A Risky Affair (6 page)

“A
re you absolutely sure I'm not keeping you from important business at the office?” Solange asked as she and Dane headed out of town in his black Dodge Durango, which had accommodated all of her belongings with room to spare. By the time the tow truck had arrived, nearly two hours had passed.

Dane slanted her an amused sidelong glance. “For the last time,” he drawled, “you're not keeping me from important business. It's Saturday. The only thing I was going to do at the office was catch up on some paperwork. Quite frankly, taking a scenic drive through the country sounds far more appealing.”

“If you're sure….”

A half smile quirked the corners of his mouth. “There you go again.”

“Sorry,” Solange said with a rueful grin. “Another bad habit I picked up from my mother—being overly considerate of other people's time.”

Dane shook his head slowly. “One thing you'll learn about me,” he said silkily, “is that I rarely, if ever, do anything I don't want to. Always remember that.”

His words, like a seductive promise, sent a shiver through her.

“Now stop worrying,” he said, “and just relax and enjoy the ride. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?”

Solange had to agree. The sun shone brightly against a cloudless, vivid blue sky. There was only a slight nip in the air to remind them it was December, not September. On the stereo, Nat King Cole crooned the timeless lyrics to “The Christmas Song,” evoking her favorite childhood memories of decorating the giant spruce tree with her mother and baking homemade apple cobblers her father would exclaim over. To her surprise, remembering her parents didn't make her sad, as it had every other day for the past eleven months. And despite everything that had happened with her car that morning, Solange felt a sense of peace wash over her.

She turned her head to study Dane Roarke beneath her lashes. She was struck once again by how handsome he was, how powerfully male. He wore a black T-shirt, dark jeans that clung to the strong, corded muscles of his thighs, and a pair of black Timberland boots that looked enormous. She'd been utterly shocked to open her door that morning and find him standing there, especially since she'd spent the past two days trying—unsuccessfully—not to think about him. She had no intention of becoming involved with him. She was on a mission to get her life back on track, to save enough money to realize her dream of attending law school. Romance did not factor into her plans, and a man like Dane Roarke would prove to be way too much of a distraction. Beneath his dark good looks, sinfully sexy smile and raw animal magnetism beat the heart of a dangerous man, the kind Eleanor Washington had always warned her about. Dane would never have to go out of his way to hurt any woman. He'd break her heart in the time-honored way preferred by most gorgeous, charming men: by simply being unattainable.

Solange had no wish to become one of his hapless victims. God knows she'd had more than enough of unavailable men. Yet she hadn't put up too much of a fight when Dane had insisted on driving her to the ranch. Against her better judgment, she'd wanted to spend more time with him, to explore the heat and attraction that had sizzled between them from the moment they met. She blamed it on hormones. It had been a while since she'd had sex.

“How do you know so much about cars?” she blurted, shoving aside the unwelcome reminder of her prolonged sexual drought. “The mechanic who arrived with the tow truck agreed with your assessment about the engine.”

Dane sent her a crooked smile. “You sound surprised.”

“I guess I am, a little,” Solange admitted. “Not too many men nowadays know about cars and things like that. At the first sign of trouble, they run to the nearest dealership for help.” She made a face. “Most guys I know haven't the faintest idea how to change the oil, let alone how to diagnose a bad engine.”

Dane chuckled softly. “Maybe you don't know the right men, Solange,” he said, sliding her a heavy-lidded look that made her pulse quicken. It was the first time he'd spoken her name, and hopefully it wouldn't be the last. The way he said it in that deep, intoxicating voice of his made it sound like the sexiest, most exotic name in the world.

He was right. She
didn't
know the right men. She'd definitely never encountered one like him before.

“Is that important to you?” Dane asked idly. “Being with a man who knows about cars?”

“I don't know.” Solange frowned, giving the matter careful consideration. “I'm not saying he has to know the latest advances in fuel injection systems, but if we're out on a date and we get a flat, he should at least be able to change the tire without requiring my assistance—especially if I'm wearing an expensive dress and three-inch heels.”

Dane threw back his head and roared with laughter. The deep, rumbling sound was so pleasant, so downright infectious, that Solange found herself joining him. And it felt good, really good. She hadn't had much to laugh about since her parents died. It didn't occur to her to question why it felt so natural to rediscover her sense of humor with Dane Roarke, a virtual stranger.

When their laughter finally subsided, Dane looked over at her and shook his head, dark eyes glittering with mirth. “Not exactly a feminist, are you, Miss Washington?”

She grinned unabashedly. “Hey, I'm as independent as the next gal, but I make no apologies for having certain basic requirements of the men I'm dating.” She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “What can I say? I grew up on a farm where, like it or not, the division of labor was largely determined by gender. That means on any given day, my father might have been out in the field tending the crops while my mama and I fed the horses, washed laundry and prepared dinner.”

As she spoke, Dane's dark, intent gaze roamed across her face. Afraid that she'd turned him off with all her farm talk, she started to say something clever, something hip, when he murmured, “So you're just a simple country girl at heart.” There was no mistaking the appreciation in his voice, the quiet sense of wonder, as if he thought she was a breath of fresh air.

Solange warmed with pleasure at the unspoken compliment. “I guess you could say I am.” She shot him a look of mock severity, adding in an exaggerated country drawl, “But that don't mean I'm a wide-eyed innocent, sport for you fancy city folk. Don't ever try to pull a fast one on me jes 'cause you think I'm gullible enough to fall for it. You'll rue the day you was born, y'hear?”

Dane grinned. “I'll consider myself forewarned.”

