One Night With a Billionaire (Novella): The Perfect Man (11 page)

Read on for a preview of the final installment in Vicki Lewis Thompson’s Perfect Man trilogy

SAFE IN HIS ARMS

Available from InterMix July 2013

One minute Valerie Wolitzky was drinking margaritas with her two pals, Astrid Lindberg and Melanie Shaw, in their favorite Dallas watering hole, the Golden Spurs and Stetson. The next minute an alarm shrieked, and Val leaped from her seat, knocking over her chair and her drink. She had to get out.
Now.

Panic buzzed in her ears as she charged the front door. She had to beat the mob of people. If she didn’t, she’d be trapped . . . just like before.

Wham! She hit a solid wall of muscle and staggered back. A cowboy blocked her way. She shoved him hard. “Let me out!”

He grabbed her shoulders. “Hold on, there, ma’am. What’s the problem?”

Was he an idiot? With adrenaline-fueled strength, she pushed him aside and barreled through the door, almost knocking down a second man who was right behind him. But she got out the door.

Safe! She was safe! Shaking, she leaned over and braced her hands on her knees as she gulped for air. The warm breeze of a summer night touched her wet cheeks. She swiped at them as she slowly straightened. She needed to sit down, but there was nowhere to—

“Val!” Astrid’s shout penetrated the buzzing in her ears, and she turned. Her two friends burst through the door of the bar and rushed toward her.

Relief that they were okay was followed by hot shame. She hadn’t thought of them, hadn’t even tried to save them. She’d only thought of herself.

“Omigod, Val.” Melanie, brown hair flying, reached her first and hugged her. “It’s okay. Some smoking oil set off the smoke detector in the kitchen. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Filled with gratitude for her friend’s safety, Val hugged her back without paying much attention to what she was saying.

Astrid joined the huddle and rubbed Val’s back. “Easy, girlfriend. Take it easy. Everything’s fine.”

Gradually Valerie’s heartbeat slowed, and the grip of fear eased. She took a quivering breath and wondered why she wasn’t hearing sirens. She stepped out of Melanie’s embrace and looked around. “Where are the fire trucks?”

“There’s no fire.” Astrid continued to stroke her back. “Just a little smoke.”

“Did they evacuate the building?”

“No, sweetie.” Melanie gazed at her with compassion. “They shut off the alarm right away and came out of the kitchen to explain the problem.”

Valerie’s heart started pounding again.
Dear God
. “I was . . . the only one who ran out?”

Both Melanie and Astrid nodded.

“Well, except us,” Melanie added. “We took off after you.”

“Oh, no.” Val covered her face as embarrassment flooded through her, scorching her cheeks. She’d overreacted. Caused a scene. Involved her friends in her craziness. Slowly she lowered her hands and stared at them in misery. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry about it.” Astrid squeezed her arm. “But Val, it’s time to get serious about—”

“Ma’am? Are you all right?” The cowboy Valerie had smacked into when she fled now walked over to her, trailed by the other guy, who wore a business suit. They both looked worried.

Val thought of the old cliché and wished the sidewalk really would open up and swallow her. “Yes, thank you.” She wished the words didn’t sound so wobbly and uncertain.

“You don’t look all right.” The cowboy kept coming. He had a purposeful, John Wayne stride, and he towered over the other man. “You’re shaking like a newborn foal. What happened in there?”

Melanie put a protective arm around Val’s shoulder. “Thanks for your concern, but she’ll be fine.”

He paused and tipped his Stetson back with his thumb. “I’m sure she will. I just . . . was it the smoke alarm that spooked you? I heard it go off right before I got to the door.”

He seemed like a nice guy who only wanted to help. Val couldn’t fault him for that after she’d tried to knock him down in her full-out panic mode. He must have seen the terror in her eyes. “I’m afraid I overreacted.” She cleared her throat and summoned her lawyer’s voice. “I apologize for plowing into you and yelling. That was rude.”

“No worries.” He glanced at Astrid and Melanie standing on either side of her. “I’m glad your friends are here.” He hesitated before bringing his attention back to Val.

