Romance in Dallas - Tycoon!

By

Nancy Fornataro

Smashwords Edition

* * * * *

Published By:

Nancy Fornataro

Romance in Dallas -
Tycoon

Copyright © 2012 by
Nancy Fornataro

Smashwords
Edition, License Notes

This ebook is
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respecting the hard work of this author.

Thank you for
downloading this eBook. Quotes may be used in reviews.

This book is a work of
fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places,
events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are
productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material,
Language and Situations

*****

I hope you enjoy the
story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

*****

Prologue

The two of them laughed at her joke as they
rode along. And Ramsey Knowles thought the sports car he'd recently
purchased drove like a dream, while he rested both hands on the
bottom of the steering wheel.

They'd looked forward to this night for a
while, as Ramsey's hotels and associated businesses took him out of
town often, and he knew she missed him as much as he missed
her.

"How is your painting coming?" he asked
Susan, glancing quickly at her then back at the road.

"It's okay, although there's just something
not right. I'd like you to take a closer look at it when we get
home."

"Won't be long now," he said, as his hand
came up to stroke her short red hair, "and I'll be your best
critic."

But, as he went to exit the freeway onto
route twelve, a car seemed to come out of nowhere, going at least a
hundred miles an hour. The driver pulled in front of their car,
then over-corrected.

"Hang on!" he yelled to Susan. Ramsey's right
hand came back on the steering wheel quickly, but not quickly
enough as their car slammed into the speeder, went airborne,
flipped end over end three times, and skidded to a stop on its
roof.

The next thing he knew, someone was talking
to him loudly, as he smelled gasoline fumes and smoking upholstery;
heard the whooshing noise of a fire extinguisher.

"Ramsey, can you hear me?" a panting, urgent
male voice asked him.

He couldn't move or speak. He was barely
breathing. Breathe! He told himself. Breathe!

"Ramsey, we're going to cut you out now. Stay
with us," the disembodied voice said loudly, too loudly.

"Susan?" he said weakly.

But there was no answer. There was too much
noise. And, try as he would, he wasn't able to turn and look at
her.

He felt something heavy pushed onto him,
covering the top of his body, as the sound of a drill, whirring
wildly, metal on metal, came to him.

Shouts. Men talking loudly. Sirens.

He felt himself falling, drifting across
time, and he went unconscious.

*****

"Hey, Ram," a familiar voice said.

Ramsey groaned, but still was not able to
move himself or will his eyes to open.

"Ram, it's me, Warren. Look at me, man.
You're not dead yet, my friend. No way. I won't let you die,
Goddamn it!"

Warren shook his arm, and Ramsey was finally
able to open his eyes. He still couldn't move his body, though.
"Susan?" he asked weakly, as his senses cleared a bit.

When Warren turned away, coughed, and his
head came back around looking at Ramsey, it became clear to
him.

"She didn't make it?" Ramsey asked him.

He could see tears in his friend's eyes, as
the man shook his head. "I'm sorry, man," he whispered, "so truly
sorry."

Ramsey looked up at the white tiles in the
ceiling. "Was it...was it quick? Painless?"

"She died on impact, Ram."

Grimacing now, as his back began hurting,
Ramsey gasped, "They say how I'm supposed to cope? Suppose they
didn't tell you that."

Warren watched the bitter expression grow
deeper on his friend's face. And he thought right now, at this
particular point in time, this was the most difficult thing he'd
ever done in his life. He ran a hand over his curly black hair.

His memories went back, two years ago, when
Ram and Susan had wed. She was a vision in a long, lacey white
wedding dress and Ram so handsome in his tux. It was a huge wedding
with numerous members in the wedding party, as they'd posed for
picture after picture.

Now, this is why the accident was so very
painful, he thought. The two had barely had time to even had
children, travel, do all the things that newlyweds do. Just a
honeymoon in Hawaii. Ram had been busy in the meantime, building
his hotels and his contacts throughout the world.

He tried to sound upbeat, as he watched his
friend's blond hair plastered to his forehead from sweat now. "They
told me you've got some broken vertebrae in your back. But you'll
heal just fine, my man." But, that was a lie. They'd told him Ram
was in a bad way.

After a brief silence, with just the steady
blipping sound of the monitors, "You having much pain?" Warren
asked him.

"Not enough," Ramsey said evenly, still
looking at the ceiling tiles, "not nearly what I deserve."

Chapter 1

Jacine was running late, as usual. She sped
down the highway at a bit over legal speeds, as she'd had a fair
number of tickets on her way to appointments and she decided a few
years back that the loss of funds just wasn't worth it.

Her friend and supervisor Natalie called in
the early morning with an assignment.

She thought back to their conversation.

In her husky voice, over the phone, Natalie
said, "I don't know too much about it really. Just that Ramsey
Knowles has asked for a physical therapist. He's some kind of
society guy. I don't know the details, so go out and see him and
we'll take it from there."

So, here she was, in front of this gigantic
two story house, after speeding up a winding driveway with low
hanging trees on either side. Looking all around, Jacine whistled
under her breath. "God," she said out loud, "this place is
enormous."

