kind of looked like a sexy, miniature Statue of Liberty.
“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?” Her voice growled low and ferocious, which was hot as fuck.
He took a giant step back and dropped his hands to his sides. “I’m Jack Baines, and this is my rental.”
She shook her head. “Impossible.”
“I have an email to prove it.”
Her head tilted. “With a rental confirmation number?”
“No. Just an email. It’s on my phone, which is in my pocket.”
“You’re lying. The management company always sends a confirmation number.”
Jack pulled out his cell and opened his email app to search through his messages. “I don’t think it went through the management company. I booked it through Lark.”
Her head tilted. “What did you just say?”
Jack glanced up from the phone. “Lark Bay. She owns the house.”
Snow White’s dark eyes narrowed. “Lark Bay is her artist name. Her real name is Lark Bay Donovan, and she’s one of three owners of the house. I’m one of the others.”
He pressed Lark’s number from his contact’s list. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m pretty sure we can come to some sort of accommodation—“
“What’s going on is that my sister screwed up, and she’s going to have to fix this.”
“And by fix this you mean . . . ”
“Find you another place to stay.”
He laughed. “Lady, I have a place to stay. Here.”
“No, you don’t. I’m staying here. Which means you can’t.”
“I booked this place three weeks ago. I’ve rented it through Monday afternoon, and I have an email confirming my payment. That’s a contract. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Don’t be unreasonable.”
“Hello? Jack?” Lark’s voice rang through the phone.
Jack hit the speaker button. “Hey, Lark. I’m here at the beach house.”
“Hey! How do you like it? Didn’t I tell you it’s gorgeous?”
“It’s gorgeous, all right. And so is your sister.”
Chapter 4
“Huh? How do you know my sister?” Lark’s voice was filled with confusion.
“Because I’m standing right here. In the living room. Of the beach house,” Raven answered before Jack had a chance. She clutched the afghan tighter to her chest.
Jesus, how mortifying.
This man, her sister’s supposed friend, Jack Baines, was inhumanly attractive. It was nearly impossible not to stare at his almost too-handsome face. He had deep-set eyes the color of dark maple syrup, a straight nose, perfectly sculpted lips, and a thick, square jaw. Plus, he was a giant. He had to be close to six foot four. He looked like the human embodiment of Superman. Even a lock of his thick, dark hair curled in the front. Although right now, standing there in his bespoke suit and loosened tie, he looked more like Clark Kent.
And he’d seen her nearly naked. Worse, she’d been sleeping and having a sex dream. How long had he been standing there? Had she called him Mr. Perfect—out loud? The potential indignities were endless. Thank God she was still too drunk to grasp the enormity of her humiliation.
“Raven?” Lark squeaked.
“Uh-huh.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Until about three minutes ago, I was sleeping. But then your . . . friend woke me up.”
“But why are you there?” Lark demanded.
The idea of admitting she’d been fired, especially to Lark, nearly made Raven break out in hives.
Raven had never screwed up in her life—except for the one time when it had actually mattered—but never again after that. She’d worked her ass off to make sure of it. Throughout school, she’d meticulously applied herself, exploiting her innate intelligence and work ethic to graduate high school four years early. Then she’d excelled in college, and headed straight to graduate school, and finished her MBA by the time she was twenty. Her career had been one steady climb ever since, racking up bigger and better achievements.
It was the only way to redeem herself.
Now she’d stumbled for the first time ever, losing not only her job but the company, too. With private equity involved in the leveraged buy out, Paulson Diagnostics could be destroyed, and its employees would pay the price. It was her fault. She must have missed some clue that could’ve tipped her off to what Tiffany and her brothers were up to.
Raven would’ve rather shoved a white-hot poker in her eyes than confess her defeat to Lark or anyone else. She set the candle on the coffee table, then grabbed Jack’s phone. Gathering the afghan around her breasts, she maneuvered around the sectional.
“Hey, that’s my cell,” Jack protested.
“I’ll bring it back,” Raven said over her shoulder as she padded toward the study. Once there, she shut the French doors. “I’m here because it’s my house. The better question is why he’s here.” She thrust a pointed finger toward the hot colossus in the living room.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You sound way out of balance.”
Lark was the youngest of the Donovan sisters, who lived in an artists’ colony in Vermont. She spent part of the year traveling in her RV, visiting festivals, and teaching workshops. She was also into chakras, meditation, and other New Age stuff.
“I’m not in the mood for your healing arts tonight, Lark. Just answer my question.”
Lark huffed. “Fine. He’s here for the same reason anyone comes to the beach house. He rented it.”
“No, he didn’t.” Raven sank into a big leather armchair in the corner of the room. It had been their father’s favorite spot to read his birding books.
“Of course he did. I booked it myself three weeks ago.”
“Then why wasn’t it on the schedule when I looked this afternoon?” Raven ran her hand along the smooth grain of the leather.
“Um . . . what?” Lark said, her voice suddenly less sure.
“I checked the schedule before I drove two and a half hours to the beach.”
“But you never make an impromptu visit like that. You always plan your trips.”
“When I decided to come isn’t the point.”
“It kind of is. Why did you decide to come this afternoon? It’s November. The weather is crappy. I mean, I could understand if it were summer. Last-minute trips totally make sense, especially if we get a cancellation. But today? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Lark, can we please focus on the fact that you booked a renter and didn’t log it on the schedule?” Frustrated, Raven rested her head against her palms.
“That can’t be right. I remember doing it.”
“If you had, it would’ve been there. And I promise you, it wasn’t.”
“I’m sure I did. Hang on.” There was tapping, no doubt Lark accessing the beach house booking site. While Raven waited to be proven right, she practiced her deep breathing. Finally, Lark said, “Uh, I don’t know how to explain this, but um, the booking isn’t there.”