Harlequin Desire February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: The King Next DoorMarriage With BenefitsA Real Cowboy (Kings of California)
Page 34
And here she was, with no empty space. No room for anyone, not even this surprising, layered man who stood before her, asking for something she couldn’t give.
“I am afraid.” Had she said that out loud?
“I know, honey. I know all about fear. Do you think it was easy for me to come here with nothing to give except myself? Jewelry and spectacular sex are much easier to offer than risking you’ll accept plain old me. But I’m hoping it’s enough, because I can’t live my life without you.”
He was saying all the right things. Except he was first and foremost a salesman, and she’d experienced his stellar ability to sell himself firsthand. “You wanted me to be needy. But not anymore?”
“Yeah. I wanted you to need me and told myself fulfilling your needs was my half of the partnership. A total lie. It was so I didn’t have to do the work. So I could keep from investing emotionally. The worst part is, I was already in deep and couldn’t tell you how much I need you. You’re right. Need is dangerous.” He inclined his head in deference. “I can’t survive without you. I’m completely addicted to you. And I love you too much to let you go.”
The sentiment darted right through her flimsy barriers and spread with warmth into the emptiness she would have sworn wasn’t there.
Lucas had known, though, and burrowed right past the pretense, past all the lies she told herself. It was frightening to consider just being real for once and more frightening still to consider giving up her defenses. “How can I know for sure this isn’t all going to evaporate one day?”
“I don’t have a crystal ball. All I have is right here.” He held his hands wide, palms up. “Can you forgive me?”
She shut her eyes against the raw emotion spilling from the sea of blue trained on her face. No sales pitch there. Just a whole lot of Lucas, showing her the inner reaches of his heart. “This is a lot to take in. Without the divorce, I don’t get my money. How can I live with that?”
His expression grew cunning. “How can you live with yourself if you do get your money? You don’t want to be a slave to need, yet you’re willing to be one to your grandfather.”
She flinched. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re dependent on your grandfather and his money to grant you a measure of control over a life that can’t be controlled.” He advanced on her, backing her up until she hit the wall. “I’m not above stacking the deck to get what I want, and I want you, Cia Wheeler. I dare you to take a risk on us. I dare you to stare your grandfather in the eye and tell him to keep his money, because you’re keeping your marriage.”
Vocalized in Lucas’s whiskey-smooth voice, her name sounded beautiful. Exactly right. It was too much. He saw too much, wanted too much. He made her want too much.
“How can I?” she whispered.
“Simple. You have needs, whether you like it or not. They’re part of being human, so you have to make a choice. Do you need your grandfather to take care of you financially? Or do you need to take a chance on a new deal with me? A mutually beneficial deal, because, honey, you need me as much as I need you. The question is, can you admit it?”
There it was. He’d drawn the line, given her a choice. Maybe it was that easy to just say yes. But it couldn’t be. “What if I don’t want kids?”
He flashed a grin. “What if I do? What if I don’t want you to keep a single stitch of your wardrobe? What if I want to put on clown makeup and join the circus? What if—”
“Okay. I get it.” And he got her. Not so difficult to believe after all, not when it was Lucas. That’s why the betrayal had hurt so much, because he’d twisted the knife with expert knowledge. “You’re saying we’ll figure it out.”
“Together. I love you and that will never change. It’s the only guarantee I’ve got. Well, I can also guarantee we’ll fight over the radio station. But I’m willing to overlook your terrible taste in music if it means I get a real wife out of the deal. Do I?”
Real. Everything she’d been afraid to want until Lucas. The divorce deal was a flawed shield against a real relationship, but fear of losing something meaningful had squelched all her courage to reach for that dream.
She’d done her best to get rid of Lucas before he could hurt her, but he kept coming back. Maybe it was finally time to stop fighting it. Time to admit she loved him fiercely.
Could she take a chance on a marriage deal? Could she risk the possibilities, bad or good?
“No.” Mind made up, she inspected him through narrowed eyes and crossed her arms. “How is that fair? You get a real wife in exchange for exposure to my excellent taste in music. Yet I’ll be forced to listen to songs about cheating, honky-tonks and cheap beer? No deal. Find a pen and sign the copy of the papers right now unless you can agree to find a type of music we both like.”
His gaze played over her face, and when he smiled, the sun rose. No point in denying it. She’d given a huge piece of her heart to Lucas a long time ago, and he was offering to fill that hole with himself. Love had healed her, and now, she could let him do that.
“Opera?” he suggested and yanked her into his arms, engulfing her in the scent of clean pine. The scent of her real husband.
His mouth captured hers before she could argue opera was more a type of theater than a type of music. Lucas kissed her, and her heart became whole, then swelled, too big for her chest.
She pulled back a tiny bit, unwilling to be too far from him. “I really, really hope you meant it when you said you love me, because if you want a real wife, you’re going to have to suffer through a big, formal wedding. And I’m asking your mother to help plan it.”
He groaned. “I meant it. You know you’ll have to suffer through a real honeymoon in exchange, right?”
“With lots of real sex? Dios, the things I do for you.” With a tsk, she smiled. “I must love you a lot.”