But she couldn't take the time to look at
anything, as she was late and the man was bound to be upset with
her. She looked at her watch as she rang the bell. Half-hour
late.

A friendly looking grey haired, very short
woman dressed in black answered the door. "Oh, you must be Miss
Lombard. Mister Knowles is expecting you."

"I'm so sorry to be late. I got lost on the
way here..." her voice trailed off as she realized she was about to
tell the woman she was late to begin with.

"Not to worry," the woman said. Then, in a
conspiratorial tone, she told Jacine, "And don't pay any attention
to his snit. He's been so moody," and her voice was lower now, as
she halted suddenly in the hallway, "since his wife died. It's been
almost eighteen months. And he has these horrific headaches."

Interested now, Jacine asked her, "What
happened?"

"Car accident," the woman told her,
whispering now, "really a bad one. That's why he needs physical
therapy. There are times when he has trouble even moving. The
doctors told him they've done all they could. So, to say he is
discouraged would be an understatement. He's very depressed." The
woman shook her head. "He needs some hope to cling to. That's where
you come in."

They walked down the long hallway, their
steps echoing on the black marble tiles.

She ushered Jacine into a large den, with
massive bookcases, wing chairs and a huge desk in front of a large
picture window. The place smelled pleasantly of lemon furniture
polish.

A man with slightly wavy, over the collar
blond hair sat looking at a computer screen, with his back to them,
ignoring their entrance.

"Ramsey," the woman said loudly, "your
physical therapist is here." And with that, she left the room.

Feeling awkward now, with the ensuing
silence, Jacine waited. She watched him slumping in the seat, and
thought his posture was atrocious. But she'd fix that. Exercises
and a new chair could do wonders for back problems.

He still studied the computer silently with
one elbow on the seat arm and resting his chin on his hand.

She dropped her purse, becoming annoyed now.
Did he want her here or not?

Suddenly, he whirled around in his chair and
stared at her with the most intense turquoise eyes she'd ever seen.
"Hello, darlin," he drawled, in an unmistakable southern accent,
"welcome to my home." Rising slowly, carefully, painfully, he
extended his hand.

As they shook hands, she saw he was taller
than she, rangy, slender at the waist, broad at the shoulders. His
white shirtsleeves were rolled up with a few top buttons on his
shirt undone, revealing a tan chest. He wore black khaki pants and
an expensive leather belt.

"My name is Jacine," she said, finally, a bit
surprised at his 'darlin' remark, and a bit overwhelmed by his
presence. He exuded sexuality with his voice and movements and
she'd seen it before in other men. "I understand you need a
physical therapist, Mister Knowles."

"Well, guess my friend Warren thinks I need
one. He's been pushing this on me for weeks. Please," he gestured
to a wing chair in front of his desk, "sit."

Ram looked at the woman in front of him. Her
curly auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail; she had a
heart-shaped face, pink cheeks, generous lips, and warm brown eyes.
But, he noticed absently, that her eyes had unusual little flecks
of gold. She was dressed casually in a white t-shirt and jeans. A
vague outline of her lacy bra was apparent under the shirt,
stirring old memories within him.

And now, she stared at him before she sat
back in the chair. "But, how do you feel about the thought of
treatment, Mister Knowles?"

"Please call me either Ramsey or Ram. I'm
Mister Knowles to Forbes 500 and very few other people in the
world."

She smiled slightly, and waited patiently for
his response. Having never read the Forbes 500 she wasn't
impressed, although she did know it had something to do with
wealth. And she'd heard of his hotels.

How could he explain to her, Ram thought,
when he couldn't even explain the thing to himself? The
ever-present waiting for Susan, listening for her step in the
hallway and her light laughter. Waiting for her to come to bed, so
he could love her then watch her get up in the morning. Waiting for
her chatter in the kitchen while she made him coffee. Waiting for
her to finally finish one of her beautiful paintings and asking his
advice.

"Why don't you tell me about it and I'll
listen and tell you what I think," he said softly, staring at her,
not trusting his own voice.

She took a deep breath. "As your therapist,
it would be my job to look over your tests with your doctor or
doctors, check on the diagnosis, make sure we're dealing with the
correct problem, and set some goals for you."

"But," she continued, calmly gazing back at
him, "you would have to be on board with it."

"On board," he repeated. "Sounds like one of
my 'board' meetings, and I'm spelling that b-o-r-e-d."

As she laughed, he realized it lit up her
face. It was a wide, friendly smile. "No, hopefully it would not be
boring." Then she grew serious. "It's hard work, though. And, at
times, you will absolutely hate me. Although, I've never had a
client deck me yet and I've been doing PT for five years."

"That would make you around twenty-five or
so?"

Hesitating, she said, "Approximately,
yes."

A silence descended on the room, before he
finally admitted, "I just need some relief."

Jacine watched the expressions flit across
his face, pain, which was always the number one shadow with her
clients, then sorrow, and almost a look of rage. A deep-seated
anger. And, she had doubts whether physical therapy would help
him.

He shifted on his chair in discomfort.

"You'll need to change your chair," she told
him quietly.

He looked surprised. "But this one is so
comfortable. It's the only one I can find any peace sitting
on."