Solange smiled, enjoying the teasing banter between them—perhaps a bit
too
much.

Soon they were heading down an endless stretch of highway flanked by lush, green pastures dotted with grazing cattle and horses. These were familiar sights to Solange, not like the bustling freeways and urban sprawl they'd left behind in the city. She knew she'd feel right at home at Crandall Thorne's country estate. She hoped so, anyway.

“My father owns an auto repair shop,” Dane said suddenly, out of the clear blue. “I worked there during the summers when I was in high school and college. That's how I know so much about cars, to answer your previous question.” His mouth twitched. “So I have an unfair advantage over all those poor men you were berating earlier.”

Solange laughed. “You don't give yourself enough credit. Some of those very same men I was talking about had fathers, brothers and uncles who were mechanics, and they
still
knew absolutely nothing about cars.”

He chuckled low in his throat and shifted in his seat, heightening her awareness of him. She drew in a breath of his clean-scented male warmth and struggled to keep her eyes off the way his jeans molded the hard, sculpted muscles of his thighs.

“Where are you from?” she asked, as much to distract herself as to learn more about him.

“Houston. Born and raised.”

She nodded. “What brought you to San Antonio?”

“I used to visit all the time when I was growing up.”

“You have family here?”

He nodded. “An aunt and three cousins. My cousins—Kenneth, Noah and Daniela—are actually the owners of Roarke Investigations. I've only been there a year.”

“Where did you work before?” When he sent her a bemused sidelong glance, she said quickly, “I'm sorry. Was that too personal?”

He shook his head, but a solitary muscle tightened in his jaw. “I worked out of the FBI field office in Philadelphia.”

Solange waited, brows arched expectantly. When he offered no more, she tipped her head thoughtfully to one side and studied him. “You don't like to talk much about yourself, do you? That's very interesting coming from a man who makes a living investigating the lives of others.”

“I don't mind talking about myself,” Dane countered evenly. “But some things are more personal than others.”

Solange got the message loud and clear. Whatever had caused him to leave the FBI was not open for discussion—not with her, anyway. She told herself she was crazy for feeling a sharp pang of disappointment.

“Are you going to buy a new car?” Dane asked, deliberately changing the subject.

Solange sighed heavily. “I don't know. The Plymouth is way too old to pour any more money into.”

“I wouldn't recommend it,” he agreed. “Besides, you might not need your own vehicle. Unless I'm mistaken, one of the perks of being Crandall Thorne's personal assistant is unlimited use of a company car.”

Solange brightened. “I hadn't even thought of that. It would certainly make things a lot easier for me.”

Dane's mouth twisted sardonically. “Considering what that man is going to put you through, providing transportation is the
least
he can do.”

Solange huffed out an indignant breath. “That's it, mister. No more rude comments about my new boss, or my first order of business will be to find a new private detective agency for him to work with.”

Dane chuckled. “Touché.”

Thirty minutes later, Dane steered the truck through the heavy iron gates of Crandall Thorne's property. As the sturdy rig climbed uphill, the grind of wheels upon the gravel path sent clouds of dust through the open windows, but Solange was too riveted by the sight of the sprawling country estate to notice or care. Situated atop a five-hundred-foot bluff that boasted panoramic views of the surrounding valley, the Spanish-style ranch house was as impressive as she remembered, and now that she knew it would be her home for at least the next year, she felt even more awed.

As Dane nosed the truck into one of the three detached garages, a tall, brown-skinned woman in a sunny yellow dress emerged from the house and made her way over. Solange immediately recognized her as Rita Owens, her friendly hostess from her previous visit to the ranch.

Rita beamed a warm, welcoming smile as Solange and Dane spilled from the truck. “Why, ain't this a wonderful surprise?” she exclaimed, her eyes landing on Dane first. “I haven't seen you around here in ages. What have you been doing with yourself, Dane Roarke?”

He winked at her, grinning mischievously. “Nothing you'd approve of, Ms. Rita.”

She laughed, reaching up to give his lean cheek an affectionate pat. “I don't doubt it for one second.”

Her smile widened with pleasure as Solange appeared beside him. “Why, hello, Miss Washington,” she said, stepping forward to clasp both of Solange's hands in the warmth of her own. “It's so good to see you again. I can't tell you how pleased I was when Crandall told me he'd offered you the job. I had a very good feeling about you.”

Solange gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Ms. Rita. I hope I won't disappoint you.”

Rita waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, child. You have nothing to worry about. Now then, let's get you settled into your room. Crandall had to go into town, but he promised to return before nightfall. In the meantime, the two of you can join me for dinner. Don't look so surprised. We always eat dinner earlier on the weekends. Gloria is putting the finishing touches on her award-winning lasagna.”

“Sounds good,” Dane said, “but I should probably get back—”

“You'll do no such thing,” Rita said with an adamant shake of her head. “It's Saturday—whatever you need to do at the office can wait. From what I hear, you spend too much time there, anyway. I won't take no for an answer,” she doggedly continued when Dane opened his mouth to protest the accusation. “You're joining us for dinner, young man, and that's all there is to it. Besides, you brought Miss Washington all the way out here. The
least
I can do is feed you.”

Chuckling, Dane held up his hands in surrender. “Yes, ma'am. I'm not going to argue with you.”

“Why, I think that's the smartest thing any man has ever said to me,” Rita quipped with a teasing wink at Solange. “By the way, what happened to your car, baby?”

Solange heaved a deep, mournful sigh. “The engine died on me.”

Rita nodded sympathetically. “Figured as much. That old clunker reminded me of a cantankerous fella I once dated. Humph.
He
wasn't built to last either.”