The Tycoon

by Anna Jeffrey

  She smiled up at him, showing perfect white teeth. “It isn’t. It’s strictly an evening wrap.”

  He pulled his money clip out of his pocket, peeled off a twenty and handed it to the steward. “It’s pretty,” he told her.

  She smiled again. “Thank you. It’s a vintage garment. My grandmother wore it years ago

  when she was young. It makes me feel glamorous in a nineteen forties kind of way.”

  An old fashioned girl? She didn’t look the part, but the idea that she might be intrigued Drake all the more. He could think of none of his female acquaintances he would call “an old fashioned girl.”

  He took her elbow again and guided her out of the foyer, into the spacious hallway. He

  gestured toward an alcove almost hidden by a tall vase holding a splashy floral arrangement. “Let’s stop here for a minute.”

  She turned to face him, her back pressed against the wall, her hands behind her. Her jacket opened, showing deep cleavage. Spurred by the blatant body language, Drake placed a hand against the wall beside her head and forced his eyes up to hers. Green. Her eyes were green, but not just any green. They were the distinctive color of sage in springtime. A surge of blood shot straight to his loins, so powerful it left him disoriented. What the hell? He blinked away the feeling.

  Up close, she was even more striking than from a distance. He settled his eyes on her plump heart-shaped lips. They were parted, as if waiting for his kiss. Imagining what he could do with that mouth sent another surge south. He even felt a swell of saliva in his mouth. But this was no place for kissing, especially in the way he wanted to kiss her.

  “Drake Lockhart’s my name. What’s yours?”

  “Sha—” She stopped, hesitated, then looked down. “Uh, Sharon. Sharon Phillips.”

  What was to stammer about? Was that a phony name? A distant warning pinged inside his head.

  He could see her heartbeat fluttering in the hollow of her throat. His tongue itched to touch that flutter, but he reined himself in and took his pleasure by letting his eyes move over the slope of lush female flesh between her chin and her dress’s neckline. He had no trouble visualizing it peaked into rosy pebbles waiting for his mouth. Everything about her screamed woman and sex.

  “You don’t look like a Sharon to me.” He pushed away from the wall, stuffed his hand into his coat pocket. “I’d peg you as Lisa or Diana.”

  “Diana?” She laughed softly. “Wasn’t she a Roman goddess? Of the hunt? Or something like that?”

  He joined her with a little laugh of his own. “Forgive me if my mythology is rusty, but I seem to recall that lady having a touch of brutality about her. Am I in danger here?”

  She didn’t change her position. Even her smile stayed in place, teasing and flirty. Oh, yeah. She knew how she was affecting him. “Depends on your point of view,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve harmed anyone lately. Are Lisa and Diana your favorite names?”

  “I don’t have any favorite names. But those two strike me as being especially female.” He paused, holding her eyes with his. “And that’s how you strike me.”

  Her head tilted and a slow wise smile played across her mouth. She knew what he wanted all right, but what wasn’t quite evident yet was if she wanted the same thing.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s escape this joint.” He took her arm again and guided her toward the elevator.

  “Perhaps you should tell me where we’re escaping to. I might not want to go.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Actually, I am. Except for those hors d’oeuvres in there, I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”

  “I don’t diet. I run.”

  “Do you? So do I sometimes. When I have time, that is.”

  “The restaurants around here must still be open.”

  “I’m thinking of my place. I live only a few blocks from here. I’ll order something delivered.”

  She stopped, lifted her arm from his hand and looked up at him. “You’re inviting me to go

  home with you at this time of night?...To eat?”

  “It’s quiet there. We can—”

  “But you have a fiancé. Jordan said—”

  “Not true.”

  “And what if I said, Mr. Lockhart, as clichéd as it sounds, I’m not that kind of girl?”

  “You’re the kind of girl who eats supper, aren’t you?” He gave her his best half smile. “Anything beyond that is strictly up to you.”