“Well, then. Since we’re already married, the big, formal wedding is merely symbolic. So the honeymoon comes first.” He peeled back her robe and rolled his eyes at the tank top underneath. “Please. I’m begging you. Let me buy you some nice, tasteful sleepwear not made from cotton.”
“Not unless you let me teach you to dance.” His hands slid under the tank top and claimed her body, just like he’d claimed her heart. “Lucas,” she breathed.
Fergie squawked, “Lucas, Lucas, Lucas.”
Lucas laughed against Cia’s mouth. “That’s a deal.”
* * *
Even with Fran’s help, the wedding plans stretched over the course of two months. The real story was far too incredible, so Lucas smoothed over everyone’s questions with the partial truth—Cia’d had a change of heart about including everyone in their marriage celebration, and she wanted a lavish second ceremony.
Finally, after endless rounds of making decisions and sampling cake and addressing invitations, Cia clutched Abuelo’s arm and walked down the aisle to her husband. Then, nearly five hundred guests accompanied them to an extravagant reception, where the bride and groom danced to every song, be it fast or slow.
Lucas twirled Cia to one of his favorite country numbers and she sang along, not ashamed to admit she kind of liked it, twangy guitars and all. He gathered her close and smiled. “Was it worth it? The big wedding?”
“It’s everything I dreamed it would be. Exhausting but so wonderful.”
That morning, she’d begun to suspect the exhaustion wasn’t due to frantic wedding plans but another reason entirely. But she’d had no time to slip away and buy a pregnancy test. Tomorrow was soon enough to confirm it.
She couldn’t wait to find out for sure. A whole, intact heart allowed for plenty of possibilities, and, finally, she was in a place where the thought of a baby didn’t scare her blind. And if the test came back negative, they’d try some more. It was all in the journey and the pleasures to be had along the way.
Well, most of a family—Matthew hadn’t come back for the wedding and it weighed on Lucas. Hopefully she could cheer him up tomorrow with the news he’d started on the next generation of Wheelers a little earlier than expected.
Abuelo approached the table and took Cia’s hand. “I’m afraid this old man must retire for the evening, my dear. Lucas, I’ll be in your office a week from Monday to sign the papers. I’m a little sad to see the Manzanares complex change hands, but I couldn’t be happier with the deal you negotiated.”
“Anything for family. I’m glad to be of service.” Lucas clasped Abuelo’s outstretched hand and wished him a good evening.
Only after a knockdown, drag-out fight, which Cia refused to lose, had Lucas agreed to still represent Abuelo in the sale of Manzanares, even though he hadn’t followed through with the divorce. Seriously, her husband took integrity to a whole new level. When Cia pointed out she couldn’t trust any other real estate broker with Abuelo’s business except Lucas, he conceded.
Abuelo hadn’t budged on changing the terms of the trust, despite Cia’s zealous pleas, but she was okay with that. In lieu of wedding gifts, Cia and Lucas had asked for donations to the newly formed Wheeler Family Foundation, helmed quite expertly by Fran Wheeler, and the balance grew by leaps and bounds daily.
Every time Cia launched into an impassioned explanation about the work she and Fran were doing, and every time someone handed her another check, she could feel her mother smiling down in approval. Nothing could bring back her parents, but trusting Lucas with her heart had finally allowed Cia to close that chapter and embrace the next one.
She dreamed of forever, and Lucas Wheeler was exactly the man to give it to her.
* * * * *
A Real Cowboy
By Sarah M. Anderson
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
One
The wheels of Thalia’s rental sedan spun on the gravel as the driving winds tried to push her off the road, but she kept control of the car. It was nice to have control over something, even if it was a Camry.
Because she certainly did not have control over this situation. If she did, she wouldn’t be stalking James Robert Bradley to the middle-of-nowhere Montana in what could only be described as the dead of winter. Hell, she didn’t even know if she’d find him. And, as it had been close to an hour since she’d seen another sign of life, she wasn’t sure she’d find anything.
Still, there was a road, and she was on it. Roads went places, after all. This one cut through miles and miles of Montana grassland that was probably lush and green in the summer. However, as it was late January, the whole landscape looked lifeless and deserted. Snow so old it had taken on a gray hue lined the road. If she were filming a postapocalyptic movie, this would be perfect.
At least it wasn’t snowing right now, she told herself in a forcibly cheerful tone as she glanced at the car’s thermometer. It was twenty-two degrees outside. Not that cold, really. She had that going for her. Of course, that didn’t include the wind chill, but still. It wasn’t like it was subzero out there. She could handle it.
Finally, she passed under a signpost that proclaimed Bar B Ranch, which also announced trespassers would be shot. The Camry’s wheels bounced over a metal grate a part of her brain remembered was called a cattle guard. She checked the address she’d entered into her phone’s GPS, and a sense of relief bum-rushed her. She was actually in the right place.
This realization buoyed her spirits. James Robert Bradley’s agent, a small, nervous man named Bernie Lipchitz, hadn’t wanted to give up the address on his most famous—and most private—Oscar-winning client. Thalia had been forced to promise Bernie she’d give his latest would-be starlet a role in the new movie she was producing, Blood for Roses.
