Tomorrow, the real work would begin as patterns hit the cutting boards and preparations for the first set of sample designs rolled forward. That should keep my mind off Leon Archer’s eyes, lips and his too fine butt. At least for a while, she hoped, suddenly exhausted by the events of the day. All she wanted to do was take a hot shower, fall into bed and dream about ladies snatching her swimsuits off the racks inside Leeman’s department stores.
When the thump-thump of a ball hitting the ground outside erupted, Kacey reached up, pulled the cord to open the mini blinds and peered into the courtyard of the apartment complex next door. She saw four young men racing around the well-worn asphalt lot, launching into a game of basketball. Their noisy play struck every nerve in Kacey’s body, zapping her like jolts of electricity. The loud jeers and cheers as the boys called back and forth shattered the peace she had hoped to enjoy on her first night in Rockport.
“Oh, my God,” Kacey groaned, quickly closing the blinds. Was this a regular thing? Did the boys play there every evening? Annoyed, she grabbed the remote control off the desk and zapped the TV on, turning the volume up very loud in an attempt to drown out the ballplayers outside. However, her camouflage attempt prompted the person in the next room to pound on the wall and yell for her to turn the TV down. Clamping her teeth together, she bit back the urge to answer the knock with a pounding of her own, but lowered the volume, resigned to getting used to the noise coming from outside.
Why am I so edgy? she wondered. Living in the city, she was accustomed to the ever-present traffic noise and city sounds that rose up from the street and filtered into her third-floor apartment in Harlem. Why did it seem that, in Texas, everything was magnified and in her face—not as distant and impersonal as it was back home? Was it simply because she was in unfamiliar territory or because she was paying too much attention to her surroundings?
Either way, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this place, she decided, reluctantly hanging her designer suits with matching blouses on wire hangers and placing her trendy pumps and sandals on the shabby carpet floor. Not knowing how long she’d be in Texas, she’d brought a good supply of clothing and shoes in order to be prepared for whatever might come up. She had several pairs of slacks and denim jeans. Capris matched with both dressy and casual tops. Sneakers. Her two favorite swimsuits and, of course, a generous supply of underwear and delicate lingerie.
As a teenager, Kacey had developed a passion for feminine, sexy underclothing and suspected that her love of these delicate items was what fostered her desire to create a swimwear line.
After arranging her toiletries and cosmetics on the ledge in the tiny bathroom, she stuck her empty suitcase on the top shelf of the closet and turned her thoughts to her next big decision: where to go for dinner.
She’d passed a pizza place and a cafeteria on her way to the motel, but neither choice struck her as particularly appealing, and she wasn’t up for driving around hunting for a place to eat. In fact, she had no appetite at all.
Digging into her black patent Kate Spade tote, Kacey pulled out a plastic zipper bag containing tea bags, crackers, sweetener and packets of instant soup—the trusty emergency travel kit she never left home without. At least the Seaside Suites furnished a microwave oven and plastic cups. For tonight, that would have to do.
Leon parked his Corvette under the carport beside his house, turned off the engine and got out. As he walked along the sandy path leading to his back door, he admired the magnificent orange and gray sunset hovering just above the dark waters of the Gulf. The reflection of the sinking sun glimmering on the water turned the flat dusky expanse into a magical mirror weighted to the land. He climbed the steps leading up to his back deck and then paused, drinking in the sight that always greeted him. The only sounds that broke into his quiet cocoon were the gentle swish-swish of waves lapping at the shore and the occasional squawk of a seagull passing overhead.
Leon tossed his briefcase onto a canvas deck chair and leaned against the deck’s polished wood rail, gazing out over the water. Though he’d grown up in his parents’ huge traditional home and admired the old place with a passion, once he returned to Rockport after college and began to work for his father, he’d purchased and restored the dramatic one-story beach house that he now called home. It was the perfect place for him: he could be near the coastal waters that he loved so much, yet far enough away from the prying eyes of townsfolk and employees—who often took their familiarity with the Archer family too much to heart.
