Her Royal Bed (4 page)

But the voice, that deep, sensual timbre, sent her reeling back to a night of careless, heedless passion—one of the best nights of her life.

“You look beautiful tonight, darlin'.”

Jane turned around, her breath hitching. He stood before her, the man she'd given up hope she'd see tonight, an easy smile on his face. She looked him over greedily. He wore a pair of worn dress boots with faded jeans that hugged his powerful thighs and, under a caramel suede jacket, a blue shirt made his chest look a mile wide, while the color made his eyes pop.

He pinched the tip of his stone-colored Stetson and gave her a nod.

She felt like a teenager, all nervousness and thrill. “Hello.”

“Hello?” he repeated, his grin, sexy. “That's all I get?”

Playing along, she cocked her head to the side. “What more do you want?”

He shrugged. “How about a few answers to a few questions?”

“I'll do my best.”

“Want to tell me why you up and left me in the middle of the night?”

The question took the breath from her, and she forced a smile. “Jumping right into it, are we?”

“Why not?”

“All right.” She shook her head. “I thought it might be best if I wasn't caught in nothing more than a sheet in the house of—”

“You were in more than a sheet, darlin',” he interrupted with a grin. “Had my arms around you, didn't I?”

She laughed. “Is my face red? Because it sure feels like it is.”

“Your face is fine. Beautiful actually.”

Warmth curled in her belly, and around them the room spun slowly, the noise of the crowd dulled. “As I was saying, I thought it might be best if I wasn't caught in nothing more than a sheet…et cetera.” She grinned as he laughed again. “We were in a stranger's bedroom, after all.”

“Hardly a stranger,” Bobby corrected. “Hal and Mary Beth have been friends of mine for a long time.”

“
Your
friends, not mine,” she pointed out.

“They're very nice people. They'd have embraced you.”

“Something that would've been good to know nine days ago.”

“Ten,” he corrected.

Jane stared at him, into those soulful blue eyes of his, and felt her breasts tighten, felt the muscles between her thighs tingle. So, he had thought about her, had counted the days, had wanted to see her again.

She cleared her throat. “So the Turnbolts didn't ask why you'd fallen asleep in one of their guest rooms? Naked?”

“They thought I'd just tied one on.”

“Ah.”

“They were real hospitable. Eggs, bacon and fresh-squeezed orange juice in the morning.”

“Sounds good,” said Jane, as behind her, the band leader announced a two-step.

“Not as good as a different morning activity might've been.” He laughed at her stunned expression. “Before I
scare you away with all my innuendo and good-old-boy frankness, have a dance with me.”

“I don't know this kind of dancing.”

He took her hand in his and led her out on the floor. “Trust me, Jane Hefner.”

She smiled at him and slipped her hand in his. “But I hardly know you, Bobby Callahan.”

He grinned. “Boy, we're gonna have to remedy that, don't you think?”

“Yes, I think so.” She'd never flirted so outrageously in her life—but of course, as far as Bobby Callahan went, she seemed to be racking up a laundry list of firsts.

He moved with masculine grace, slow, sexy, making sure she was taken care of as they circled the floor. At one point the music came to a twangy crescendo and he led her into a slow turn, then pulled her back into his arms. “So you know why I come to these things—to help out my ranch—but why are you here? You're not a society lady, are you?”

“No,” she said, slightly breathless as she felt his chest brush against the tips of her breasts. “I'm a chef.”

“Oh, a woman who can cook,” he said with a slight growl. “Be still my heart.”

She grimaced and said with mock severity, “That sounds a little nineteen-fifties, Bobby.”

“It's Mr. Callahan.” He grinned. “Maybe it does sound a bit old-fashioned, but it's a lost art.”

“What exactly? Cooking? Or cooking for your man?”

He released her hand, and touched the brim of his hat. “Don't get me wrong. This goes both ways. Women
don't have the time to take care of their men anymore, and the men won't take the time to please and care for their women.”

Jane opened her mouth to reproach this statement, but she promptly shut it. He was right, she'd just never heard anyone say something quite like that. In fact, she'd never heard anyone speak the way he did—honest, forthright and just plain sexy.

“So you're a chef,” he said, giving her another twirl. “Where do you work?”

“So, you didn't try and find out about me, huh?” she chided. But deep-down, she held her breath for his answer.

