The Tycoon and the Texan (12 page)

“Sugar, I believe it was your knee that invaded my private space.”

“Your private—”

“Come back to bed and I'll prove it to you.”

“With you? Haw! That's a laugh!”

“Here, you might as well be comfortable.” He flipped her pillow over the edge. It bounced off her stomach.

“I'd rather sleep with a rattlesnake.” With one heave she pulled the threadbare spread from the bed and pulled it up to her chin. She balled the pillow underneath her head, and reiterated. “A rattlesnake's bite couldn't be any worse than you are, Nicodemus Dartmouth the whatever.”

“You want me and you know it.”

“When pigs fly.” McCall grabbed the first thing she could reach, Hershey's Kisses, shoved herself upright, and threw them at the big man.

He caught the bag in midair. “You could have at least opened the bag for me.” He ripped the cellophane apart. “If you ever need a job as a relief pitcher, give me a call.”

“Go stick your head in the sand!”

“Tell me a bedtime story. How about the one about the lady I nearly hit up on Harris Grade.”

“I guess I didn't make myself clear enough the first time.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Go to hell! Don't pass Go, and don't collect two hundred dollars.”

The next morning, an amethyst-shadowed sunrise sprang to life as McCall and Nick pulled into the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco.

The doorman snapped to attention. A stately man appeared and helped McCall from the car, then turned to Nick. “Mr. Dartmouth, so nice to see you again.” He flashed a pleasantly starched smile at McCall. “I believe you'll find the penthouse suite to your and your guest's satisfaction.”

“Thank you, Samuel. You've never failed me.” Nick motioned for McCall to follow the portly concierge, who nodded to a waiting bellhop. She had expected the younger man to click his heels in response. Instead, he efficiently transferred their baggage to a brass luggage carrier.

McCall entered the exquisite, gold-and-ivory-appointed lobby. With its three magnificent domes protecting the rotunda, she had to admit, although she'd been in plenty of fancy hotels in Texas, the Fairmont was probably the ultimate of luxury and beauty. The gilded room reminded her of a massive golden nugget. No doubt the hotel promised to live up to its reputation.

The fragrance of freshly cut flowers filled the massive lobby.

“It's a nice place to stay.” Nick touched the middle of her back, guiding her toward the waiting elevator. “I hope you'll like our suite.”

Not just a suite, but the penthouse suite,
she wanted to correct.

The penthouse door swung open and the sight momentarily took her breath away. It was as though she'd followed a white rabbit through a looking glass into a dreamy wonderland.

Morning sunlight reflected on highly glossed, black-and-white marble floors in the foyer leading to the elegant accommodations that had once been a private residence.

A blaze in the fireplace danced its welcome.

“Mr. Dartmouth, our finest amenities are available to you and your guest. I've advised the valet, maid, and chef of your arrival. The chauffeur and butler are at your disposal. Anything else, sir?” Samuel asked.

“Our accommodations are quite adequate. Thank you, my man.” Nick discreetly handed what looked like a hundred-dollar bill to the concierge.

McCall frowned at the thought of such an outrageous gratuity. Granny had always told her that people needed to work for what they got and ask nothing from others. Of course, she tipped, but within the customary range. But Nick handed out tips like they were only pennies. Hadn't anybody told him that a fortune is accrued one dollar at a time? A little frugality never hurt anyone.

Feeling more relaxed and not guilty for enjoying herself, McCall took in the room's elegance. Why ruin Nick's day? After all, he'd taken a lot of pains to make her happy, plus she had carried her tiff far enough. It wasn't just the sleeping conditions last night, but thoughts about the woman on the side of the road that had lingered. Maybe there was no woman. The police seemed unconcerned about the woman she knew only as Agnes. But what if they were wrong?

Plus, how in the world could she stay mad at Nick? He was trying so hard to please her, and she had acted a stubborn mule.

A new beginning. Yes, that's what she'd give Nick. A new beginning.

The oak door closed, jarring McCall back to the moment.

Her gaze followed the railing running around the second-floor library. “Do we flip to see who gets to be on top?”

He wagged a questioning eyebrow. “On top?” His irresistible devilish smile widened, apparently pleased he seemed to be back in her good graces.

“Who sleeps on the sofa and who gets the bed.” Ignoring the hidden meaning in his response and his arresting smile, her gaze stopped on the lined bookshelves containing priceless works. “I guess I could sleep up there, if you'll show me where they hid the stairs.” Her mood suddenly felt buoyant.

