Her Royal Bed (3 page)

Sweat dampened the sheets, held their bodies together as outside the moon once again escaped the cover of a cloud and brilliant yellow light beamed into the room, as if to remind them that their encounter was coming to a close.

But Bobby didn't seem to have the same interpretation of the moon's movement. He gathered Jane against him, held her tightly and brushed a kiss over her forehead.

Jane rested her cheek on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. “We should probably get up, get dressed and go back down to the party,” she whispered, the hair on his chest tickling her cheek.

“Probably,” he uttered.

But that was all he would say as the minutes ticked by and his breathing slowed. He'd given in to sleep, and for a moment, she wholeheartedly wished she could do the same. To wake up with Bobby, maybe make love a second time before this whole mad fantasy of an evening came to a close. But then reality started to pinch at her. She'd wanted to be close to this man, feel his energy, his pain, his mouth, and she had. What she needed to do now was rise, brush off the tiny flecks of shame she felt for allowing such a tryst to happen and leave.

Her breathing shallow, she disentangled herself from Bobby's warm and heavenly grasp and sat up. It took her only moments to slip back into her panties and her dress, which had been in a rumpled pile on the floor. Then she looked back at Bobby Callahan. He looked so
appealing in the washed light of the moon, his dark, powerful body wrapped in the sheets.

A flash of memory assaulted her, brought shivers to her skin—hands, strong and large, exploring, tantalizing.

She almost cast aside all her good sense and crawled back into bed with him. But instead she covered him gently with a blanket, grabbed her heels and slipped from the room.

S
he was an untamed beast with a spirited attitude, but it was her elegance and beauty that had his muscles flexing and his pulse pounding in his blood.

The burnt-orange sun dipped into the horizon as Bobby came to a quick stop in the dirt. The charcoal-gray mare trotting beside him followed suit, snorting and smacking the ground with her hoof. Breaking two-year-olds could be a boring process; weeks of training on the ground before you even thought about riding. And even after you did get to ride, there was still not all that much excitement in store. Very little bucking, and a rare thing to take a tumble.

But this lady, Bobby mused, giving the mare at his right an appreciative look—she was spectacular. Her
eyes darted with excitement, as if she wanted him to challenge her nature and instincts.

Bobby reached around, pushed his finger into the horse's shoulder, then ribs and hip, grinning when she quickly understood to calmly step away from the pressure. Not a day went by when he wasn't breaking or training a horse for someone. It was how he made his living, how he kept the ranch going and the kids coming. Sure, the private donations were large, but they were also few and far between.

Bobby pulled on each side of the mare's mouth, softening her jaw. This mare was for Charlie Docks, a sweet old man who had a place just north of Paradise, and to whom Bobby had turned for help and humbling support when his father had died all those years ago. He wouldn't be seeing a bundle of cash for breaking Charlie's mare, though. The man didn't have much, but he had offered Bobby a nice, reliable old nag for the kids in exchange.

“That Charlie's gal?”

Bobby glanced up, pushed his Stetson back. “Yep.”

Standing at the corral gate, his foot propped up on a steel rung, was Abel Garret. KC Ranch's foreman was almost as big as Bobby, but a sight older with short, graying blond hair, pale-green eyes and a time-worn face. Abel had never told Bobby his exact age, but Bobby had guessed he was somewhere in his fifties. Thing was, he could stick on a grizzly attitude if he had a mind to, and sometimes it made him seem older. Folks thought he was a curmudgeon, but losing a wife to another man could do that to a person.

“Pretty thing,” Abel remarked.

Saddle pad in hand, Bobby gently and rhythmically slapped the dusty pad against the horse's side. “Sure is. Smart as a whip, too.”

Abel lifted a brow. “You're getting paid for this, right?”

“So to speak.”

Abel chuckled, took off his Stetson and plowed a hand through his hair. “Couple chickens and a quilt?”

“C'mon, now. The man's got nothing but a good wife and ten head of Angus. He needs a respectable horse.”

“Sure he does. But we don't got all that much more.”

Bobby scrubbed a hand over his face, barbed with a day's growth of beard. He wasn't a rich man, but he was comfortable, had food on his table and a good business that did good work. “We've got thirty-two head,” Bobby said to Abel, an easy grin playing about his mouth. “And you've been more than a good wife to me.”

Abel frowned. “Shut yer face, will ya?”

Chuckling, Bobby said, “You know that you're talking to your boss?”

“Yeah, I know it.”

Bobby moved down the mare's body, gently slapping the pad against her muscular legs. “Janice Young is coming by today.”

“Who?”

