Power and Seduction

By Joan Hohl

Though her marriage has failed, Tina Merrit is ambitious for her future. All she needs to move forward is a financial advance from her trust fund, which has been denied by the man who controls her inheritance, handsome and sexy Dirk Tanger. Furious, and needing a respite, Tina flees to her childhood home. When Dirk follows her, their battle of wills heightens... Contemporary Romance by Amii Lorin; originally published by Dell Candlelight Ecstasy

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belgrave House
• Release date: Feb 1, 1995
• ISBN: 9781610845649

Joan Hohl

Joan Hohl is a bestselling author of more than sixty books. She has received numerous awards for her work, including a Romance Writers of America Golden Medallion award. In addition to contemporary romance, this prolific author also writes historical and time-travel romances. Joan lives in eastern Pennsylvania with her husband and family.

Book preview

Lorin

Chapter One

Her long, elegant legs carrying her slender body swiftly along the sidewalk, Tina Holden Merritt was oblivious to the appreciative male glances she received as she strode by. Come to that, Tina was entirely oblivious to her surroundings, the cold bite of the late November air, and even the lowering gray clouds that threatened rain, sleet, snow ... or possibly all three.

Though her classically structured, beautiful face appeared serenely composed, Tina’s mind seethed with a hot fury that was becoming as familiar to her as her own body.

Damn him!

Her long, beautifully cut camel coat swirling around the tops of her brown suede knee-high boots, Tina swung through the entrance doors to her apartment building. Smiling vaguely at the security guard, she crossed the plushly carpeted lobby to stand before the elevator, impatiently tapping one narrow foot as she waited for the doors to open. In an effort to calm herself, Tina forced slow, deep breaths through her slightly parted, perfectly shaped lips.

Damn him to hell!

Fully aware that the breathing exercise wasn’t working, she stepped into the elevator when the doors swished open and stabbed agitatedly at the floor button marked six. As the car ascended, Tina closed her anger-brightened brown eyes and deliberately conjured an image of the object of her fury as she’d last seen him.

Even viewed through anger-clouded eyes, there was no denying that Dirk Tanger was one attractive specimen of masculine virility. Tina didn’t even attempt to deny it; she simply hated the man too much to be affected by it.

Who cared that he’d attained a height of at least six foot, three inches of near physical perfection? Or that every one of those inches was covered by taut, healthy-looking skin the exact shade of a gleaming bronze coin? Or, for that matter, that his tan face contrasted so gorgeously with his straight white teeth and complemented his burnished gold hair and beautiful, sapphire blue eyes?

Very likely hordes of misguided, not too awfully bright females cared, Tina though nastily, grimacing as she strode out of the elevator and along the carpeted hall to her apartment door.

But then, the poor dears didn’t know Dirk as she did. Tina forgave the unknown females pityingly. Tossing her supple leather handbag onto the nearest chair, she withdrew a crumpled paper from a deep pocket in her coat before flinging the garment after the bag. Smoothing the wrinkled paper out, she read the politely worded message for perhaps the fifteenth time, teeth grinding as her eyes scanned the neatly printed lines.

At that particular moment, Tina was positive she could easily strangle one overbearing, arrogant Dirk Tanger ... even if she had to stand on a ladder to reach his throat. Which was a bit of an exaggeration as she was only about seven inches shorter than he.

How dare that man refuse her access to her own money... again! Tina raged inwardly. And it wasn’t as if Dirk could possibly have misunderstood the situation, either. The letter she had written to him had been clear and distinct, informing him of the fact that if he did not advance her the sum of money she requested she would very likely lose everything; the emphasis being on the word everything.

And as if his refusal hadn’t been hard enough to swallow, the bastard had had his secretary send out a damned form letter!

Crumpling the letter—again—Tina tossed it onto her desk, then stormed to the wide window that framed the tall spires of Manhattan. Staring sightlessly through the pane, Tina curled long, slender fingers into her palm; oval nails digging into her flesh, she bit down hard on her lower lip. None of her ploys to stem the flow of stinging tears worked. Over-spilling her lids, the tears trickled then ran down her artfully made-up face, leaving black trails of watered mascara all the way to her usually determinedly set chin.

She had to get away before she started screaming, she realized. Drawing a ragged breath, Tina wiped at her wet face. She’d begun snapping at everybody in the shop after reading the letter this morning, and had actually come to within a hair’s breadth of firing Paul Rambeau, her most talented stylist. If she kept on like this there would be nobody left to keep the shop running—not that it mattered much, since she was probably going to lose it anyway if she couldn’t come up with some fast cash.