“So you like the library?” Nick tilted his head toward the second floor. “I'll show you the secret spiral stairway later, but I believe you will feel more comfortable in your own room.”

Nick guided her toward a bedroom and swung open the door. The fragrance of a half dozen vases of floral arrangements wafted in the air.

“Roses.” A soft gasp escaped her. “Nick, how wonderful.” She fingered a petal. “And way too extravagant.”

“I told you I planned to court you the way you deserve.”

A massive canopy bed with rosette-inlay covering was engulfed by the colossal room. McCall looked up from the room's focal point and locked gazes with Nick. “Thanks.”

“Yellow roses for a lovely Texan.” He smiled that smile that always set her heart fluttering. “Everyone knows the unofficial flower of Texas is the yellow rose, so I thought they'd be fitting. I hope you like them.”

“Like them?” She tried to contain her delight at the fact that he truly wanted to see inside her world. A smile trembled over her lips as a warm glow rushed through her body, melting her last ounce of resistance. “Yes, Slugger.” She clasped arms around his neck. “I love them. Not just the roses, but everything.”

Keeping her eyes locked on his smile, she backed out of his grasp, kicked off her sandals, and unceremoniously flounced spread-eagle on the bed. “I love you for giving me such a wonderful surprise.”

Time took in a deep breath.

She froze—half in anticipation, half in dread, and fully torn by conflicting emotions.

His burning eyes held her still as wave after wave of alarm slapped at her soul.

Now she had gone and done it
. Love you!
What in the heck had she said? Had Nick put some kind of spell on her? Yes, that's it. Voodoo. But if it were a hex, she hoped he didn't cast away the magic for a while.

Suddenly Nick's stare turned gentle, understanding, and contained a sensuous flame. No doubt her slip of tongue had not evaded detection by the self-confident rascal.

“I think you'll find everything you need, but if not, dial the concierge's desk. He'll see to your wishes.” Nick strolled to the bed, leaned down on one knee, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Want me to massage your back, so you can relax?”

“No,” she whispered. “But, thanks.”

She found his touch reassuring, although mentally she pounded her head against the wall for her faux pas.

McCall slipped into his waiting arms.

His lips touched hers like a whisper. “No, thank
you
, ma'am.”

His mouth captured hers, demanding. He shifted his embrace and said, “I've got to meet with a lawyer in . . . uh”—not releasing her, Nick glanced over her shoulder at his Rolex—“damn, in thirty minutes. I'm sorry. I've got to go, and it'll take most of the afternoon. Rest up. I have a special evening planned for us, Angel Eyes.” He got to his feet, taking her with him.

Closing the door behind him, Nick left the intoxicating scent of musk for her enjoyment.

McCall eased down on the side of the bed and surveyed her surroundings.

Having been to the Texas State Fair and more rodeos than she could count, McCall couldn't recall staying in a hotel as impressive, but then Granny always thought a hotel room was for sleeping and showering. As long as it had those requirements, it was good enough for her and anyone in her entourage.

Now that McCall gave it serious thought, a place like this wouldn't be to the liking of the rough-and-tumble cowboys who usually were part of Granny's traveling troupe. But even Granny would have frowned at last night's lodgings.

A hot bath and nap sounded good. McCall began filling the massive marbled tub and splurged by dousing in extra bathwaters.

When a cloud of bubbles tickled her chin, she closed her eyes, enjoying the tranquility.

She and Nick would be okay, although she still couldn't let go of the images of the woman on the side of the road. Every time she closed her eyes, McCall saw the woman.

Or could Nick be right? It did happen on a rainy, foggy night. Maybe no woman or sofa existed except in McCall's imagination.

After toweling off, she slipped between the luxurious sheets and tried to rest, but a stampede of thoughts kept her from slumber.

Texas waltzed across her mind, led by memories of Granny and McCall's beloved grandfather. Of the good times and bad times. Of staying in the Conrad in Chicago, the Adams Mark, and Adolphus. Of wild rodeo competitions, tough cowboys, and rank bulls with even ranker riders defying death and disfigurement for that eight-second thrill.

Rolling over, she closed her eyes, hoping to round up her memories and corralling them in the recesses of her mind where they belonged. Tonight she must tell Nick the truth about her childhood. About her parents. About Granny.

