But it wasn’t respect that made her knees go weak or her heart flutter like a caged wild bird. It wasn’t respect that made her want to tear off his clothes and have her way with him until neither one of them had the strength to fall out of bed.
And if that wasn’t enough to short out every brain cell she possessed, she didn’t know what was.
“You’re mighty quiet,” Hank observed as he seated her in the car that had been waiting at the private airport just outside Royal. “I’m still waiting for an answer.”
Callie cleared her throat and tried to look stern. “I said I’d think about it. I’m still thinking.” Emotionally exhausted, she’d slept during the entire flight back to Texas.
“And?”
“And I’m not finished thinking about it yet, but if I decide to do it, it doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over and play dead,” she warned him. “I’m too independent for that, so if you’re looking for a doormat, I’m not the wife you want.”
“Duly noted.”
It didn’t help her claim of independence that she’d come back to Texas with him, leaving her business back home unfinished. Her whole life was unraveling faster than she could snatch up the loose ends and weave them back into place.
She almost wished he hadn’t asked her to marry him. If he had any idea how much she wanted to grab the steering wheel, pull the car off onto the shoulder, slam on the brakes and kiss the living daylights out of him, she wouldn’t even stand a chance.
Was it a simple case of lust? Biology? Chemistry? Whatever it took to spark an explosion between two people? Was it honestly, truly love, or just a strong case of mutual attraction added to liking and respect? How was a woman supposed to know?
She sighed. Whatever it was, it hadn’t come with a list of ingredients, nor even a warning sign.
By the time they reached the club, there were only half a dozen or so vehicles left in the parking lot, most belonging to staff. A light came on over the garage where Hank kept his cars, his pickup truck and his motorcycle. A moment later, his driver appeared in the doorway. Hank waved him away.
“It’s late. I need to go home,” Callie murmured.
“You are home.”
Hank switched off the engine and sat there, face forward, hands still on the steering wheel. The upper part of his body was in shadow, so Callie allowed her gaze to stray to his muscular thighs.
Big mistake. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath and tried again. “I didn’t mean back home in Yadkin County, I meant home to Aunt Manie’s house.”
“I didn’t mean home in Royal, I meant home with me. I thought we’d settled it. Honey, your home is with me, whether we’re in Texas, North Carolina or halfway to the moon.”
He turned to her just as light from a passing car delineated his bronzed, masculine features, making him look for a moment like some ancient warrior from another age.
Had a man like that actually asked her to marry him, or had she only imagined it? She hadn’t imagined what had happened in that king-size bed last night. At its wildest, her imagination wasn’t up to a task of such magnitude.
“Hungry?”
“What? Oh. No, thanks, I couldn’t eat a bite.”
“Still queasy?”
“I’m fine, but—Hank, we’ve got to get something straight.”
“Yeah, we have. Come on upstairs and we’ll sort out the logistics.”
Panic was beginning to set in. Callie told herself it was only jet lag—that and the fact that her life seemed to have been swept up in an avalanche these past few days. First a fancy ball, for heaven’s sake, then her house burning down, and then flitting across the country in a jet plane as if it were no more than driving down to the local IGA.
Now an oil millionaire claimed he wanted to marry her. What was she supposed to do? Even though he didn’t feel like a millionaire; even though he was just Hank, and she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her entire life, it would never work, not in a million years. He was rich and sophisticated. She was poor and country. She was plain; he was fancy. He had a passport and a flock of platinum credit cards, and all she had was a high school diploma, a social security card, and a perfect attendance certificate from Sunday School.
“I called ahead and ordered us some supper.”
“I’m not hungry.” And that was another thing. He was used to having whatever he wanted, when he wanted it. She’d always had to plan ahead, work and save, and then weigh genuine needs against frivolous desires.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, Callie let him lead her upstairs. Passing close to the kitchen, they heard the sound of soft laughter and clinking dishes. Someone was playing a radio, and it reminded her of the way her mother always tuned into WTQR and danced around the kitchen to Brooks and Dunn, or harmonized with Reba.
She was simply homesick. And no gentlemen’s club in the middle of the Wild West could ever take the place of her real home.
But then she reminded herself that her parents’ loft had never been her home, the apartment they’d lived in when she was growing up was now a strip mall and Grandpop’s house lay in ruins.
When her face threatened to crumple from exhaustion and sheer discouragement, she bit her lip and scowled.
Hank let them in, collecting a stack of mail as they passed Manie’s desk. “Why not have a nice hot soak while I see what Mouse left for us in the refrigerator? I’ll set your bag in the dressing room, but feel free to borrow anything of mine.”
As if she would dare. Even wearing the hotel’s bathrobe, she’d half expected the manager to rush in and accuse her of appropriating hotel property. Which just went to show how totally unsuited she was to be the wife of a man like Hank Langley.
“After that, we’ll get down to brass tacks.”
She stared at him mutely for a moment, and then turned and opened the first door she came to, which turned out to contain banks of computers and other esoteric equipment. With a stricken look, she backed out, and Hank took pity on her.