“As a matter of fact I did. But the Turnbolts didn't know a Jane Hefner.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you crash that party or something?”

She laughed. No, the Turnbolts wouldn't have recognized her name. They'd only known her as an Al-Nayhal, and if Bobby had tried to describe her that might not have worked, either, as they'd only seen and spoken to her briefly. “The truth is, I'd heard who the guest speaker was going to be, and I just had to get in to see him, no matter what the danger.”

He grinned. “Well, I'm flattered, darlin'.”

If he wanted to, he could say
darlin'
at the end of every sentence.

“So you didn't tell me,” he said, catching her attention, once again. “Where do you work, so I can come in and—“

“Heckle me?” she joked.

“Have a bite,” he said slowly, his eyes hooded and
slightly dangerous as they swayed slow and easy into the strains of the music.

Ripples of excitement ran through her, and she knew she was powerless to resist this man. They had serious chemistry, the kind the women's magazines were always having you take a poll to help you find. “Unfortunately, I don't work at a restaurant here. I was working in California for a long time, but I've recently acquired some new family members here, and a quasi-catering gig.” She shook her head. “It's a strange situation, and probably dull for you—”

“Stop right there.” He laced his fingers with hers, stepped closer, even as the music ended and couples left the dance floor. “Dull is the very last thing you are.”

“Jane?”

Jane heard her name being called, recognized the man who spoke it, but had a hell of a time turning away from Bobby to face him.

“I think we've interrupted something,” Jane heard Rita say softly, but with a ring of a smile, behind her.

“And I am glad of that,” Sakir said coldly. “Jane?”

This time Jane turned, saw her brother and sister-in-law standing there and smiled apologetically. Rita looked bright-eyed and interested. Sakir, on the other hand, appeared intense and irritated.

Unsure of what was bothering her brother, Jane made quick introductions. “Sakir, Rita, I'd like you to meet—”

Sakir cut her off. “We know each other.”

“Oh,” Rita said, confused.

“Unfortunately,” Bobby muttered, from beside her.

Jane turned to look at Bobby Callahan. Gone was the
charming, funny and highly sensual man she'd just danced with, and in his place stood a man of stone, a thick vein pounding in his temple.

“What's wrong?” she whispered to him.

Bobby acted as though he hadn't heard her. He stared at Sakir, his gaze hooded like a predatory hawk.

“Is it possible for us to behave like civilized gentlemen tonight, Callahan?” Sakir said, ice threading his tone as he stuck out a hand in Bobby's direction.

Eyes narrowed, Bobby stared at Sakir. “It'll be a cold day in hell before I shake the hand of the man who stole my father's land and helped put him in the ground.”

I
t had been close to eight years since his father's death, yet the anger that now burned in Bobby's blood was stronger and more dangerous than ever.

His fierce gaze never left Sakir Al-Nayhal as they seemed to circle each other, challenging each other, without moving a muscle. The party went on around them. Guests ate and drank, women flirted with men and the host and hostess gave their tenth tour of the night.

Beside Bobby, Jane tugged at his hand and asked, her voice threaded with concern, “What in the world is going on?”

Gesturing to Sakir, Bobby muttered a terse, “This man, this friend of yours, is a thief and a liar.”

“What?” said Jane in shocked tones. “What are you talking about?”

“A rich and powerful thief, but a thief nonetheless.”

“Careful, Callahan,” Sakir warned, his mouth grim with dislike.

“Sakir?” Al-Nayhal's wife spoke, her tone even, but concerned. “Maybe we should discuss this at another time? This doesn't seem like the place to—”

“Discuss what?” Jane demanded, this time looking at Sakir.

“He is angry because his father lost his family's land,” Sakir explained to Jane.

“He didn't lose anything,” Bobby growled with deep menace, not caring who overheard him. “You set out to destroy him, and you did.”

“Destroy him?” Sakir repeated, sniffing as if that were the silliest idea in the world.

“How many times did you approach my father about buying his property, Al-Nayhal?”

“I will not go over this again—”

“What was it? Five, six times?”

“Sakir, what is he saying?” Jane demanded, alarm threading her tone now.

Sakir sighed with annoyance. “When I came to Texas I wanted to acquire several acres of land. The oil industry here was on the decline. Callahan's land was on the auction block, and in dire need of environmental changes I might add, so I acquired it.”