“Woman I met at the Turnbolts' charity event last week.” A shot of heat went through Bobby at the memory. But it had nothing to do with Janice Young. As far as Bobby was concerned, he'd noticed only one woman that night. A woman with smoky-green eyes, hair down her back and legs so long he'd have sworn she could've
wrapped them around him twice—a woman who had taken over his mind and his body for the past seven nights. Hell, he'd barely dropped on his bed at night before the visions of her slammed into his brain, before sweat broke out on his forehead and the lower half of him went hard as steel.

“Right,” Abel said, the late-afternoon sun still pounding him full force. “Forgot to ask you about that shindig. How'd it go?”

“Pretty dull.” Bobby was closemouthed about women, even with Abel.

“So why's this gal coming by?”

“Her husband's law firm is donating ten grand to KC Ranch.”

“Well, we can sure use it,” Abel uttered, then paused, eyed Bobby with an amused expression. “She want anything in return?”

Bobby swatted away a nagging fly. “She's pushing seventy, Abel.”

“Don't matter. Every time you come back from one of them things the phone is ringing off the hook. And I always end up talking to 'em, trying to make them lovesick fillies understand you ain't at home.” He shook his head, rolled his lips under his teeth. “Won't be your damn secretary, Callahan. Didn't sign on for that.”

“No one asked you to talk to them, Abel. Just tell them to call back.”

Abel muttered something unintelligible that involved him ripping off his Stetson and swatting it against his worn jeans.

Bobby stared pointedly at the older man. “We're
lucky people are calling, and we're damn lucky to get the funds. It's for the kids, and don't you forget it.”

Abel looked as if Bobby had sucker-punched him. “I'd never forget that and you know it!”

Bobby tossed the pad on the ground. “Yeah, I know.”

Neither one of them said anything, just stood there, uncomfortable. It was strange. When Kimmy was alive, they'd been a family—the three of them together for dinner and holidays, working the ranch. She'd always made them laugh, made sure they didn't take themselves so seriously. Bobby and Abel had struggled somewhat since her death, trying to find their footing, trying not to be so serious.

The memory of Kimmy, of her beautiful wide face and huge grin, those sky-blue eyes and her bossy ways, slammed into Bobby, made him feel breathless with pain for the recent loss.

Clearing his throat, Abel, pushed away from the steel gate. “I could use a beer. How 'bout you?”

Bobby gave a clipped nod and muttered, “Sounds good.”

Beside Bobby, the mare snorted, her eyes flashing with a readiness for freedom Bobby understood all too clearly. She'd done well today. He gave her thigh a light smack and hollered. She took off toward Abel, who quickly opened the gate and allowed her to run past him, out into the pasture.

The men walked side by side toward the main house, their strides equally long and purposeful.

“Got another one 'round the corner, don't you?” Abel asked.

“What's that?” Bobby said.

“Another one of them charity things.”

“Friday night.” Bobby was dirty and dusty as hell. Not fit to look at, kind of like most days, but he wanted to see that woman again, right here, right now. He wondered if she'd be at that charity event. He wanted to see if she was real, if those emerald-green eyes of hers would once again streak with gray when he kissed her. He wanted to taste her again, do things he'd fantasized about doing ever since he'd woken up in an empty bed.

He sniffed and rolled his eyes as they went into the house and headed for the kitchen. He was acting like a real jackass with all this frilly thinking. He liked women, liked taking them to bed, and that night at the Turnbolts' shouldn't have been any different.

Except that it was.

He grabbed two cold beers from the fridge. On most occasions, one night of good, mutually pleasurable sex was enough for him. But Jane Hefner had wreaked havoc inside Bobby, and he wanted to see her again. Not only because he wanted to touch her, but because he wanted to know why the hell she'd left him. The question consumed him.

“Is it a tea party or fancy-dress ball?” Abel said, taking a chug of his beer.

Bobby's mouth tugged with humor as he leaned back against the counter. “Barbecue, actually.”

Abel snorted. “Pulled pork and Oscar de la Whatshisname.”

“I'm going to plug KC Ranch. That's all.”

“'Course.”

Bobby tipped his beer in Abel's direction and grinned. “You want to go?”

“I'll work for you, Bobby,” Abel said, real slow and deliberate, “I'll even answer the phone for you on occasion—but I sure as hell won't date you.”

 

“I have never seen you so nervous. What is wrong, my sister?”

The man before Jane was tall, dark, wealthy, charming and decadently handsome—he also had her eyes.

Sakir Al-Nayhal offered Jane his hand as she stepped out of the limousine. “I'm fine, Sakir, just keyed up.”

“Keyed up?” Under his brand-new brown Stetson, his thick black brows drew together. “What is this,
keyed up?
”

Sakir's wife, Rita, laughed and slipped her arm through his. “She's excited, sweetheart.”

