The Tycoon Meets His Match

by Barbara Benedict

  “She wants this marriage all right.” Rhys felt on solid ground with this. “We talked at length about it. She wants nothing more than to settle down and start a family.”

  “Did she actually come up with this herself, or was it after you and/or her mother suggested it?”

  All at once, his ground got shakier. He could remember Mitsy droning on at many a dinner party about how her daughter needed direction in her life, and really, what better purpose could a woman have than being a wife and mother?

  “Okay, say you’re right,” he said, not convinced at all. “Tell me what Lucie does want, then.”

  “That’s obvious. Excitement. Adventure. Fun.”

  “Did she tell you this, or did she just agree after you suggested it?”

  That made her pause. “Never mind,” she said with a frown. “The fact remains, she called me. Not you. And I’m the one who’s been telling her not to marry anyone unless she’s madly, deliriously, head-over-heels in love.”

  Rhys was not convinced. “Lucie must have a logical explanation for why she hasn’t called,” he insisted. “And I’m certain she expects me to come after her. To bring her back home to be my wife.”

  She studied him for a moment, then went back to her own reverie, leaving his words to hang between them. Staring out the window, watching the roadside whizzing past, Rhys replayed his last statement. Every syllable he’d uttered had been true, but all he could hear were the words he’d left out. The ones having to do with being madly, deliriously, head-over-heels in love.

  Didn’t matter, he told himself firmly. He’d made a promise, and a Paxton never went back on his word.

  Unlike Lucie….

  He shook off the thought.

  “Okay,” Trae said at last. “Say you’re right. Say you do drag her back and nothing I say can talk her out of going through with this marriage. It’s a long time between now and death-do-you-part. Unless you change, I can’t see how you ever hope to pull it off.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Being the right husband for her. Making her happy. I’m sorry, but Lucie is very special to me. I can’t sit back and watch her being miserable for the rest of her life.”

  “Well thank you very much for the vote of confidence.”

  “I’m not saying you’d do it intentionally.” She nibbled on her lower lip, choosing her words with care. “I know you mean well, Paxton, but you still don’t have a clue.”

  “About what?”

  She shook her head, as if he just proved her point. “About what makes Lucie happy. No doubt you can run spreadsheets and balance the books with the best of them, but you can’t handle women the way you run your company. If you ask me, you need a crash course on how best to deal with Lucie.”

  She paused, then brightened considerably. “Hey, that’s a good idea. We can call it Lucie 101. I mean, we need a diversion, anyway, don’t we? Something to pass the time so we don’t…” She hesitated again, her face going pink. “Two more days in this car could be gruesome. This will give us something to do.”

  “This?”

  “Haven’t you been listening? I’m going to whip you into shape, mister. When I’m done, you’ll be the perfect husband.”

  She seemed so proud of herself, but Rhys knew he had to nip this in the bud. Trae, turning him into the perfect husband? It sounded like a grade-B version of Frankenstein. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “You don’t think Lucie deserves the best life can offer?”

  “You know that I do.” He met her questioning gaze and was gratified when she looked away first. “Look, Trae, I’m sure you’d like nothing more than to reinvent me, but there’s got to be a better way to get through the next two days.”

  “Such as?”

  He shrugged, having no real idea. He had to get her talking about something else. “You must have taken trips as a kid. Played games in the car.”

  Her grin held a hint of mischief. “Well, there’s always punch buggy.”

  “Punch what?”

  “Buggy, as in a VW bug. The grin deepened. “Say you see a Beetle and it’s blue. If you’re the first one to shout, ‘punch buggy blue,’ you get to punch the other guy in the arm.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not one bit. Let me tell you, with five older brothers, I got real quick at spotting those bugs. To make sure I wasn’t the one with all the bruises at the end of the trip.”

  Rhys could picture her as a kid, leaning forward and scanning the horizon, intent upon winning at all costs.

  “C’mon, Paxton. You and your brother never played anything like that?”