Born and raised in Rockport, Leon thought of himself as a country guy, content with small-town life—where everyone knew him and he fit right in. However, living in a place like Rockport, and being the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Archer, meant he belonged to the most influential and wealthy family in the city, a family that was respected and trusted by all.
The dramatic view from the wraparound deck that surrounded his house never failed to impress Leon, who had renovated the place with walls of glass on two sides, bringing the Gulf of Mexico right into his home. His nearest neighbor was one mile away and his location, far from the center of the city, was as close to perfect as could be appreciated. He could get to his mom and dad quickly in case of an emergency, yet he was far enough away to discourage impromptu visits.
After all, he was a bachelor, free to come and go as he pleased, and had no one to answer to but himself. Didn’t he deserve to live in a luxurious seaside home that reflected his good taste and offered the privacy he craved? Leon took great pains to make his life as stress-free, and relationship-free, as possible, and at thirty-three he believed he had plenty of time before settling down to bring anyone else into his life. Until the urge to permanently bond with one particular woman hit him, he had no qualms about having as much fun as possible, while working as hard as he could.
The buzz of Leon’s handheld interrupted his sunset watch. He checked the screen and grinned. It was Freddy, his longtime friend who lived in nearby Smithville, twenty miles inland from the coast.
“Hey, man. What’s going on?” Leon answered, shoving his briefcase to the floor as he sat down in the deck chair.
“Everything,” Freddy replied in his deeply melodious voice.
“Like?” Leon prompted, knowing Freddy well enough not to try to guess what he might be into at the moment. Freddy was a trust-fund baby with lots of cash, very little responsibility and a penchant for partying hard at the ranch he’d inherited from his parents.
“Got a call from Paul Grant…you remember him?” Freddy was saying.
“The rodeo dude who won all those medals—and cash—at the Houston Livestock show last year?”
“Yeah, that’s the guy,” Freddy confirmed.
“What about him?” Leon asked.
“He’s bringing his crew and they’re gonna put on a show here at the ranch weekend after next. Saturday and Sunday. It’ll be the biggest roundup ever, man. Party time for real. I’m telling you, man. It’s gonna be a blast. I’ve got folks coming in from as far away as Vegas to join in the fun. Booked a band. Top shelf liquor. Food for days. Girls galore. You’ve gotta come out for this one, bro. No kidding.”
Leon hesitated, his mind spinning. When the close-knit atmosphere of life in Rockport became too claustrophobic and he needed to get away, Leon usually headed to Freddy’s ranch, where he could drink beer, ride horses and hang out with his party buddies, who were ever-present at the ranch. At Freddy’s ultramodern lodge in the semi-desert setting, the bar never closed, the stream of beautiful women never ended and the party never stopped. A weekend at Freddy’s could chase away small-town blues and recharge Leon’s batteries, increasing his appreciation of the quiet calm of Rockport when he returned.
“Sorry, wish I could, but I don’t think I can make it,” Leon told Freddy, adding the news that his father had just retired and turned the company over to him.
“All the more reason to celebrate, man. You don’t wanna pass this one up.”
The temptation to pack
a bag and head to the ranch for a freewheeling good time challenged Leon’s resistance. It would be a weekend trip. No need to worry about work. However, he knew he couldn’t leave.
With a reluctant grimace, Leon told Freddy, “Sorry. Really. I’d better stick around here right now.” Leon could sense his best friend’s disappointment in the silence that hummed on the line. Rarely did Leon turn down one of Freddy’s coveted invites, but this time it had to be done. “I’ve got a ton of work facing me, due to my dad’s sudden retirement and all. Plus, I’ve got this designer in town…we have a contract to manufacture her swimsuit line. That’s gonna take all my concentration.”
“Can’t Nona handle her?” Freddy quipped. “She knows as much about your dad’s…. uh, I mean, your company’s operation as anybody.”
“Naw, I promised Pop I’d handle this one personally, and it’s too important to leave with Nona, even though I know she could handle it.”