“Why are you excited?” Sakir asked as they walked the short pathway to the Gregers' massive ranch house.

Jane mentally rolled her eyes. If her brother only knew what was making her pulse pound furiously and her breath hitch. But of course he didn't. With all of his focus going to his new daughter, his wife and his work, he'd barely acknowledged that his sister had gone to a charity function last week.

Jane, on the other hand, hadn't been able to stop thinking about the affair at the Turnbolts', and about Bobby Callahan. Those raw blue eyes haunted her dreams, as did that scar on his lip that she'd traced with her tongue, and the hot-blooded, hungry way he'd made love to her. If that was not enough, her thoughts would stray from his physical attributes to the more
emotional queries, such as, had she done the right thing leaving without a word? And was that why he hadn't tried to find her, to ask her out again? Maybe he wasn't all that thrilled with her or the time they'd shared.

Her heart dropped into the brown distressed-leather boots she'd bought just that morning, along with a pair of jeans and a faded denim jacket. She wasn't all that experienced in the ways of lovemaking, but she knew this much—she'd been dangerously passionate with him that night.

It was a risky thing to let your imagination run wild, she decided as they stepped inside the Gregers' home and settled into the jovial crowd of exceedingly wealthy cowboys and cowgirls.

The interior of the ranch house looked like something out of
Home and Garden,
the Texas edition. This was no easy homestead as she'd imagined Bobby Callahan's KC Ranch to be, but an elegantly rustic home with beamed ceilings, gleaming hardwood floors covered in colorful rugs, a massive brick fireplace and a wall of glass that was now retracted to allow partygoers to use the sprawling backyard.

As Sakir led them outside where the real party seemed to be taking place, Jane's gaze darted here and there, looking for the tallest, largest and sexiest
real
cowboy in the crowd. He'd be here, wouldn't he? Texas society went to everything, didn't they? And he was a pretty sought-after member of the Dallas crowd, though selective about which parties he attended. She only knew this because of what Mary Beth Turnbolt had said
in her speech that night, and the few articles she'd read about Bobby Callahan and his ranch on the Internet.

Excitement and nerves were forming mini tornados in her stomach as a concerned female voice uttered, “Jane?”

Jane forced her gaze back to her family. Rita was watching her, curiosity lighting her eyes. And Sakir seemed to be assessing her. Jane gave them both a bright smile. “You two enjoy yourselves. I'm going to work now, see if I can scrounge up some barbecue to taste, and a staff to interrogate.”

“We don't want you working the whole party, Jane,” Rita said, smoothing the skirt of her denim dress. “Do we, Sakir?”

“Jane must do as she thinks best, but it is fact that Al-Nayhals are most content when they are working.”

Rita lifted an amused eyebrow. “Most content working, huh?”

A slow grin worked its way to Sakir's full mouth. “Work is contentment,” he acknowledged, nodding, “while pleasure, amusement and overwhelming happiness are what I get from you, dearest.”

On a laugh, Rita said, “That's better.”

For a moment, Jane watched the pair. Just as it was with her eldest brother Zayad and Jane's best friend, Mariah, Sakir and Rita made love look so wonderful, so safe. She envied them all, wondered if such a blissful state would ever befall her.

“I'll see you both later, okay?”

Sakir nodded, and Rita smiled, said, “We'll meet you by the dance floor for dinner in, say, an hour?”

Jane nodded. “Sounds good.”

As they walked away, Jane grinned at her brother in his jeans and boots, so completely bizarre-looking on a man who wore suits, expensive sportswear or a formal kaftan 24/7.

But they were both a long way from Emand and its edicts, weren't they? she thought, walking around the backyard, through the gardens and over to a circle of barbecues, where a crowd had gathered, inhaling the mouthwatering scents of hickory, beef and pork. Yes, she was away from her father's homeland and her mother's place in California. She was here in Texas, trying to decide where her life was going, where she belonged and if she was ever going to realize her dream of opening her own restaurant.

She looked around. She didn't see any sign of Bobby Callahan, and with a flood of disappointment, she wondered if he might not be coming. She'd dressed with such care, too, wearing a pretty green silk blouse, and she'd even spent a good twenty minutes on her hair and makeup.

Forcing back the melancholy snaking through her, she decided to concentrate on the real reason she was at the Gregers' party—to taste and talk, and potentially to employ.

By eight o'clock, she'd hired two waiters and an assistant chef for Sakir and Rita's party. She'd also tasted some of the best barbecue in her life. She was very pleased with herself, and quite preoccupied as she made her way to the dance floor to meet her brother and sister-in-law—so preoccupied in fact that she hardly noticed when someone put a hand on her shoulder.