But where could she get the money? Resting her flushed face against the cold pane, Tina closed her eyes. She had borrowed to the hilt from the banks, and she’d be darned if she’d go to any of her friends for a loan; her friends weren’t aware she was having money problems. Tina would just as soon keep them in the dark. So, that left one source: Dirk Tanger, Tina’s financial guardian.

Raising her head, Tina looked down at her trembling hands. A bitter smile twisting her lips, she decided she could not—would not—go begging to Dirk looking like a washed-out, worn-out nervous wreck.

Walking slowly into her bedroom, Tina stood frowning at the pale reflection of her own image in the mirror above her dresser. The smudged mascara gave her the appearance of a woebegone raccoon, but even after she cleaned her face, Tina knew that she would still look pale and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes.

That couldn’t possibly be from sleeping a mere two to two and a half hours at any given stretch, now, could it? She silently asked the pathetic woman in the mirror. Lifting her hand, she raked her fingers through the wind-tossed mane of dark red hair that waved gently to her shoulders.

You need a rest, my girl, Tina advised her reflection wryly. A long rest in a quiet place; a place without pressures or hassles or bills marked overdue. But where ... other than an institution? The vacation house in the mountains had been a victim of the divorce she’d been a party to nine months before, so scratch the eagerly purchased, painfully given-up hideaway in the hills.

Stepping out of her boots, then her beige wool skirt, Tina mulled escape locations while preparing for a warm shower. The figure-hugging nubby-knit sweater was pulled off, then the lacy sage green bra sailed through the air in the general direction of the clothes hamper. Slipping off sheer panty hose and lacy matching bikini briefs, Tina left them where they lay and walked into the bathroom adjoining her bedroom.

Tina loved the black-and-white tiled bathroom. In fact, Tina loved the entire apartment. Glancing around as she briskly applied a toothbrush to her even white teeth, she sighed regretfully. The apartment would have to go; she simply couldn’t afford the rent on the place much longer. Blinking against a fresh onslaught of tears, she stepped under the shower, head bent to allow the warm spray to beat against the tense muscles in her neck.

First her car, she thought dejectedly, and soon her apartment. And if she didn’t come up with some money—a lot of money—she was going to lose the whole ball of wax, Tina raged silently.

And all because that man liked playing God with her inheritance. Actually gnashing her teeth, Tina turned the water off and grabbed a fluffy white bath sheet, drying herself carefully before stepping onto the deep-pile bath mat that covered a portion of the black-and-white marbleized tiles.

I could just murder that man!

Saying the words aloud eased the tightness in Tina’s chest somewhat and, strolling into the bedroom, she smiled as various methods of bringing about Dirk Tanger’s demise rose to tantalize her imagination. Contemplating the gorier of those methods, Tina absently tidied the room, a grim smile playing on her lips.

The room once again cleared of discarded clothing, she slipped into a pale rose silk robe and drifted, shoulders drooping wearily, from the bedroom to the large bright kitchen.

Where could she go to get some rest while strengthening herself to clash with the ogre in charge of her funds?

Thinking of, then discarding, several sites, Tina prepared a cold tuna salad supper ... knowing full well she would probably not eat it. Tina had eaten less and less each day as the financial bonds had slowly tightened around her. At five feet eight, she had sported a svelte figure mere weeks ago. Now she was beginning to look hollow and fragile, and she knew it.

Where can I go? She wondered distractedly, dipping an herbal tea bag up and down in a cup of hot water.

Go home.

Hand paused in midair above the steaming cup, Tina frowned at the answer her subconscious had provided.

Home?

Not even tasting the forkful of salad she’d put into her mouth, Tina chewed methodically as she rolled the word around in her mind.

Home.

Of course! Raising the cup to lips smiling with natural ease for the first time in months, Tina nodded her head briefly, decisively. What more perfect place to crawl into a hole to lick raw emotional wounds than a small seaside town in November?

None whatever, Tina told herself firmly, spirits rising. Polishing off the salad with renewed appetite, she sat back in the cane chair and sipped meditatively at her tea, a faraway expression in her eyes as she mused on the perfection of her hometown as a retreat.