His eyes were gray. Not a gloomy, dark sort of gray, but light, almost silver. They shone with kindness. “Listen, I don’t know you at all, and I’m probably butting in where I have no business, but I understand a little something about post-traumatic stress.” He turned to the man who’d come up behind him. “And my buddy Will wrote the book on it. Literally.” He looked at Val again. “If you need—”

“To see someone?” She managed not to choke on the words. “I appreciate the thought, but I have that covered.” She had nothing covered because she was determined to handle the issue herself, despite what her friends thought she should do. But he didn’t have to know any of that.

“Good. That’s good. But if you need a second opinion, I highly recommend Will. Say, Will, you have any cards with you?”

“I think so.” The man reached inside his suit jacket. “Yep. Here’s one.”

Val stepped back, away from the outstretched business card. If she ever decided to go that route, she’d find her own shrink. Locating the right person would require lots of research. A chance meeting on the sidewalk didn’t qualify as an intelligent method for hiring a professional therapist. “Thanks, but I—”

“I’ll take it.” Astrid reached for the card. She looked at the name printed there before tucking the card in her jeans pocket. Then she exchanged a glance with the cowboy.

Val figured that the wordless message between Astrid and the cowboy was along the lines of
I can handle it from here.

As if to confirm that, the cowboy touched the brim of his hat, a classic farewell gesture. “We’ve kept you ladies long enough. I’m glad you’re all right, ma’am. You three have a nice evening.” Both men turned and headed back toward the bar.

Val swung to face Astrid. “I know what you’re up to, but I’m not making an appointment with some guy I met on the street.”

“Oh, yes, you are.” Astrid’s blue eyes flashed with determination. She was small and blonde, but anyone who underestimated her because of that would be making a huge mistake. “He’s not just
some guy
. He’s Will Bryan, who’s appeared on lots of talk shows because of his book on PTSD. I’ve seen him on TV, but somehow I missed the fact he’s from Dallas.”

“So he’s famous? Then I’ll bet he’s booked solid.” That should take care of that.

Melanie spoke up. “If he’s booked solid, he would have said so instead of handing over his card. Anyway, that cowboy seems to be his good friend, and he suggested you contact this Will guy. If you mention to Will that you were the tall redhead he met outside the Golden Spurs and Stetson, I’m sure he’ll work you in.”

“Yeah, and charge me a million bucks now that he’s so well known.” Another excellent reason why she wouldn’t be calling him.

Astrid’s jaw firmed. “Being prominent doesn’t necessarily mean he charges more than anyone else. And if his fee is really high, then I’ll—”

“No, you won’t, Astrid Lindberg. I’ve never taken money from you, and I won’t start now.” Val, Astrid and Melanie had been sorority sisters. Fortunately Astrid’s wealthy background hadn’t been a barrier to their friendship, even though Melanie and Val had scraped through school with scholarships and student loans and Astrid had sailed along on her parents’ considerable money.

“You can pay me back later.”

“No.” Val shook her head. “Look, I don’t need a celebrity therapist.”

“Maybe not, but you need a therapist, and you’re making no progress toward getting one.” Astrid pulled the card out of her pocket. “It’s been months since the concert hall fire, and you’re not getting better on your own. This guy showing up right when you had a meltdown seems like it was meant to be.”

Val’s stomach churned. Until that awful night of the fire and the stampede, she’d prided herself on her self-sufficiency and emotional stability. Now she freaked at every little thing. She hated feeling so out of control these days, but the idea of allowing some stranger to probe into her vulnerability made her break out in a cold sweat. “I just need time.”

“No, you don’t.” Melanie put her arm around Val’s shoulders again, and her grip was tighter than before. Melanie’s curves made her look soft, but she had a backbone of steel. “You’ve had time, and nothing’s changed. This is a fabulous opportunity, and you’re going to see this therapist . . . even if we have to hogtie you and haul you there ourselves.”

Astrid sighed in obvious relief. “Well said, Melanie. So here’s the deal, Val. We’re your best friends, and we can’t stand by and watch this train wreck any longer. You’ve stopped dating. You’ve turned down a promotion at the law firm. You insist on sitting at the table by the front door when we go out anywhere. Enough.”