“Okay, man. I hear you. Don’t decide now. You’ve got time. Think about it.”
“Okay,” Leon agreed.
“Later,” Freddy said, clicking off.
As the sunset gradually lost its luster, Leon remained on his deck, his thoughts centered on Kacey Parker. Suddenly, Freddy’s invitation didn’t strike him as very appealing. A wild rodeo weekend of drinking beer and partying wasn’t what he wanted to do and he knew why. What he wanted to do was to stick around Rockport, get close enough to Kacey to see what made her tick. He had to find out if she was just a tease or if she was as stirred up as he was—if this crazy attraction he was feeling for her was on a two-way street.
Pushing up from his chair, Leon went inside and turned up the lights, illuminating the soft beige and gray décor of the interior of his house. The luster of chrome and glass contracted sharply with the warm tan walls and sectional that wrapped around a huge fireplace constructed of rough natural stone. Entering his golden granite kitchen, he went to the refrigerator and looked inside, suddenly very hungry. He grinned when he saw the large dish of lasagna, tossed salad and garlic bread that had been placed on the center shelf.
“Thank you, Mom,” he murmured, knowing his mother, who loved to cook, must have dropped off the food while he was at work. Whenever she was about to leave town she always cooked up whatever was in her fridge and graciously donated her culinary creations to her son. And it sure comes in on time tonight, Leon thought, definitely too wired from his first day as owner of Archer Industries to begin to think about food.
Leon removed the casserole dish, set it on his kitchen counter and studied the oversized meal. More than I can eat by myself, he thought, as an idea began to form. Pulling out his cell phone he quickly dialed the number at the Seaside Suites Motel, his heart thumping crazily under his shirt.
Sitting with her back against the headboard of her too-soft bed, Kacey dunked a limp tea bag up and down in a cup of tepid water, and eyed the packet of crackers on her bedside table, resigned to eating her dreary meal alone. She settled in, took a sip from her cup and was just about to open the crackers when the room phone rang.
Startled, she nearly dropped the concoction that she was not looking forward to drinking. Reaching over, she picked up the receiver and answered, stunned, yet pleased to hear Leon’s voice.
“Well, hello,” she replied, determined to sound as if receiving a call from him was a perfectly natural thing.
“How’s your room? Everything okay?” Leon asked.
“Oh, yes. It’s fine,” Kacey replied, thinking how nice it was of him to care about her comfort.
“Good. I was wondering if you’d had dinner,” he asked right off.
Kacey laughed aloud, giving up a soft giggle that let him know he’d struck a chord. “Uh…if you can call a cup of lukewarm herbal tea and slightly stale crackers dinner, then yes.”
Leon groaned in disgust. “How does homemade lasagna with hot garlic bread sound?”
“Heavenly.” A beat. “So you cook, too, huh?”
“Naw. Compliments of my mom. She loves to feed me.”
“All right. Sooo…are you inviting me to dinner?”
“Absolutely.”
“I accept.”
“I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 8
From the road, Leon’s home resembled an ordinary ranch house, with a low-slung profile, sleek horizontal windows and a tall brick chimney rising high above the roofline in the middle of the structure. However, as Kacey soon discovered, behind the building’s rather nondescript façade was a fabulous home with a beach view that blew her mind.
After parking his Corvette under the carport, Leon walked with Kacey along the sandy path that led to the back entrance of the house. Her mouth dropped open in shock at the sight that greeted her. The entire rear of Leon’s home was wrapped with a true mahogany deck that offered a spectacular view of the Gulf of Mexico. The tropical landscape leading down to the water resembled a cushy mat of lush green foliage punctuated by succulent blooming cacti and prickly heat-hardy plants. Nestled within the unusual, and intriguing, garden were bubbling fountains with cascades of silvery water where solar lights twinkled among the exotic flowering shrubs. The scent of salt water, mingled with jasmine, perfumed the air and pulled Kacey deeper into her fascination with Leon, as well as his private escape.
