Sweet Home Carolina Read Online Free Page B

her mouth shut. No sense in giving away her market
plans.
    “Don’t be naïve. The wealthy like a good bargain as much as
any, and they can find them in the Asian bazaars. Your only hope is
computerized looms and designs, and that takes expensive technology you don’t
possess.”
    “Computerization doesn’t put cash into the local economy,”
she argued. “Any plant, anywhere in the world can produce computerized design.”
    “Exactly,” he said with satisfaction, setting down his empty
cup and rising to offer his hand. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with someone
who so thoroughly understands the business. I don’t believe I caught your
name?”
    “Amaranth Jane Sanderson Warren,” she replied with every
name she could legally claim, “textile designer and former wife of Northfork
Mills’ CEO.” Not offering her hand in return, she smiled pleasantly over her
teacup.
    * * *
    Wearily, Jacques drove the Porsche down the narrow winding
mountain highway. He couldn’t remember when he’d slept last. There had been the
bon voyage party in London that had gone into the wee hours, the early overseas
flight where he’d spent his time reading research material, the long tedious
customs lines at the airport, delays in obtaining their vehicles, all compounded
by the long drive up here. And now he had to drive right back down again to the
hotel, with his trick knee growing stiffer for lack of exercise.
    He’d have to find a place to stay in Northfork. He needed to
be in the thick of things while he worked. It kept his mind occupied.
    But tonight, his mind was too tired to think of anything
except the intriguing woman he’d just encountered. When he’d first entered the
café, he’d thought he’d found a charming haven of mouthwatering aromas presided
over by a curvaceous angel. Her eyes had widened in surprise at their arrival,
her lush lips had parted in invitation, and for a very brief moment, he’d felt
the welcome of home.
    Until the lovely angel had revealed her decidedly sharp mind
and tongue. He appreciated her subtle digs and couldn’t resist his curiosity
about what else hid behind her calm demeanor. A kitten with claws might be an
apt description.
    He chuckled at her coup
de grâce over the tea. He appreciated her stubborn refusal to be walked
over. He was wary of the soft, malleable types who wrapped themselves around
him. Usually, they wanted something, and became intractable when he would not
give it.
    Gabrielle had been like that — soft, sweet, intelligent, and
very young. But then, so had he been. He’d given his wife everything she’d
wanted, so she had no reason to be stubborn. Until the day he hadn’t given her what she wanted.
    Which was why he tried to stay busy and not think. If he
hadn’t been so young and stupid, maybe things would have been different. Even
after all these years, the guilt and the pain ate at him.
    In some ways, staying busy acted as a tonic. He could party
all night, harass his employees all day, and still live quite comfortably with
himself. If he could just erase all memory of Gabrielle and his beautiful
Danielle….
    It had been ten years of working and partying, and he still
hadn’t succeeded in that one simple task. New tactics were needed, which was
why he was in this outpost of nowhere. He was getting too old for regrets. He
needed a different challenge.
    After parking outside the elegant resort his assistant had
located and handing his keys to the valet without noticing his surroundings,
Jacques limped into the majestically rustic lobby of the Grove Park Inn.
    Brigitte, his assistant, was already inside handling the
reception desk. He assumed Luigi, his driver and bodyguard, was overseeing the
luggage and checking out the accommodations. Jacques cornered Pascal and forced
him to pace the spacious lobby while he worked out the kinks. Everyone else
scattered looking for bars and entertainment. He’d been assured the resort had
a spa. The women would be happy,