Of course, it was her movie only as long as she could get James Robert Bradley signed for the part of Sean. If she couldn’t do that...
No time to dwell on the worst-case scenario. She was making excellent progress. She’d tracked down Bradley’s whereabouts, which was no easy task. She’d gotten onto his property—so far, without anyone shooting at her. Few people could claim to have gotten this close to Bradley since he’d disappeared from Hollywood after winning his Oscar almost eleven years ago. Now she had to sign him to the comeback role of a lifetime. Easy, right?
The clock on the dash said four o’clock, but the sun was already setting, shooting brilliant oranges and purples across the icy-blue sky. Beautiful, Thalia thought as the colors lit up the gray landscape. Off to what she thought was the north were a series of low hills that merged with taller mountains in the west. The south and east were as flat as a pancake. She could almost see it in the full bloom of spring. The land was beautiful.
Maybe we could do some of the filming here, she thought as she rounded a bend and saw a massive structure that would have been called a log cabin, except cabin didn’t do it justice. She couldn’t tell if the huge, rough-hewn logs rose up two stories or three, and she also couldn’t tell how far back the building went. Behind it were a number of barns—some with an old, weathered look, others made of gleaming metal. Except for the shiny metal buildings, everything looked like it had been on this patch of land for decades. If not centuries.
She didn’t see a single living thing. Not even a dog ran up to greet her as she pulled in front of the house. A wide covered porch offered some protection from the wind.
Well, she wasn’t going to get anyone signed to anything by sitting in a car. Gathering up all of her positive energy, she opened the door.
The icy wind nearly slammed the door shut on her leg and cut right through her patterned tights. Dang, she thought as she pushed against the door. Sure, it had been cold when she’d left the small airport terminal in Billings, Montana, to get into the car—but it hadn’t been this cold. Suddenly, the knee-high boots and tights under the wool dress didn’t seem like a smart business outfit making a concession to winter. They seemed like the definition of foolishness.
Bracing herself against the wind, she pulled the fur-lined collar of her wool trench coat up around her neck and trudged up the porch steps. Please be home, she thought as she looked for the doorbell. Her coat was not rated for this kind of weather.
Another blast of winter rushed up the back of her skirt, making her teeth chatter. Where was the doorbell? Screw it, she thought, pounding on the door in a most unprofessional way. Manners didn’t matter when she was freezing to death.
No one answered.
Freezing to death—in Montana, of all places—wasn’t on her to-do list today. Thalia couldn’t remember being this cold, not even when she was a kid and spent all day playing in the rare snowstorm in Oklahoma. She’d lived in L.A. for the last ten years, for crying out loud. People there complained of the cold when it got below sixty.
Thalia banged on the door again, this time with both hands. Maybe someone was in there, she reasoned. The house was huge. Maybe they were in a room way in the back. “Hello?” She shouted, but the wind wasn’t done with her yet.
No one came.
Okay, time to regroup. What were her choices? She could stand here on the porch until someone showed up, at the risk o
f freezing. She could try one of the barns. Maybe someone was feeding the animals, and if not, well, at least she’d be sheltered from the wind. The thin stiletto heels on her expensive boots made that a risky proposition. Still, better boots than her body. Or she could get back in the car, crank the heat and wonder what she’d done to deserve this.
Her foot was on the first step down when she saw them—two cowboys on horseback cresting one of the low hills. Thalia gasped at the image before her—it was perfect. The sunset backlit the riders, giving them a halo of gold. Clouds of fog billowed from each of the horse’s noses, which made them look otherworldly. Powerful, with a hint of danger. The whole thing looked like something right out of a movie—and she would know. This is exactly how she wanted to introduce the character of Sean Bridger in Blood for Roses. She’d been right to push for signing James Robert Bradley. This was perfect. He was going to be perfect. She could see the Oscar nominations rolling in.
Plus, someone was here. She could go inside and warm up.
The riders slowed as one of them pointed in her general direction. She’d been spotted. Thank heavens. Much longer, and she wouldn’t be able to feel her legs anymore. She gave a hopeful wave, one that said, “Hi. I’m cold.” It must have worked, because one rider broke off and came charging toward the house at full speed.
Her optimism flipped over to fear in a heartbeat. This guy didn’t look like he was coming to greet her—he rode like he was going to run her down. Sure, Bradley didn’t want to be found—but he or whoever that was wouldn’t hurt her, would he? This wasn’t about to become a shoot-first-ask-later situation, was it? As quickly as she could without betraying her terror, she stepped back onto the porch and out of the line of those hooves.
Still, the rider came on at full speed, pulling up only when he was parallel with her rental. The horse, a shining palomino, reared back, hooves flailing as the steam from his mouth almost enveloped the two of them. The rider’s long coat fanned out behind him, giving her a glimpse of fringed chaps. If she hadn’t been so afraid, Thalia would have appreciated the artistry and sheer skill of the moment. As it was, she half expected to find herself looking down the barrel of a gun.