  “My parents split up when Jack was a baby. Jack went with my mother and…” He stopped, realizing he’d been about to discuss his childhood. “Never mind,” he said firmly. “Punch buggy is out.”

  She gave him that look again, the one that showed she was curious, but to his surprise, she didn’t pry. “What, afraid you’ll lose?”

  “Not at all. I just figure you’ll need full use of your arms for driving.”

  “Listen to Mr. Macho. Just like my brothers.”

  He had to smile at the disgust in her tone. “What, they always get the best of you, too?”

  She stuck out her tongue at him. “They tried. Tony, especially. He was only a year older and six inches taller, but in his mind, girls were inferior beings, put on this earth to play run-and-fetch for him.”

  “Poor Tony.”

  “Damn straight. By the time I was ten, I figured out that if I didn’t soon put a stop to his bullying, Tony would be pushing me around for the rest of my life.”

  “And how did you manage to stop him?” Rhys chuckled, anxious to hear her story.

  “I challenged him to a wrestling match, no holds barred. Of course, being Tony, he just laughed. He never took me seriously. He said he couldn’t wrestle a stupid girl, insisted he didn’t want to hurt me. I had to kick him in the shins to get his attention.”

  Rhys pictured them, this big, burly ape of a kid, and tiny little Trae shaking her fist in his face. “So, did you win?”

  “Technically, no.” She sighed ruefully. “But I could have. I’d watched Tony wrestle our older brothers. I knew his weaknesses, knew all I had to do was trip him and get him on the ground. I almost had him pinned when my dad came along and dragged me off him, kicking and screaming. Had I been one of the boys, he’d have let us fight to the finish, but because I was a girl, the next thing I knew, I was sent off to St. Mary’s where the nuns—or so my parents hoped—could teach me to act like a lady.”

  Rhys laughed. “And how did that work out?”

  She shrugged. “I now teach at an exclusive girls’ academy. I can act like a lady when I have to.”

  Yes, he’d seen her in action, at the occasional party at the Beckwith house. The many faces of Trae. “So, I take it there were no more wrestling matches?”

  “I don’t know, Paxton. You need one?”

  She didn’t look at him; she didn’t have to. Last night had been prelude enough of what could happen between the two of them, her flat on her back, their sweat-soaked bodies entwined…

  Obviously, nobody was going to win that match.

  “My point is,” she went on quickly, as if seeing the pitfall herself, “it’s reckless to get too cocky. Just about anybody, any time, can come along and knock you off your perch. Nobody wins all the time, Paxton. Not even you.”

  “I don’t see what this has to do…”

  “It’s lesson number one.” And just like that, she segued back to her original topic. “You know how I feel about this marriage. But you’re bound and determined to go through with it. So if you hope to be a good husband for Lucie, you’ve got to lighten up. Let loose once in a while, and for heaven’s sake, stop taking everything so seriously. Especially yourself.”

  He didn’t even bother to hide his irritation. “Forgive me for asking, but what qualifies you to give advice on matrimony? When exactly was the last time you got
married? Or for that matter, sustained a long-term relationship?”

  She bristled. “This isn’t about me.”

  Watching her profile, Rhys had to wonder why no one had yet laid claim to her heart. With a face like that—and yes, that body—she could have any man she wanted. According to Lucie, she rarely dated anyone more than once. She was too particular and so protective of her independence, she wouldn’t know true love if it stepped up and bit her in the face.

  Yet clearly, Trae was a passionate woman. Last night was certainly proof enough of that. No one could call him a monk, but Rhys had never before been with anyone so responsive, so attuned to his every touch. Made him wonder what might have happened had they not been interrupted.

  He looked away, sternly reminding himself why he was scrunched into this car, chasing across the country with limited funds. Lucie was out there, expecting him to find and rescue her. She needed him.

  While Trae, well, obviously the woman could take care of herself.

  On the other side of the car, Trae was feeling anything but capable at the moment. Though she stared straight ahead, she could sense him watching her, could feel the heat of his gaze as it burned into her skin.