“Honey, calm down, nobody’s going to hurt you. You haven’t been kidnapped, nobody’s holding you against your will, which reminds me…”
Which reminded him that he’d better check in with Greg ASAP. The mission was slated to go in stages, and the first stage should be ready to launch in approximately thirty-six hours to rescue the Princess and her son.
That left him barely enough time to settle things with Callie and ram the necessary paperwork through.
“Well, where the devil is your blooming bathroom, anyway?” she blurted. “Out in the backyard?”
She looked mad as a yellow jacket, but Hank knew it was mostly exhaustion. That and confusion. “Next door on the right,” he told her. Very few people had ever been invited into his private domain. Of those few, only two were female. The housekeeper and Manie, who had never stood on ceremony where any of the Langleys were concerned.
She glared at him, as if not trusting him to steer her right. A tired smile creased his face. Whether or not she was ready to admit it, she wanted him as much as he wanted her. A man could usually sense these things. When it came to hiding her feelings, Callie was no match for him. “You’ve got twenty minutes,” he warned her gently. “After that, I’ll expect an answer to my proposal.”
“Hank, I told you—”
“I said an answer, not an argument. A simple affirmative will suffice.”
“It wasn’t a simple proposal.” She escaped with the last word, which was probably just as well. Needing food, a drink, a bath and a good night’s sleep, he let himself into the communications room. To say it was state-of-the-art would be an understatement. With a variety of sophisticated equipment, some of which was still in the experimental stage, he had instant access to every country in the civilized world, and a few that were still pretty borderline.
He punched in a number, waited for a click that signaled the encryption system was working, and said, “Langley here. Look, you’re all set up on the other end, but there might be
a few dicey spots. You’re going to have to go in at night—yeah, I’ve got that covered, but—Right. No problem. The money will be waiting, but cover your tracks, man. My contacts say this Ivan character has more tentacles than a tankful of centipedes.”
After he rang off, Hank sat and stared unseeingly at the giant map that was dotted with pushpins. Then, checking the time, he rose stiffly, stretched and went in search of his lady.
Looking scrubbed, sleepy and even more belligerent, she was wearing his navy-brocaded bathrobe. He’d known, of course, that she didn’t have one of her own, at least not with her. It occurred to him that everything she owned except for the few things she’d brought west with her had probably been lost in the fire.
Priority one: outfit her from the skin out, the way he’d been wanting to do ever since he’d seen her that first day in those limp cottons.
Correction: priority one was getting her to agree to marry him, right now, no waiting, no engagement, no legal hassles.
“Feel better?” he drawled.
“Not especially.”
“You need food. Want to dine first, or settle this business about my propopsal? I believe you said it wasn’t a simple proposal. Care to elaborate on that?”
“Not really, I’m hungry.”
“Humor me while I set out our supper.” He led the way to a formal dining room he almost never used. “Tea, coffee or milk?”
“Milk, please, and don’t try to confuse me. We both know I’m no expert on marriage proposals.”
“What, you want the hearts and flowers version? I could go down on bended knee, but it would hurt like hell and I’m a bear when I’m in pain.”
“You’re a bear even when you’re not in pain. Hank, if this is your conscience speaking, forget it. I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. What happened—well, it was a—a mutual thing.”
“I seriously doubt that,” he said ruefully with just the shadow of a smile.
“Well, if it’s pity you’re offering, I don’t need that, either. I got sort of emotional for a little while, but I’m fine now, honestly. In fact, you were right. Talking things over with Aunt Manie in person is the smart thing to do, because she’s involved, too.”
He swore softly. Callie said, “I don’t know why you’re so upset, I’m letting you off the hook. This is practically the twenty-first century, after all, and we’re both—I think the term is single, consenting adults.” The look he sent her didn’t bear interpretation. “Besides, you’ve already done so much, I’ll never be able to repay you. You don’t have to take it to extremes.”
“Dammit all to hell, Callie, what kind of fool do you take me for?”
“I don’t know—a sweet one? A generous one? One who’s determined not to let me take Aunt Manie back home with me? Which means, I guess, you’re a selfish one, too, but that’s all right. I know you’re fond of her, but that doesn’t mean you have to take on the care and feeding of all her relatives. Aside from Daddy, I’m her only blood kin, which makes me the logical one to look after her in her declining years, and I really want to do it. I like having family around me. It gives me a sense of purpose.”
He muttered something under his breath. She put it down to the fact that he was probably as tired and hungry and stressed as she was.
“Women are just naturally better at that sort of thing than men, so don’t you see? It’s the best solution all around. You can come to visit anytime you’re in the neighborhood, you’ll always be—” Breaking off, she tilted her head to stare at him. “What? Why are you staring at me that way?”
He slapped two plates down on the table and said, “Wait here. I want to show you something.” And then he disappeared into the next room.
Callie half rose, then sat back down. Phrases like “up the creek without a paddle,” and “in over her head” came to mind.
A minute later Hank returned and handed her a framed photograph. It was a grainy black-and-white snapshot that had obviously been enlarged. She looked at him, and then studied the picture of a young woman dressed in clothes reminiscent of the forties, or maybe the fifties. She was wearing a catcher’s mitt and laughing at a little boy with spiky hair and a snaggletoothed grin who was clutching a baseball bat almost as long as he was.