Val looked from one determined expression to the other. The thought of doing what her friends demanded scared the shit out of her, but they were right. She was stuck in a prison of her own making. And now she’d dragged them into it. “Okay.” She swallowed. “I’ll do it.”

* * *

Nine in the morning, and already the sun felt like a branding iron on Adam Templeton’s shoulders as he walked toward the barn. On most days, heading down to see his horses calmed him, but not this morning. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Will thought it was hysterically funny that Adam was nervous about working with Valerie Wolitzky, especially since Adam had been the one to prompt Will into providing his card outside the Golden Spurs and Stetson.
You’ve dealt with battle-scarred soldiers who are a thousand times more traumatized than she is
, Will had said.
She’ll be a piece of cake compared to them.

Oh, yeah, she’d be a piece of cake, all right. Sweet and tempting. Of course she could be married or seeing someone. That would help. His divorce from Elise was only fifteen months old, and Adam felt battle-scarred, himself.

He’d mentioned to Will that all the folks he’d worked with thus far had been men. Will had told him that wouldn’t always be the case. Female soldiers came home with PTSD, too. If Adam was serious about this new direction in his life, he’d need to help women as well as men.

Well, yeah, point taken. And Adam was serious about this venture. He hadn’t resigned his position as CEO of the family corporation and turned it over to his younger brother so that he could
play cowboy
as Elise had termed it.

He’d never enjoyed the corporate world, but for years he’d unquestioningly followed a path laid out by his father and grandfather. A path Elise and her parents had approved of. None of those people could dictate to him now.

His grandfather and father had both died in their fifties of heart attacks, and Elise had married another billionaire, so even the alimony payments weren’t an issue anymore. He’d taken inventory of his situation and decided he had enough money to last several lifetimes. He had the luxury of doing what he loved.

After consulting with Will, a close friend since high school, he’d returned to his first passion—horses and ranching. He’d bought the Triple Bar and enough registered quarter horses to start a breeding operation. But the breeding was more of a hobby and not Adam’s primary purpose in buying the ranch.

Equine therapy was catching on in the mental health community, and Will was a strong proponent of using animals to connect with tortured individuals. Adam loved the idea that this ranch, which he’d bought to satisfy his own yearnings, also could be a healing place for those who’d been battered by war and other calamities.

He was only about six months into it, but so far, the process had been rewarding. Apparently teaching people how to care for and interact with horses was a good companion activity to Will’s therapy sessions. Adam had watched several vets regain some peace of mind through interacting with his animals.

Intellectually he’d known his charges wouldn’t always be men, although up to now they had been. But why did the first woman have to be a scrappy female defiantly hiding her vulnerability? She’d obviously prefer to go down in flames rather than admit she needed help. Her friends must have done some serious arm-twisting to get her into Will’s office.

That type of personality never failed to trip the switch on Adam’s protective instincts. On top of that, she was a long-legged redhead with porcelain skin and green eyes, a knockout who would interest any man with a pulse. He hadn’t explained any of that to Will, but they’d been friends for a long time. He wouldn’t put it past Will to have sent her out here on purpose.

It would be just like him, and he had a legitimate right to interfere in Adam’s social life. Will had suffered through countless rants during Adam’s messy divorce from Elise. Will, a lucky cuss who’d found the right woman right off the bat, had strongly suggested that Adam should get back in the game and stop hiding. He thought Adam still had his own demons to slay, and he was probably right.

But Adam didn’t feel ready to engage in that battle just yet. So what if he was attracted to the lovely Miss Wolitzky? He’d control himself. He was here to help her bond with horses and resolve her fears, whatever they might be. Because of patient confidentiality, Will never discussed specifics with Adam.

Valerie had instructions to meet him at the barn. Will had told her that Adam was the same guy she’d run into when she’d dashed out of the bar in such a panic. According to Will, she hadn’t been particularly happy about that because the incident had embarrassed her no end.

That hardly surprised him. So maybe they were even. He was worried about having her come to his ranch, and she didn’t want to be there. But she had a problem, and Will believed the horses could help her solve it.

Read on for a look at the next novel in Vicki Lewis Thompson’s charming and sexy Wild About You series

WEREWOLF IN ALASKA

Available from Signet Eclipse July 2013