The Tycoon and the Texan (20 page)

Nick lay on the sofa with hands tucked behind his head, breathing evenly.

Tiptoeing across the room, she stopped and stood over the sleeping man. As much as she wanted . . . no, needed to wake her knight in shining armor, it would be best if she let him rest. She reached across the back of the sofa for a blanket to cover him.

Without warning, he masterfully caught her behind the knees and she buckled down on top of him. Grabbing her by the waist, he pulled her tight to him. As she settled against his body of steel, they shared a heartbeat.

Hands met hands.

Lips met lips.

Caresses met caresses . . . seeking, yielding, plunging . . . hot and wet.

“You're making this hard on me,” Nick growled and rolled, taking her with him, pressing her between his body and the back of the sofa.

“I hope so.”

“I'll show you hard . . .”

In one fluid motion, Nick stood, wrapped her in his arms, and carried her to the bed. Gently, he eased her down.

Breathlessly, shedding her remaining clothing, she watched Nick stand over her, unbuckle his belt, and step out of his Levi's.

McCall reached out and helped him disrobe.

Nick kicked his jockey shorts into a pile of white cotton and denim.

Standing before her, he wore nothing but a tiny chin cleft entrenched in a devilish smile.

She forced her gaze upward. “You're so—”

“So what?” Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. “Ready?” He lowered himself to her, bracing his weight with his arms.

“Oh yeah, that's the word. Ready.” She touched his face, running her fingers along his rough unshaven jaw. “Nick, I've waited so long for this, but I want to tell you something.” Her fingertip traced his lower lip. “News that will make you happy.”

“It can wait,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “I can't.” His voice was impatient, rough, and wildly thrilling.

“Neither can I.”

Greedily, Nick sought her mouth. “I love you, Angel Eyes.” His kiss ravished her. Demanding, hard, conquering. Wild with need, she responded with the same urgency . . . sizzling passion. Her body quaked at the promise of ecstasy that racked her, when she felt the hot shove of his tongue as it entered her mouth again and again.

Their lips, tongues, mouths played out an uninhibited fantasy.

“I want to touch you,” she whispered, light and breathy as a sea breeze.

“You can touch me all you want. I'm all yours. Just touch me.” He groaned deep in his chest when she found his raging ridge of arousal. Delicate tapered fingers closed in on his hardness and fed his hunger, while her thumb drew soft lithe circles near the top.

Hurled against the point of no return, untamed flames of desire burned within them.

Later in the evening, they lay in the magical afterglow of lovemaking. Nick held her quaking body in the crook of his arm, brushed away damp ringlets from her forehead, and kissed her temple. “I love you, Mac,” he said in a husky whisper.

“I love you, Nicodemus. I truly love you,” she managed in a soft willowy voice.

“You have no idea how wonderful that sounds. Know something?” He draped a leg over her thigh.

Her only reply was a soft groan.

“I'm glad I didn't take advantage of you on the island.” Slowly, preciously, he lifted his knee and applied pressure on her love-swollen flesh.

“You're glad?” She made little circles with her fingertips in chest hair.

“Yeah, because if I had, I may not have ever gotten to know you well enough to fall in love.”

“You don't regret waiting?” She slid her hand down to the inside of his thigh.

“I can assure you of one thing, Angel Eyes.” He rolled on top of her, shielding her legs with his, and dipped down to meet her. “I plan to make up for lost time.”

Midday sun filtered through the vertical blinds in the hotel suite, creating diagonal patterns on the carpet.

“Damn it to hell,” Nick slammed down his iPhone. “Son of a bitch.” His fist hit the desk.

Nick wanted the Triple J as bad as anything he'd ever wanted in his life with the exception of McCall. Seeing how happy she was when she first saw the ranch only increased his desire to obtain it. It wasn't one of his famous whim-whams. It was a true dream. A dream not only for him but for McCall.

He couldn't believe that the investor first said he'd be willing to take his share of the investment and sign the ranch over to the remaining investors, who of course he wouldn't have known were Nick and Jock. Then suddenly, the elusive investor changed his mind, making it necessary for Nick's lawyer to file suit to clear the title showing that the investor had been a silent partner and had not participated in any improvements or operations of the Triple J. Once cleared, Jock planned to sell his share to Nick, making him sole owner. The suit would be settled quickly, according to his lawyer, because the owner couldn't show they'd been involved in the day-to-day operations and the amount of money held in trust for them would be enough to make the most aggressive investor accept an out-of-court settlement.

