Pirate's Gold (1 of 3 free samples)

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COPYRIGHT
Pirate's Gold by Lisa Jackson. Copyright 2007 by Harlequin Books S.A.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

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PIRATE'S GOLD

Lisa Jackson


CHAPTER ONE

REVENGE.

Just the sound of the word appealed to him. It hadn't always been so. Once Kyle Sterling had considered it a pointless waste of time and effort. But that seemed a lifetime ago, long before the accident, and now he savored the bittersweet flavor of revenge.

The antique clock on the hand-hewn mantel ticked off the endless seconds of the long afternoon. With each sweep of the second hand, Kyle vowed to get even with his ex-wife for the needless pain she had unwittingly inflicted upon his child. He sat at his desk and stared at the phone, as if by watching the black instrument he could make it ring. It didn't.

Impatiently he strode across the airy room. At the bar he paused and then poured himself a stiff shot of bourbon. One hand rubbed his neck to loosen the tension in his shoulder muscles as he paced restlessly before the wide bay window and the view of the serene Pacific Ocean. He frowned into his glass and absently swirled the amber liquid. Deep lines of worry surrounded his piercing gray eyes when he examined his life. He didn't like what he saw. For thirty-seven years he had been kidding himself, caught in the reckless struggle for success.

The last ten years had taught him much: the shallow value of wealth, the folly of quick friendships and the brutal reality that a man had to stand alone, trust his own instincts and survey the rest of the world as the enemy. Kyle's thin lips twisted into a grim line of self-contempt that hardened the rugged angles of his famous features. Some people might call his ideology paranoid, or at the very least jaded. Kyle Sterling saw it as the simple truth, taught him by the mistress of deceit, his ex-wife, Rose Sterling. Or Sterling Rose, as she preferred to be known. Because of Rose, Kyle had learned a seething passion for revenge.

He seriously doubted that he would be foolish enough to trust a woman again, and he found that he really didn't give a damn one way or the other. The less he had to do with the opposite sex, the better. This whole wretched week had only reinforced his opinions, and he realized that his daughter was the only thing that really mattered to him.

He drained his drink, set the empty glass on the window ledge and loosened his tie. Though he expected a visitor later in the day, he didn't care that he looked as dog-tired as he felt. Ryan Woods was coming over later in the day to talk about business. Kyle had long awaited Ryan's report. He should have been anticipating the afternoon with relish, but he wasn't. No matter how he tried, Kyle couldn't take his mind off his child and his fear for her.

After contemplating another drink, Kyle rejected the idea and drummed his fingers restlessly on the polished surface of the cool window frame. His stormy gray gaze moved over the craggy cliffs on which his Spanish-style manor stood. He had to squint against the ever lowering sun. In the distance, brightly colored sailboats skimmed elegantly on the horizon, breaking the expanse of aquamarine sky and sea.

"Ring, damn you!" he muttered through clenched teeth as he glanced malevolently at the phone. Beads of sweat collected on the back of his neck, and his nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Yesterday's visit to the hospital and the gut-wrenching scene with his daughter still haunted him.

He remembered Holly's strained face, flushed and wet with hot tears. Her dark eyes were filled with anger, and her voice echoed down the hospital hallways when she screamed at him. "Go away. I hate you, Daddy . . . I don't want you here. I don't. Just go away and leave me alone, like you always have. I don't need you anymore!" The white bed sheet had been twisted in her fingers, and the nurses had had to subdue her. The last picture in his mind was of Holly holding her face in her hands and sobbing hysterically, her slim shoulders shaking from the ordeal. She looked young and pale in the sterile white room. At the doctor's request, Kyle had left the hospital, but Holly's words had continued to reverberate dully in his mind.

He raked his fingers through his coarse hair and glanced once again at the clock. How long could the operation take? Two hours? Four? It had been nearly five hours and still he had no idea as to her condition. All of his wealth couldn't buy him peace of mind or assure him that his daughter would ever be the same as she had been before the accident that had nearly taken her life six months ago. Holly had recovered, though slowly, and this last operation, a delicate one, was designed to repair her damaged uterus. Her life was no longer in jeopardy, but the center of her womanhood was.

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