A Billionaire's Redemption. Cindy Dees

in check. She was neither rich nor powerful. They’d destroy her.

      What had she been thinking, pressing charges against James Ward? It had been a foolish impulse. Insane. She’d gotten so carried away with the notion that now she could say or do whatever she wanted, that she’d forgotten the consequences the good people of Vengeance, Texas, would level at her.

      The SUV rolled smoothly down I-35, its powerful engine devouring the forty miles between Vengeance and Dallas. She frowned as Gabe guided the vehicle into the jungle of modern skyscrapers that was downtown.

      “Where are we going?” she finally asked.

      “I thought you might like a bite to eat.”

      Although it was a little early for supper, her stomach was roiling ominously. “I couldn’t possibly eat—” she started.

      “Nonsense. You’re thin as a rail, and I bet you haven’t eaten a decent meal in two weeks.”

      It was kind of him not to mention her father’s murder. But Gabe was right. Neither she nor her mother had been able to eat much since John Merris’s death. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

      “No, you’re not. You’ve had a lousy day and a big scare, and you’re pale. You look on the verge of fainting.”

      “I don’t faint!” she retorted indignantly.

      He flashed her a brief grin that knocked her indignation into the next county over. “I recall that about you. You’re a lot stronger than you look. I’ll never forget the way you and that crazy horse of yours ran me into the ground.”

      He remembered that fox hunt? She’d been seventeen, so that would make it eleven years ago. He’d made some snarky comment about girls not being able to keep up with the boys, and she had bet him a dollar that she would beat him in the annual cross-country race.

      “Speaking of which, you still owe me a dollar,” she declared.

      “Double or nothing at next spring’s fox hunt,” he retorted jauntily as he guided the car through downtown Dallas.

      She made a face. “I haven’t ridden a horse since I left for college. I’ll just take my winnings and call it good, thank you.”

      He stopped the car and a valet opened her door for her. Good grief, where were they? She looked up and was shocked to see he’d brought her to the Rosewood Mansion Hotel on Turtle Creek, known locally as simply, The Mansion. Its restaurant was routinely selected as one of the top ten in the world. He handed over the keys and joined her, offering his wool-suited forearm to her.

      “This is a bit more than a bite to eat, Gabe.”

      “How better to tempt a reluctant eater than with the finest food on earth?”

      She had to admit that every time she’d ever eaten here the cuisine had been nothing short of exquisite. “I’m not dressed properly—” she started.

      “Balderdash,” he declared. “I’ll get us a private dining room, and no one will see or care what you’re wearing.”

      She couldn’t decide whether to ask where he’d learned the word balderdash or if The Mansion really had private dining rooms, and ended up merely following him in disbelieving silence.

      Of course, a billionaire with more money than sense was clearly the sort of customer who rated a private dining room, which was fine with her tonight. The main dining room was a place where people went to see and be seen. In spite of the city’s size, Dallas’s elite social stratum was actually a fairly small and tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone else. The last thing she needed was to be seen sharing an intimate meal at The Mansion with her father’s archenemy.

      The maître d’ led them down a small, dim hallway. They passed briefly through the lobby of the hotel proper, and were ushered into a beautifully furnished room that looked like the parlor of a fine European estate. Floor-to-ceiling French doors overlooked a formal rose garden even her mother would envy, and beside the doors sat a linen-covered table set for two.

      “Will this be satisfactory, Mr. Dawson?”

      “It’ll do, thank you.”

      Willa was startled when Gabe stepped in front of the maître d’ to hold her chair for her. She sank into the upholstered Queen Anne chair with a murmur of thanks. Gabe sat down across from her, and suddenly, she was vividly aware of just how frighteningly alone she was with this big, masculine man.

      “Would you mind if I were completely frank with you for a moment, Willa?”

      “By all means. I always prefer honesty.”

      “You look a little apprehensive, as if I’m about to leap across the table and devour you.” He added wryly, “And if we’re being honest, I feel obliged to add that, contrary to your father’s opinion of me, I’m not a raving lunatic.”

      “I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied tartly, embarrassed that her trepidation showed.

      “Hey, I’m the good guy. I rescued you from the press, remember?”

      “You’re the guy who abandoned my father’s oil company and rubbed salt in my family’s wounds when he died.” She was a little shocked she’d said that. But they were being honest with each other.

      Gabe planted both elbows on the table and glared at her. Immediately, fear spiked inside her. Why had she provoked a big, strong man like him? In a similar situation, her father would have started drinking. The old, frozen terror rolled through her. When Daddy was drinking, it was best to hide in her room and not come out. Not get in his way. Not even cross his path.

      Who’d have guessed James Ward would turn out to be the very same way? Except now that she thought about it, she didn’t remember him drinking that night. What had set him off, then? Had she done something?

      She watched with intense relief as Gabe visibly corralled his irritation. Maybe he wasn’t like James Ward, after all. James had lost control and never reined himself back in. And she’d been the one to pay the price.

      When Gabe finally spoke, his voice was surprisingly calm. “Let’s address those accusations one at a time. First, I didn’t abandon your father. He fired me from Merris Oil. I showed him what I believed to be an entirely new method of discovering oil, and he declined to invest in my theory.”

      “I’ve heard it all before. Believe me.” She’d lost count of how many times her father had ranted about Gabe’s disloyalty in taking his theories to someone else to profit from.

      Gabe shrugged. “I lined up my own investors and proved my theory correct. Your father could’ve been in on it, but he made a bad business decision. That doesn’t make me the villain.”

      She’d wondered that very thing in private over the years, but in her family’s household, nobody would dream of contradicting the word of John Merris. If her father had declared Gabe Dawson a disloyal bastard who’d ripped him off of hundreds of millions of dollars, so it was.

      He continued, “And since we’re being brutally honest tonight, let me just say your father was not a nice man. His business practices routinely skirted the edge of outright illegality, and he didn’t hesitate to crush his competition not only professionally, but personally. He routinely used his political office for his personal advantage and for the good of his private oil business.”

      “Those are serious allegations.”

      “Admit it. You know they’re not just allegations. They’re the truth.”

      Part of her agreed with Gabe. But loyalty to family and never giving a negative sound bite to anyone had been pounded into her for so long she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud. “I stayed out of my father’s business and political affairs. I couldn’t comment on his ethics or lack thereof.”

      Gabe snorted. “Take my word for it. Your old man had the ethics of a junkyard dog.”

      She