  He was right, of course. She was far from an expert on marriage and probably the last person on earth qualified to dole out advice. She hadn’t really wanted to “reinvent” anybody. She’d thrown it out there as a diversion, something to pass the long hours ahead, hoping to avoid awkward moments such as this.

  When all the while, she should have been telling him what Lucie had actually said in her message.

  Why couldn’t she bring herself to tell Rhys that Lucie was waiting for him—no, expecting him—to come rescue her? It seemed a stupid thing to keep secret; he was bound to learn of it eventually. And what would Lucie think when she found out Trae hadn’t told him? Yet even just now, when the opportunity arose again, she’d opted to keep the truth to herself.

  He wasn’t going to tell her about finding his wallet, either, she thought defensively, but deep down she knew it wasn’t the same. As he’d pointed out, his wallet didn’t directly impact her. Lucie’s true intentions, however, could make a great deal of difference in what Rhys felt and did next.

  Yet Trae still couldn’t bring herself to speak.

  Fighting not to squirm, she gave him a sidelong glance, avoiding direct eye contact. He was no longer watching her, but his obvious discomfort made her feel even worse. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped being the enemy. She could no longer see him as a monster—he’d become a flesh-and-blood, multidimensional human being instead.

  And because of it, tormenting him wasn’t half the fun it used to be.

  “Listen, I’m going to pull over up here at that rest stop. We can get out, stretch our legs, and maybe you can check your messages. For all we know, Lucie could have called in the meantime.”

  He merely grunted.

  The chances were slim, she conceded, especially considering Lucie’s last message, but just in case, Trae decided to check her own messages. Lucie was forever calling with some high drama crisis, only to call back the next day to admit she’d overreacted.

  With a silent prayer that this was the case now, Trae pulled into the rest area. There were two banks of phones, so she parked between them. Still not speaking, Rhys marched off to one, while she went to the other.

  Trae’s sole message was from her mother. A rather long and disjointed lecture, indiscriminately peppered with Spanish, rambling on about some dire emergency requiring immediate attention. Trae caught only two words at the end. The first was father and the second was stroke.

  Heart pounding, she dialed her parent’s number. After seven interminable rings, she was startled to hear her father’s hoarse growl on the other end of the line.

  “Pop?” she asked quickly. “You okay?”

  His only answer was a grunt, and a “Here’s your mother.”

  Letting her mom rant, Trae eventually learned that her father had nearly had a stroke because his only daughter couldn’t take time from her busy life to spend a few hours with her family. Where was Trae last Sunday that she couldn’t make it home for dinner? What was so important that she would put her poor parents through untold worry and heartache? Not even a call to let them know she was still alive. They had to find out from Vinny that she’d been off gallivanting halfway across the world.

  Hanging on to her patience by the slimmest thread, Trae pointed out that California was hardly the ends of the earth. She could have saved her breath. Apparently, Vinny had mentioned Miami and New Orleans, as well. The fact that Trae couldn’t be content with those two cities, that she had strayed all the way to the West Coast and to such a crazy place as Hollywood, was enough to give her poor sainted father palpitations. Listening to her rant, Trae was glad Vinny had had the good sense not to mention Las Vegas.

  So when her mother got around to asking where she was calling from, Trae said the first thing that came into her head. “I, uh, I’m visiting an old friend from college.” She racked her brains for a name her mother might not remember. “Jo Kerrin. My old roommate. The one that got married. I’m, uh, helping her get settled back in New Orleans.” She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping her mother wouldn’t start grilling her for details.

  “As long as you’re home by Sunday,” her mom warned, staying focused on what mattered most to her. “It’s CiCi’s birthday, don’t forget, and she’s expecting her favorite aunt to be here. To make it special.”

  CiCi was about to turn seven, an age when birthdays were monumental occasions. Picturing her niece’s beaming face, Trae felt a lump form in the back of her throat.