Bobby snorted bitterly. “You're getting so good at spouting off that story, somebody'll think you actually believe it.” His voice dropped, and through gritted teeth he uttered, “Bottom line is, my father wouldn't sell you his land, so you went about getting it any way you could.”

“Rita's right,” Jane said as people began to stare. “Maybe we should take this conversation inside.”

“Or better yet, let us postpone the discussion altogether,” Sakir suggested tightly. “It grows tiresome.”

Bobby finally turned to look at Jane, who appeared pinched and uneasy. “How do you know this guy?” he asked her, not caring that she'd stepped back a few inches.

She didn't answer him at first, looked from him to Sakir, then back again.

“She is my sister,” Sakir supplied for her.

“What?” A slow, sinking feeling pushed into Bobby's gut.

Sakir raised his already tipped chin. “She is Al-Nayhal.”

“I told you that I had family here,” Jane said slowly, her green gaze—so like her
brother's
—filled with worry.

But Bobby was in no mood to offer her any comfort. “You also said that your name was Hefner.”

“It is. Sakir's my half-brother. I didn't know he existed until just a few months ago.”

Bobby sniffed derisively. “I'm sorry for you.”

Sakir spoke in a quiet, though ultra-threatening, tone. “Again, I caution you to be careful, Mr. Callahan.”

“Or what?” Bobby spat. “You'll try and take the measly twenty-five acres of my father's land you left behind? Not going to happen. I've paid you every last cent for the place, including interest.”

Sakir acknowledged this with a nod. “So you have.” He placed a hand protectively around his wife's shoulders. “Understand, Mr. Callahan, that, like you, I feel impassioned over the well-being of my family.”

Dark, blood-red heat tumbled through Bobby's chest and gut. He looked at Jane, at the beautiful, seductive woman who had captured his mind and body, had made him feel alive for the first time in a month, with new eyes. Was it possible that this whole thing had been nothing more than a game to her? Did she know about his history with the Al-Nayhals?

Bitterness flooded him. He had to remember that this woman belonged to a family who apparently thought it was nothing to use and hurt others—all in the name of acquisition.

“Jane is part of my family,” Sakir continued ominously, in the same tone he'd used eight years previous to tell Bobby he'd never sell the Callahan's land back to a Callahan. “And I ask you not to forget that.”

“Believe me, I won't,” Bobby said without emotion before he turned and walked away.

 

When Jane sat down next to Rita at a nearby table a moment later, she felt as though she'd just been tossed into an emotional whirlpool. Bobby had stalked off in one direction and, when she'd tried to speak to Sakir to ask him a few questions, he'd taken off in the other direction, leaving Jane with bits and pieces of a cruel, wicked, time-worn story. The man she was desperately interested in getting to know on one side and her newly found brother on the other.

The dry heat from the barbecues moved over and through her, making her feel breathless and very weary. What in the world did she do now? Try to find out both sides of this tale? Or give up on a potential relationship,
give up on something that seemed real—give up on a chance for something of her own? Because this thing between her and Bobby was tainted with her new life, a life she hadn't even come to grips with, much less embraced.

A deep longing for the familiar moved over her in smooth, uncomplicated waves. She knew it was a childish thought, but she missed her mother, missed how the woman had held her and kissed her hair when she felt unsure of the world.

“I'm so sorry about all of this, Jane.” Beside her, Rita inched closer, her forced smile uneasy.

“What just happened?” Jane asked.

“That was pretty much business as usual for Sakir.” Rita grimaced. “I only know Bobby by reputation, but that was a very different view of the charming cowboy I've heard the women around town go on about.”

Very different from the man Jane had made love to ten days ago and flirted with tonight. “Do you know what really happened to his father's land?”

“Sakir's only talked about it once. Supposedly, Bobby's father made some foolish deal with a shady oil-drilling company. They never paid, and much of the land was ruined because of their bad drilling practices. Soon after, the property was seized by the bank and put on the auction block. Sakir was just getting started here. He wanted to buy some property for grazing land for cattle. There was nothing spiteful in the purchase, I don't think.”

Mixed emotions flooded Jane as she listened to her sister-in-law. Bobby's loss and Sakir's gain. Nothing seemed right, but she wasn't certain of what was wrong
or who was in the wrong. “Bobby accused Sakir of putting his father in the ground. What did that mean?”

Rita looked pained. “Bobby's father passed away just a few months after the land was sold.”