Nick flopped down on the sofa more frustrated than he could ever remember being. And that was saying a lot, just thinking about the years waiting for the silent partner to appear. Now only hours away from finalizing the sale, the backer had suddenly come forth and wanted to take an active part in its operation.

His lawyer said it'd take a couple hours, but he'd fax the first draft of the petition to Nick in care of the hotel. Nick called the concierge desk to have the papers delivered to his suite as soon as they arrived.

Nick let out another string of profanities. Damn J.J. Macmurphy, Jock's father, for taking on a backer and not keeping the records more secure. It wasn't his fault they were destroyed in a fire, but it wouldn't have happened if he'd kept the partnership papers in a safety deposit box. When J.J. died, he took the true identity of the silent partner or partners with him.

Not until Jock decided to retire and let Nick buy out his part of the ranch did the search for the other owner begin in earnest. After all these months, they had finally gotten a lead and the jerkass changed his mind and didn't want to sell.

At first, Nick wanted full ownership as an investment and as someplace to get away from the city. He'd even rejected his mother's suggestion that they buy the property under the umbrella of one of their businesses, which made her mad. Nick and Maddi never spoke of his purchase again.

After visiting the Triple J and spending time with McCall in Texas, he realized the main reason he desired the land had to do with the memories of some of the best times of his life. As a young man, most of his summers were spent on the Triple J learning about horses, helping J.J. and Jock, while learning how to be a man's man.

After seeing the look on McCall's face when she first saw the Triple J, his reasons had changed. He wanted it for her. To please her. He knew they'd be happy living there.

“To hell with it,” Nick spat out. There are other ranches, but none quite like the Triple J.

He needed some fresh air. He glanced at his watch. McCall wasn't due back from the spa and beauty salon for a while. He'd have plenty of time to take a breather, reconcile some of his anger and return to the hotel in time to meet with the jeweler the concierge had arranged for—bringing his best engagement rings for Nick to choose from.

Nick grabbed his phone and stuck it in his pocket. “Missing Investor, I don't know who in the hell you are or where you've been, but the suit to clear title should bring you out of the woodwork.”

After jotting a quick note to let McCall know he'd be gone for a while, Nick stalked out the door.

One way or another, he'd gain control of the Triple J ranch. Nothing would get in his way . . . nothing!

 

Three hours later, McCall opened the hotel suite door to eerie silence. She dropped her purse on the sofa and checked both bedrooms. She saw Nick's note on the desk and wondered what had drawn him away so unexpectedly.

A knock on the door drew her attention away from Nick's note and when she answered a young woman wearing a hotel uniform asked, “Is Mr. Dartmouth in?”

“No, but he'll be back soon.” McCall noticed the papers in the woman's hand. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Mr. Dartmouth asked that this fax be delivered to his suite as soon as it arrived.”

McCall took the papers the woman extended to her. “Thank you. I'll see that he gets them. Just a moment, please.”

After grabbing her pocketbook, McCall handed the woman five dollars. “Thank you so much.” She closed the door and laid the papers on the desk.

The hotel phone rang and she talked briefly to the concierge, assuring him that the faxed pages had been received.

McCall glanced down at the documents. She gasped and raised her hands to cover her month as she read again the words . . .
Estate of Charles Chilcote Johnson.

“Oh my God!” Trembling fingers touched the page as though the words could feel her caress. She took in each word, letter by letter, trying to grasp their meaning.

Her knees buckled. She slipped onto the chair and read the pleadings.

“Nick is suing me,” she whispered.

Her heart pounded out of control and chills ran throughout her body as though she had suddenly taken ill. She tried to swallow, but couldn't. Grabbing her stomach to hold down bile fighting for release, she attempted to sort out what she had read. Nick and others were suing her father's estate . . . suing
her
.

Gaining a semblance of composure, she picked up the petition. She shook so wildly that she had to use both hands to hold the piece still long enough to finish reading it.