Tina had been born in Cape May, New Jersey, and had always been proud of the fact that it was the nation’s oldest seashore resort town and a historic national landmark. Smiling reminiscently, she remembered singing her hometown’s praises while away at school, informing anyone and everyone of its famed Victorian architecture and its legendary visitors, from six presidents to John Philip Sousa and even Ford and Chevrolet, who, it was claimed, raced on the beaches.

Sighing with sudden, unaccountable homesickness, Tina jumped up and located the cordless phone. Without hesitation she punched out the home number of Paul Rambeau, her second-in-command at the shop she’d worked so hard to establish.

Paul answered on the third ring, his naturally deep voice pitched even lower than during working hours.

It’s only me, Paul, Tina said in a voice laced with amusement. No need to strain your vocal cords. Grinning at his inelegant snort of disappointment, she purred, Which one of your latest conquests were you expecting to call this evening? Paul always kept at least three eager women on his emotional string, each woman fully aware of the other two. In that way Paul adroitly avoided any deep involvement with any one female.

Serena, Paul replied in a tone of utter boredom that Tina knew was a part of his who-the-hell-cares act, What’s on your mind, boss lady? Or did you just this minute think of something you forgot to chew me out about this afternoon? Paul drawled wryly. But then, of course, Paul could afford to sound unconcerned. To Tina’s knowledge there were at least four of her competitors dangling lucrative bait under his nose in a bid to steal the very talented stylist away from her.

Tina winced. Had she behaved like a raving ogress that day? No, she asserted in answer to her own question, she behaved like a raving ogress every day! In all honesty, she couldn’t blame Paul if he bit the proffered bait and left her salon.

I’m sorry about this afternoon, Paul. Tina gave a poor excuse for a laugh. I’m sorry about every afternoon, she said expanding her apology.

No sweat, Tina. As usual, in private, Paul dropped the phony French accent he affected so well and slipped into the vernacular. I know the heat’s been on you lately to come up with a lot of bucks. Don’t sweat it. Something’ll turn up.

Tina was at once torn between laughter and tears. The idea of the ridiculously handsome, aristocratically austere-looking Paul Rambeau spouting slang brought a bubbling giggle to her throat; her comprehension of the support within that slang brought moisture to her eyes.

Paul, I ... I have to get away for a while, Tina said, swallowing the lump that had risen at his understanding.

Tell me about it, Paul murmured in an exaggerated drawl.

Can I dump the whole shooting match into your lap for a few weeks? she asked, already sure of his answer.

Can birds fly? Paul queried dryly. Is the Pope—

Tina groaned theatrically. Is that a yes? she prodded.

That is most definitely a yes, Paul assured with genuine seriousness. Get the hell out of town for a few weeks, or even a few months, and figuratively at any rate, tell your creditors to back it up for a while. Paul chuckled softly. I’ll keep the clientele happy ... one way or another.

Tina was still shaking her head in amusement as she hung up a few minutes later. As the majority of the shop’s clientele were female, Paul had not had to draw Tina a verbal diagram of exactly how he’d go about keeping them happy if all professional services failed.

Tina’s final request of Paul had been for the loan of his car, a sporty little BMW he valued more than any woman he’d yet found. Paul’s unhesitatingly swift granting of the favor said reams about the trust and friendship that had grown between them over the three years he’d worked for her. Interwoven with the friendship they shared was a deep mutual respect. Proof of this was in the fact that not at any time had Paul exerted his undeniably sexy charm on Tina.

With a lighter spring to her step, Tina swept back to her bedroom. As the arrangements were for Paul to drop his car off at her apartment in the morning before he went to open the shop, Tina decided to pack and make it an early night. Who knows, she thought wryly, dragging her suitcase from the closet, I might even sleep the night through for once!

* * * *

The speedometer reading a steady sixty, Tina held the steering wheel loosely as she cruised along the Garden State Parkway. A smile softened the somber slant of her lipline as she passed the exit sign for Ocean City’s business district.

And none too soon, she mused, surprised at the hunger pangs grumbling in her stomach. In less than an hour she should not only be at home but out again, shopping for food to stock the fridge. Excitement reinforced the hunger pains building inside Tina. By the time she finally drove the little car down the quiet tree-lined street, she felt half sick with anticipation.

Slowing to make the turn onto the curved street, Tina crept along, her misty gaze caressing the familiarity of it all. And there, near the very end of the street, stood her home, smaller, not as impressive as some of the other, more famous Victorian homes in the quaint community, but home just the same.

Parking along the curb, Tina sat still a moment, staring at the house she hadn’t seen in over five years. Would it