“What a fantastic place,” she commented, mounting the steps to the deck, where a patio table had been draped with a white cloth and set with plates for dinner for two.
“Thanks. I like it, too,” Leon replied as he lifted the glass hurricane shade in the center of the table and lit the thick white candle beneath it, shielding the flame from the brisk coastal winds with a cup of his hand. The light quickly shed a shimmer of gold over the gilt-rimmed wineglasses waiting to be filled and created a twinkle of amber light on plates that reflected the starry sky overhead.
“It’s not too cool for you out here, is it?” he asked.
“Not at all. This is heaven, after all the cold rain in New York.” Moving to stand at the deck’s rail, Kacey stared out over the dark, wave-crested water, taking in the surreal scene. In the distance, a slow-moving private yacht drifted past, looking like a holiday sparkler with its tiny windows all ablaze. Beyond the pleasure boat, she spied a much larger vessel that broke the line of the horizon in a hulking oblong shadow.
“That’s a cruise ship bound for Mexico,” Leon told her before she had a chance to ask. “They pass by on a regular schedule. I could set my watch by the Kings Cruise ships. Very punctual line.”
“How serene,” Kacey remarked, parting her lips to suck in a breath of sea air, loving the feel of the gentle breeze that caressed her face and ruffled the white linen tablecloth.
“Yes, it is peaceful,” Leon agreed, reaching for the bottle of wine on the table. “Is red okay?” he asked, lifting up the bottle. “Produced in a local winery.”
Kacey turned to face Leon, struck silent by a catch in her throat that held her words in check. Was it only this morning that she’d been grumbling about going to Rockport, feeling resentful about being stuck in Texas? Now, all she wanted to do was linger on this fantastic deck and drink wine with this handsome man until the sun came up. Why was her mind stuck on how damn handsome Leon Archer was and how quickly he was moving into her heart? It all seemed so fast…so surreal, yet so right. Was she complaining? Not at all. In fact, Kacey knew she wanted nothing more than for Leon Archer to make the first move. And after that, well, she wasn’t sure what might happen, but she damn sure wanted to find out.
Kacey gave Leon a quick nod and smiled as he removed the cork from the wine bottle, poured two glasses and then moved next to her. She accepted the drink, cupping her fingers around the bowl of the glass as she tasted the wine. “Very nice.”
“Good. I think so, too.”
“And you said this is local?” she asked, impressed by the smooth, silky taste of the wine.
“Yep. The winery is not far from here.” He placed a hand on her shoul
der and pointed toward the east. “Just over that ridge. Where the land rises up at that jagged tree line. That’s the vineyard. A beautiful piece of land.”
“I’ve never drunk Texas wine,” she admitted. Then she added, “In fact, I’d never thought about Texas as a place where wine was produced.”
Leon chuckled. “You’re not alone. But the word is getting out. More local growers are planting grapes instead of cotton. Something to tell your city friends about when you return home,” Leon stated.
“For sure. I’m impressed with your hometown. What else should I know?”
“That we have real rodeo competitions around here.”
“Rodeo? You mean roping steers and riding cows?” Kacey asked.
Leon sputtered in laughter. “Steers, horses and bulls get ridden, but not cows,” he clarified. “Yes. It’s true. There’s a very active rodeo circuit in these parts,” he told Kacey. “A friend of mine owns a ranch in Smithville—about twenty miles from here. His grandparents founded the oldest black rodeo in the state. In fact, he’s hosting a pretty well-known rodeo crew weekend after next.”
“Hmm…fascinating. I’ve never seen a rodeo,” Kacey admitted.
“Really? I think you’d like it. I could take you if…”
“If I’m still here,” Kacey finished with a lift of an eyebrow. “We might be finished with my line by then.”
“You’ll be here,” Leon stated with such assurance that it sent a shiver of anticipation curling tightly around Kacey’s heart.
“You love this part of the country, don’t you?” Kacey said, her voice soft and sincere.
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