Slowly, McCall turned back to the first page and laid the pleadings aside. Nick was suing her for control of the Triple J Horse Ranch . . . and she didn't even know she owned it.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks. “It was a game all along.” For the first time since she was a child she cried not from anger or fright, but from a hurt so deep there was no bottom. “He didn't expect me to see these papers and I wouldn't have if my appointment had been longer. Nick doesn't love me. He loved the game. He wanted the ranch, and the only way he could gain control was to court me, make me think he was in love with me . . .” She folded over and grabbed her knees. “He was willing to marry me to get what he wanted.” She rocked backward and forward. “Or did he ever plan on marrying me? Or was he just talking about the future and asking me to marry him to throw me off base?”

Raising her hands to her face, she couldn't help but think that she'd bared her soul to him, told him her most intimate secrets, and for what? To be worked, so Nick could get what he wanted.

How long had Nick known of her father's involvement in the ranch? When had he decided to become interested in it? Before or after the auction? Before he professed his love for her?

The news that her father had actually made an investment and not wasted the money at the track had consoled McCall, as well as excited her, since she could give Nick something he wanted so badly. But, now everything had changed.

Nick might be accustomed to getting everything he wanted, and this would be no exception. He'd get his ranch. Regardless of her hurt and anger, she loved him too much to deny him the one thing that he wanted so bad that he'd asked her to marry him to gain it. She'd step out of the picture and enter into an agreement for him to purchase the property. All of this could be done through their lawyers without either of them ever having to speak to one another again.

But why hurt her by suing her when all he had to do was ask? The words
trust me
flooded back.

Between gathering her belongings and packing, McCall made two calls.

The first was to her attorney, directing him to negotiate a settlement with Nick.

The second, to the hotel concierge arranging transportation to the airport.

The displaced Texan was going back home.

Back to Texas.

Back to a world where she belonged.

 

As Nick stepped off the elevator, his hand automatically checked his pocket to make sure his purchase was secure. He had looked at a dozen stones before he found a truly colorless, flawless pear-shaped diamond encircled with baguettes. If McCall didn't like the five-carat stone, he'd buy her as many as it took to give her the perfect engagement ring.

Not only had his outing ended up with him buying the engagement ring, but also it gave him time to think about the problems with the sale of the Triple J.

For some unknown reason the mystery seller was more intent on keeping his share of the ranch than Nick was in acquiring it. Nick wasn't a man to give up easily, but maybe the good Lord had played a bigger hand in the dealings than Nick had given Him credit for. Maybe it wasn't meant for Nick to own the ranch.

While in Texas he had felt good, liked having a family, and realized what he had been missing . . . a real home.

Stanley taking him fishing and the Macmurphys teaching him horsemanship wasn't the same as having a real family. Nick liked the idea of having someone to come home to.

He had stopped and called his lawyer, who was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed. Nick left word with his paralegal that he was no longer interested in the property and to stop litigation.

Maybe his energy would be much better spent on finding that house with the white picket fence and raising that houseful of ankle-biters.

“Hell's bells!” Nick rubbed his forehead. “First, it was a wife, and now, I'm serious about children. I can't win for losing with that spitfire.” He unlocked the penthouse suite.

“McCall, I'm home,” he teased, letting the words slip off his tongue as though they were natural.

No response. No music. No television. No McCall.

Maybe she had gone downstairs to one of the gift shops.

The telephone rang. Nick snatched up the phone, thinking it might be McCall.

“Mr. Dartmouth,” the concierge began. “I'm sorry to bother you, but Miss Johnson left a package in the limousine when the driver took her to the airport.”

“The airport?” Nick's heart sank to his knees.

“Yes, sir, about an hour ago. She barely got there in time to get her flight. Sir, what should I—”

“Thank you.” Nick returned the receiver to the hook and eased down in the chair. “Why would she leave without telling me?” He stared into space, feeling his heart being ripped from his chest.

What had he done to make her fly home without letting him know? He racked his brain, but when she left for the spa she was excited because she'd arranged a special night for them. He distinctly remembered her saying she had something very exciting to tell him. She'd kissed him and even turned back and gave him a second one before leaving.

What had gone wrong? Could she have been kidnapped? Did she have second thoughts about their being intimate the night before? Maybe he'd asked too much of her too soon?

Nothing seemed to fit.

With one surge of anger, Nick swiped his arm across the desk, sending everything crashing to the floor. He looked down at the page staring back.
Estate of Charles Chilcote Johnson by and through his next of kin and executrix, McCall Elise Johnson
.

“Christ Almighty, McCall! Chili Johnson was your father!”