  Staring at the rough desert landscape around her, she did the calculations. Barring any unforeseen difficulties, they should reach New Orleans by Saturday morning. If they located Lucie right away, that should give her ample time to talk with her friend, help her with whatever she decided and still catch a flight home in time for Sunday dinner. Assuming she could afford it and the strike was over. “I’ll be there,” she said, praying it was true.

  “If you’re not,” her mom pounced, able to catch even the slightest doubt in her daughter’s voice, “your brothers will come after you.”

  No idle threat. A few years ago on Joey’s third anniversary, Trae pretended to have the flu so she could go on a much-anticipated skiing weekend with friends. Ever alert, her mom had ferreted out the lie and dispatched Tony, Vic and Mike to the ski lodge. Her brothers had made such a scene, Trae had opted to leave with them to save her friends—and herself—from further embarrassment.

  That was her family. Nobody missed a special occasion.

  “Dinner will be at four,” her mom pronounced. “We’ll see you then.” And with a quick, sharp click, her mother ended the call.

  Frowning, Trae glanced over at Rhys, barking into the phone on the opposite side of the rest area. Still hanging onto the receiver, her mother’s words fresh in her mind, Trae was never more aware of how vastly different her world was from the one Rhys inhabited.

  Yet the more she thought about it, the more she realized they had one thing in common. Feeling the weight of her mother’s expectations, she could sympathize with Paxton’s stubborn determination to do the right thing. When the people who loved you counted on you, it was impossible to let them down.

  Duty and responsibility might come in many guises, she supposed, but the trap they formed was one and the same. Ironic how Rhys stood in his corner bound by his sense of obligation, while she stood in the opposite corner bogged down by hers.

  And in the end it would be their similarities, not differences, that would keep them apart.

  Chapter Ten

  R hys listened to his brother describe the crisis brewing in the office. If he had a hundred hours, Rhys could never explain all the pitfalls in the upcoming negotiations, but all he had was a mere five minutes. In all likelihood, the lawyers for Stanton, Inc. would eat Jack alive.

  “We have un
til Monday,” his brother offered. “With any luck, you should be back by then.”Rhys clung to that hope. Still, there were preparations to be made. “We need to sit down with the management team. The lawyers.”

  “I’m on it, Rhys. You can count on me.”

  “Like with the hotel reservation?”

  He could hear Jack sigh on the other end of the line. “Okay, I screwed up. But this time, I won’t. No matter what the old man claimed, I’m not an idiot, Rhys. I know how important this is. I swear, I won’t let you down.”

  Rhys could hear the plea in his tone. “Sam Beardsley is still there, isn’t he?”

  Jack’s sigh held a note of exasperation. “Yes, my babysitter is overseeing every move I make. Will you relax? Go find Lucie and bring her home. We can handle things on this end.”

  With a click, Jack took the decision out of his hands.

  Marching to the car, Rhys cursed under his breath. “I’ll drive,” he announced to Trae when he joined her.

  She paused, clearly startled by his crisp tone. “But…”

  “You can’t drive day and night, Trae. Not if we hope to reach New Orleans in one piece.”

  He yanked open the driver’s-side door, not leaving it up for discussion. She made a huffing sound, as if exasperated, but took her seat on the passenger side tamely enough.

  Sliding back the seat and adjusting the mirrors, Rhys pulled out of the gas station in a cloud of dust. He drove with grim determination, chewing up miles and spitting them out.

  And with each passing moment, he could feel his muscles loosening, his brain relaxing. What an improvement, being behind the wheel. Not only could he stretch out his legs, but he did some of his best thinking while driving. And let’s face it, he had plenty that needed sorting out.

  For one thing, he had to ponder the reason why he’d yet to hear word one from Lucie. No plea for help, not even an apology for leaving him at the altar. Granted, she was probably ashamed by her thoughtless behavior, but it had been five days and all he knew—and this from Trae, mind you—was that she’d run off with her old boyfriend without looking back. Maybe Trae was right. Maybe Lucie had decided she didn’t want this marriage after all.