  Chapter 8

  Outside, in the hotel’s brightly lit portico, Drake summoned a valet. Shannon stood to the side shivering and clasping her jacket’s silky fox fur collar under her chin. Her thoughts were a wheel within a wheel inside her head. This was nothing more than a poorly disguised seduction. She should have declined his invitation, especially when he said supper was to be “take-out” at his home rather than at a restaurant. If all she wanted was to eat, she could buy her own late supper. For all she knew, he might call in a pizza.

  But as the truth gradually centered in her thoughts, she had to ask herself, were her own intentions was any more righteous than his? She had to acknowledge that the urge to take a chance, to walk on the wild side that had dogged her in her twenties, was still a part of her makeup. And that part said, Go with him. When will you ever meet such an interesting man again? When will you ever get another chance to do something this exciting? He doesn’t have to know who you are.

  And among those disjointed musings, a question burned through: Could this ever go anywhere?

  Drake’s attention returned to her, disrupting her swirling thoughts. “On a summer night, my place would be a nice walk from here, but it’s too cold and messy tonight. My car will be here in a minute.”

  Thank God he hadn’t opted for a stroll. She nodded, tightening her jaw to prevent her teeth chattering. He removed his overcoat, stepped behind her and placed it around her shoulders. It almost dragged the ground, but enveloped in heavy wool that had been warmed by his body, she shuddered with relief. “Thank you.”

  His hands cupped her shoulders, his head bent and he whispered near her ear, “You’re welcome.”

  Another shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature darted down her spine. Lord, he had a devastating voice. And she couldn’t keep from imagining hearing it across a pillow.

  A sleek silver sports car stopped at the curb in front of them, a make Shannon didn’t recognize. Oh, my God. Is it one of those really expensive ones?

  The valet scooted out from behind the steering wheel, rounded the backend and opened the passenger door. She gathered Drake’s coat closer with one hand, picked up her skirt with the other and crawled inside. The interior was already warm, thank God. She relished the smell of leather and richness.

  Seconds later, he ducked behind the steering wheel, adding his scent to the heady mix of smells. With his height and wide shoulders along with the black interior and mist-shrouded windows, the car became as intimate as a cocoon.

  “It’s late for a heavy meal,” he said in a hushed tone as he turned his head to the left and checked traffic behind them. “Something light okay with you?”

  “Of course.”

  He pulled onto the street and they motored away from the brightly lit portico into the dark wet night.

  Her pulse continued to drum in her ear as the reality of what she was doing crystallized. Just be calm, she told herself and deeply inhaled. This wasn’t the first time she had engaged in a spur-of-the-moment tryst, wasn’t the first time she had done something crazy. Not so many years ago, “impulsive” had been her middle name. She had survived, hadn’t she? Besides, would a prestigious magazine like Texas Monthly select an ax murderer as the year’s most eligible

  bachelor?

  He plucked a cell phone from his jacket pocket with his right hand. “Any objection to shrimp or possibly lobster?”

  She watched as he speed-dialed with his thumb. He had wonderful mascul
ine hands and long fingers with short, but un-manicured nails. He wore no rings, but his hands bore scars, the hands of someone who had worked at physical labor. That aroused her curiosity. Though she had heard of him in the real estate business for years, she wondered if he spent time in Drinkwell on his family’s ranch.

  “Either’s fine,” she answered.

  Phone pressed to his ear, he listened, she assumed, to a rundown of some restaurant’s menu. He placed a detailed order for fresh Gulf shrimp, a salad of field greens and a dessert. Though he spoke with a soft Texas drawl, she detected a ring of authority. No one ever tells him no, she thought.

  The small space in the car and the split up the front of her skirt made covering her knees impossible. He slid his phone back into his pocket and placed his right palm on her knee. She stared at it, but made no attempt to move it. Or to move her knee. His hand moved to cup the inside of her thigh only inches below the top of her thigh-high stocking. He gently squeezed.

  Yikes! As commanding as his personality was, she should have known he would be a fast mover. She swallowed a catch in her breath.