She and Nick had promised that there'd be no secrets between them, yet she harbored the most deception—the biggest deal breaker of her life.

Finally, she drifted off into a fretful sleep.

Dreams of denim and diamonds, cotillions and honky-tonks, distorted into an apparition of the woman identified as Agnes crossing the road in front of headlights on a misty, foggy night.

Head over heels . . . down toward the darkened valley she tumbled. Down . . . down.

Faster and faster.

Farther and farther.

Church bells rang.

McCall startled awake. Perspiration drenched her hair. She pulled to a sitting position and put her face in her hands. Her heart pounded in her ears and her chest felt heavy. She gulped air and the pain eased up.

A dream.

Clamped lips imprisoned a sob.

The ringing stopped. It had to have been the hotel phone.

“McCall, are you awake?” Nick called through her bedroom door.

Her racing heart stilled slightly.

Leaping up, McCall pulled on the lush hotel robe, and swung open the door to face Nick wearing nothing but tight Levi's, a leather belt, and a killer smile.

Deep and sensual, his existence sent a ripple of awareness through her, providing a sense of security she so desperately needed. “I was resting.” She stepped into his arms, waiting for the nightmare to evaporate.

“Are you okay?” Nick set her back a step as if checking her out for any wounds. If he only knew the wounds weren't visible.

“I'm fine. The phone just startled me.” She awkwardly cleared her throat and adjusted her robe. “I was just glad you got back safely. You could have come on in.”

“And invade your space?” His voice turned playful. “Samuel called. We have dinner reservations at seven-thirty.” A devilish look came to his eyes as he obviously noticed her state of upheaval. “Is that okay?”

“I'll be ready.” She found it impossible to resist his mystique. “Thanks.” Sliding her arms around his neck, she buried her fingers in his thick hair, needing his strength to lean on.

“Your heart is racing.”

“Being in your arms does that to me.”

“I know a cure to make it settle down.” Nick's strong fingers found her shoulders and slid the terrycloth robe aside. “Guaranteed to make you relax.”

Slowly, boldly his gaze dropped, settling on her exposed breasts. “Eventually . . .”

His touch sent her heart fluttering again, but this time, it had nothing to do with being frightened. He brushed his thumb along her jaw. “I want you, McCall.” He stroked her lips with his thumb. “So bad it hurts.” Nick pulled her against him.

“I want to make you happy.” She trailed a ribbon of kisses through a mat of curly chest hair upward, stopping at his waiting mouth. “I truly do.” Was she really prepared to become his lover? Nicodemus Dartmouth was the ultimate thrill. The ultimate danger. But, was she ready?

More than ready, she captured his lips. The kiss that started sensual and soft quickly turned urgent and hungry. A battle between two people in need of a lifesaver in their struggle in a sea of loneliness.

Tonight would change things. No more would they be lost.

Nick's hands roamed over her, and she nestled against his lean, strapping body. The cradle of his hips welcomed her and confirmed his urgency. His kiss began slow and thoughtful, but quickly turned to urgent and needy. The tranquility of being in his arms shattered with the hunger of his kisses. Shivers of desire raced through her.

McCall circled Nick's neck with her arms and took in his freshly showered smell, inching her fingers through his still damp hair. She answered the demands of his lips and tongue, but wanted . . . needed . . . all of him.

Any lingering doubts about whether she wanted Nick to make love to her were pushed aside. The moment was now. She wanted him to embrace her for the rest of her life.

A groan caught in his throat as he pulled away, combing her face with his eyes. “Remember what I said about not being able to stop. Are you sure this is what you want?”

His words were answered with a kiss. Deep, hot, seeking.

Rough, ragged breaths carried his mouth along her throat as his hands slid downward before splaying his large, calloused fingers on her back. Her breasts crushed against his chest, his hard, lean body molded to hers.

When had their friendship caught fire and turned into deep passion? She wasn't sure, but knew she wanted the tough tycoon not for just the day, but for the rest of her life.

“Come to my room,” Nick whispered with the certainty of a man who would never be satisfied with only a dream. Pulling her back against him, his arousal made no mistake about his desires. “I'll cancel our dinner reservations. I'd much rather eat in bed.” He buried his face against her throat, his lips trailing pleasure upward. “Champagne is chilling.”

She arched upward until his lips neared her earlobe. “The telephone,” she whispered.