“Oh, God.” Jane could hardly make sense of all of this. Losing your land, then your father. Caring for your sister alone. Wasn't he entitled to some anger and hostility?

But was that anger misplaced?

She didn't know.

“Bobby also spoke about twenty-five acres?” Jane prompted.

Rita nodded. “Sakir did let Bobby buy back a few acres, along with the old house he'd grown up in.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

“And why not let him buy back the whole thing if he could?” Jane asked, as much to herself as to Rita.

Rita shook her head, played with a silver fork. “I honestly don't know. Sakir won't go into that, and I didn't want to push him. It's a sore subject.”

“For them both.” The heat from the barbecues was almost irritatingly suffocating now. “Why won't Sakir talk about this with me?”

“Sakir doesn't like his honor questioned.”

Jane released a breath. Sakir was just like his eldest brother, Zayad, the Sultan of Emand. Business was done in a strict fashion, no games. But they were both very honorable, very good, kind men. She couldn't imagine Sakir doing something underhanded.

“By the way,” Rita said with quiet familiarity. “How
do you know Bobby Callahan? You didn't just meet tonight, did you? You seemed…close.”

Her sister-in-law's words ripped at her heart. They had been, in a crazy, short time, oddly connected. By a mutual desire, a steady interest and a similar pain. “We met at the Turnbolts' charity function.”

“And?”

“And what?”

A soft, knowing smile touched Rita's lips.

Jane laughed half heartedly, shook her head. “You're very good at this.”

Leaning in, Rita whispered, “I have a sister. Ava can never keep a secret from me, either.”

Jane looked out over the crowd, tried to spot Bobby Callahan, but he was nowhere to be found. Odds were good that he'd already taken off. When Jane found Rita's gaze once again, she studied the woman. “How good is our friendship?”

A warm smile touched Rita's mouth. “Well, I'd say we're sisters now.”

Jane nodded, then lowered her voice and said, “Bobby and I were together at the Turnbolts' charity do.”

“Together?” Rita repeated.

Jane raised her brows suggestively.

“Oh,” Rita said, surprised.

“It was one night, amazing, wonderful…” She put her head in her hands and groaned.

“I understand,” Rita said comfortingly.

“Sakir can't know this,” Jane said gravely.

“Sakir doesn't need to know this,” Rita assured her. “It's your business, your relationship.”

Jane looked up and heaved a sigh, tracing the edges of the white china plate before her. “Well, I think any chance of a relationship was just—”

“Tossed out the window?” Rita supplied.

Feeling overwhelmingly grievous, Jane shook her head. “Try catapulted.”

 

He could go to hell for thoughts like this.

But as Bobby Callahan rode like the devil over his land, he felt defiantly resolute.

Finally, he would have his revenge on Sakir Al-Nayhal. Finally, he would honor the memory of his father.

On Josiah Callahan's deathbed, he'd asked just two things of his son, to take care of his sister, Kimmy, and to pay back the man who had stolen so much from them. There was nothing Bobby wouldn't do for his father, for the man who had felt honored to be the parent of a handicapped daughter, the man who had considered his life to be the easiest and most rewarding a man could have.

The part of Bobby that felt angry at his dad for giving up and leaving him and Kimmy alone, would forever be buried in his heart.

He hauled back the reins in his fist, brought his horse to a stop just inches from the property line he'd spent years memorizing. The line that separated his land from the land Sakir Al-Nayhal had stolen. For the first three years after his father's death, Bobby had sat on this imaginary line, his butt in the dirt, his heart and soul wrecked. He'd imagined all sorts of ways to get his revenge. He'd fantasized about getting even with Sakir Al-Nayhal. Making him pay, making him realize what pain really was.

The woman who'd called herself Jane Hefner entered his mind with a quick shot of desire. Bobby wasn't altogether sure if she'd lied to him or not, if she'd known who he was all along and had been playing him—after all, he wouldn't put anything past that family.

But he almost didn't care.

Jane Hefner Al-Nayhal was going to be the answer to his eight-year quest. She liked him, he knew it, and he was going to make her fall in love with him, desperately in love with him, then toss her back into the arms of her brother, rejected and shattered. Then her brother would see what it was like to watch someone he loved fall apart.

Sakir Al-Nayhal had destroyed Bobby's family.

Now Bobby was going to destroy Al-Nayhal's.