  In a matter of minutes, they arrived at their destination, a remarkable thirty-story building rising from the heart of the city. It had been written about in dozens of newspapers and magazines The words LOCKHART TOWER, spotlighted with dramatic architectural lighting. spanned the space above the wide entrance. She stared out at it, awed that he had owned, designed and re-constructed every part of it.

  Oh, my God, Shannon. You are definitely not in Kansas anymore.

  She swallowed a gulp.

  She hung onto the seat as he turned sharply and expertly wheeled the sports car into an underground parking garage. They came to a stop inside a cage of steel bars. “Is this it?”

  He smiled. “It is. Home sweet home.”

  She turned to the left, seeking the latch on her seat belt.

  “Sharon,” he said softly. She looked up. He leaned toward her and his lips brushed hers with the gentlest of kisses. “I wanted to do that back in the hotel.”

  Before she could muster even a reaction, much less a reply, he unfolded out of the car with the agility of an athlete. He came around to her door, opened it and offered his hand. As she placed her hand in his, she looked into his face again. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what the look in his eyes said. She felt her whole body flush with…what? embarrassment? Or was it something more like anticipation?

  An elevator whisked them up. They exited into a gleaming lobby. A uniformed man met them. Shannon couldn’t tell if he was a security guard or a doorman, but he and Drake exchanged greetings and she noticed a deference in the man’s demeanor. He called Drake “Sir” and “Mr. Lockhart.”

  Oh, God, this is fairyland.And I’m with the prince.

  She glanced in every direction, trying to take in her surroundings, wanting to absorb as much as possible.

  Above them, a mezzanine of retail stores surrounded the lobby, the display windows showing wares and radiating low light. Dramatic indirect lighting softly glowed against lustrous deep brown marble walls and spotlighted a glass-beaded waterfall that covered the back wall. Shiny polished brass accented everything. Off to both her left and her right, behind steel accordion security doors, wide empty walkways, dimly lit by nightlights, led away to what appeared to be stores in a shopping mall.

  Shannon didn’t even try to hide her awe. “This is incredible.”

  He took her elbow and they crossed an expanse of polished white marble floor. “We’re very proud of our retailers. You’ve been here before, haven’t you? Shopped in the stores?”

  She had heard about and seen ads and pictures of the exclusive shops in Lockhart Tower. Hating revealing that she couldn’t afford such expensive shopping, she said, “I don’t live in Fort Worth.”

  They passed through glass doors into a second lobby, smaller and more private. More marble walls, tan rather than brown. A tall white Christmas tree with branches laden with gold ornaments and ribbons, stood in one corner. Its tiny white lights reflected like stars in the walls.

  His firm hand at the small of her back guided her to the elevator. Once inside, they lifted off on a hum and a whoosh. Still enveloped by his overcoat, she hung onto the lapels as she leaned against the cubicle’s smoky gold-veined mirrors. He pressed the lighted button that showed “28.”

  I thought this building had thirty floors, she almost said, but caught herself just in time. “Is twenty-eight the top floor?” she asked instead.

  “The building has thirty floors. The top units are two-story, so they take up the twenty-ninth and thirtieth floors. They’re the premium units.”

  “You don’t live in one of them?”

  He shook his head. “They’re five thousand square feet each. I live alone. I don’t need that much space.”

  He turned and leaned a shoulder against the wall, his face only inches away. The front of his shirt skimmed her shoulder, “You had my attention all evening,” he said softly. “I left the party, but I went back to find you.”

  The very idea, spoken in his soft baritone voice, sent a thrill through her. As her heartbeat ticked up again, she clutched his coat lapels tighter and stared straight ahead. “That must have made your fiancé unhappy.”

  Inwardly, she winced and wished she could take back that quip. It made her sound petty and snarky and unsophisticated. It had just popped out of her mouth and surprised even her.

  “If you’re speaking of the woman who was with me earlier—”

  “I was told she’s your fiancé. And you’re soon to become her fourth husband.”