“Who—?” And then she recognized the woman. Not the child, but something about the woman reminded her of her own father. The nose, the forehead…“Oh, my mercy, it’s Aunt Manie, isn’t it? But who’s the little boy?”
When there was no response, she peered closer. Harsh shadows disguised the child’s features, but nothing could disguise the childish arrogance of his stance. As if he were Babe Ruth and Mark McGwire all rolled into one. “It’s you, isn’t it?” she whispered.
“She’s the only mother I’ve ever really known. I love her, Callie, but that has nothing to do with why I asked you to marry me.”
For a long time, neither of them said a word. And then Callie whispered, “Damn these Texas rules. I never even had a prayer, did I?”
“That applies to both of us.”
“I’ve heard of marrying for the sake of a child, but this is crazy. Nobody marries for the sake of a sixty-nine-yearold woman.”
“Seventy-two, but don’t let on I told you.”
She’d lost her appetite. Carefully she set the photograph aside. With her heavy sterling fork, she rearranged the chicken salad and poached pears Mouse had prepared to go with the tiny cloverleaf rolls. Sighing, she said, “Then why? Why did you ask me to marry you, and don’t try to tell me it was because I—because we—”
“Slept together?”
“Whatever you want to call it.”
“At this point, I’m as out of my depth as you are. You want my take on it?”
“Please.”
“All right, I admit that lately I’ve been thinking of something along the lines of a marriage of convenience, at least until we got to know each other better. The trouble is, celibacy’s not going to work here, not after last night.”
“Lust is not a sound basis for marriage.”
“Tell me about it,” he said bitterly. “I went that route once before. It was a dead end. What I had in mind this time around was a sensible, mutually beneficial arrangement with all the rules clearly spelled out beforehand and agreed to by both sides. You get a home, I don’t have to worry about choosing between Pansy and Bianca, and—”
“And Aunt Manie will be taken care of.”
“Yeah, well…we’ll talk about that later. Right now, we have to come to some agreement. It would help if you’d say yes.”
Wearing his bathrobe, the one that hung behind the bathroom door, she looked young and tired and confused. He wanted to take pity on her and send her to bed, but dammit, not when he was this close to his goal.
“I still don’t understand why it has to be marriage.”
“You want me to spell it out? All right, here goes. Your first offense was trampling all over every damned privacy fence I’d erected. Privacy is important to a man in my position.”
“I did that? I didn’t mean to,” she whispered.
“You asked. I’m telling you. Do me the courtesy of not interrupting, because I don’t like admitting my weaknesses. Okay, so you showed up and I started acting like a randy kid his first time out of the barn. I’m not saying you did it deliberately, any more than I deliberately set it up. I will admit I took advantage of the circumstances.”
She stared at him mutely. Next thing he knew, she’d probably be snoring. “I’ll even admit I lost control. I didn’t use protection. Hell, I didn’t even take the time to see to your satisfaction first. For a man with some twenty-five years of experience, who enjoys a certain reputation as a skilled lover, that’s a flat-out disgrace. Any other woman would have raised hell, but not you.”
She was awake. From the neck up, she turned red as a pepper, but she stared him square in the eyes. “Callie, honey, don’t you see? What you’ve gone and done is, you’ve messed up my mind at a time when I can
’t afford the luxury of a distraction.”
“The Alpha thing?”
“What do you know about Alpha?”
Her high color left as swiftly as it had arisen. “Only that you and Greg Hunt and that nice Mr. Churchill are involved in something that needs passports and embassies and that’s probably why you need to be in Washington instead of sitting here arguing with me.”
“So how about cutting me some slack? Marry me?”
“Because of Alpha?”
They had given up any pretense of eating. The elegant feast served on bone china, imported wine and cold milk served in antique crystal—all of it could have been sawdust served on paper plates.
“Not because of Alpha,” he said quietly. Rising, he held out his hand. Like a sleepwalker, Callie placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her from the room. Neither of them pretended they didn’t know what was happening.
And this time, Hank promised himself, it would be different. This time was for Callie. Before he even thought about taking his own pleasure he was going to make her bones melt, make her whimper, make her shout out his name. And then repeat the performance again and again, as long as his middle-aged body could hold up.
Briefly he thought about spinning her a line. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d lured a woman into his bed with a bit of silver-tongued patter, although usually he didn’t have to bother.
Lately he hadn’t even been tempted.
At his bedroom door, she said, “We’re going to do it again, aren’t we?”
He choked on a laugh. “God, I sincerely hope so.”
“Well, all right, but that doesn’t mean I have to marry you.”
“The offer’s still open, regardless.”
She shot him a suspicious look. His bedroom was done in desert shades, with few softening touches. Except for the custom-built bed, she didn’t even give it a glance.
“Take all the time you need. Tomorrow you can move your things in here, and in a day or so we can start looking around for a house. I figure the club’s no place to raise a family.”
Texas Millionaire Page 15