  “If you believe that, and if it makes a difference, why did you come home with me?”

  Why, indeed? The answer to that question would require far more time than this elevator ride afforded. The car stopped, she arched her brow and shrugged.

  As the doors glided open, he moved into the opening, stopping the door with his body. He gestured her out “She’s not my fiancé. “Nor is she my girlfriend. And I’m not slated to become anybody’s husband.”

  Shannon might be persuaded that he had no immediate plans to get married, but after what Jordan had said, she didn’t believe Donna Schoonover wasn’t his fiancé or his girlfriend. Or at the very least, his sex partner. She couldn’t quell her curiosity about where the two of them had gone after they disappeared from the party.

  She had no right to question him or be jealous. She wasn’t even a jealous-hearted person. But as if a green imp were sitting on her shoulder, she couldn’t seem to prevent the emotion.

  “Really? From the way it looked to me, she doesn’t know that.”

  Inside, she winced again. Petty and unsophisticated.

  “She knows it now,” he said.

  Shannon jerked her head toward him and gave him a look. She dared not let herself think what she was thinking.

  They were now inside yet another lobby of sorts—a cubicle of spotless thick glass walls and thick carpet. Two sets of glass doors opened in two directions, each outfitted with a security keypad. Obviously only the chosen ever traveled beyond this point.

  He pressed numbers into the keypad. “Let’s stop playing this game. “I took her home. And that’s all that happened.”

  “I didn’t ask. I know it’s none—”

  “You’re right. It’s none of your business. But you’d like to know.” The heavy glass door quietly slid open “You’re wondering if we had sex.”

  Her already overworked pulse leaped again. Oh, hell. She hadn’t meant to be so obvious. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment at being discovered, but she refused to back down. “My thoughts are what they are. I can’t control them.”

  “But you can believe what I say.”

  And given his defensive reaction, perhaps she did. After all, two women in one night? How much of a stud could he be? “Okay. No big deal. I believe you.”

  “I’m a lot of things, Sharon. A few people think I’m the devil himself. But I’m not a lia
r.”

  Sharon! Damn! She was the one who was the liar. She passed through the doorway in front of him. “I said I believe you.”

  “My place is around the corner at the end of this hall.”

  As they walked forward, the glass door glided shut behind them, closing her into his sanctum.

  Passing from one secure area to another, one elevator to another, she felt less safe than she ever had. Her heart kept up a tattoo as they traversed the thickly carpeted hallway. “So much security.” Her voice came out with an unexpected quiver.

  “It’s one of the perks to living here,” he said “I’ve found that the owners appreciate it. So, you don’t live in Fort Worth? Where do you live?”

  “South,” she answered. “Houston,” she added. Now she had turned a fib into an outright lie and she didn’t know why. It had just fallen out of her mouth. The alcohol must be keeping her from thinking clearly.

  Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Her former reckless persona seemed to have risen up and taken over her mind and body. Maybe tonight it had no desire to be hard-working Shannon Piper. Maybe tonight it wanted to be Sharon Phillips, caught up in a fantasy, free of the demands of a struggling small business, free of the tension that kept her tied in knots, free of the worry of keeping the bills paid and taking care of an adult who was much like a child. She could return to all of that tomorrow. Tonight, couldn’t she just have a good time?

  “Ah. A big city girl,” he said.

  “Houston is a big city. It makes Fort Worth look like a small town.”

  “True. And what brings you to Cowtown? Other than the party?...And Jordan Palmer?”

  Why was he so preoccupied with Jordan?Did they have history? Trying not to think of the hole she continued to dig, she focused on a massive abstract mural on the hallway wall. “Does it matter?”

  “No, ma’am. Not a bit.”

  They turned a corner and faced a solid black shiny door marked with a polished gold “28C” and another keypad. He punched in more numbers and she heard the snick of the lock. “I can’t believe you have to remember so many numbers just to get home.” She smiled.