The Tycoon

by Anna Jeffrey

  “You can’t possibly care what I think of you. A man like you? I’m sure you have a long list of women in your life who have nothing but good opinions of you.”

  “But none of them are as interesting as you’ve turned out to be. Being a straight, red-blooded male, I always care about the opinion of a woman who intrigues me.”

  Her eyes told him nothing. All he knew was he had this insane notion that if he didn’t claim her as his he would be losing out on something important forever. He wasn’t ready to give up. She had come home with him for a reason. He just had to learn what it was.

  “You can’t blame me for wanting you in my bed,” he said. “Any man would.”

  Chapter 10

  There it was. What he wanted, plainly stated. But then, Shannon had known from the beginning what he wanted, hadn’t she? Sex was what most of the men she had known wanted from her. And she had to admit that in the past, too many times, she hadn’t been unwilling. For lack of a clever reply that wasn’t too revealing of her history—and didn’t make her sound like a hopeless cynic—she said nothing.

  “You’ve got to know you’re beautiful,” he went on. “I’m sure you’ve heard it many times.”

  But so what? Her appearance had never gotten her anywhere. Hard work. Sacrifice. Self-discipline. Those attributes were what had enabled her to own her own business and be halfway successful.

  She shrugged. “Thanks, but beautiful is one of those words that can describe almost anything. It’s in the eye of the beholder I think they say. Dr. Frankenstein probably thought his monster was beautiful.”

  He sighed. “Point taken. I’m not doing very well here, am I? How’s this? There’s more to you than just a pretty face. I think the outdated word is moxie.”

  Moxie… Oh, hell. She didn’t know the meaning of that word. She only hoped it was complimentary. She was so out of her depth in this conversation, but she forced a cool demeanor, as if hearing flattery from a man like him was commonplace. “My goodness, Mr. Lockhart, you can tell that by looking?”

  “I can tell a lot by looking. I’m good at sizing up people. And quickly. Even from a distance.”

  “Hm. It’s my guess that you’re good at most things.”

  “And its’ my guess that you didn’t come home with me to steal the silver. So if spending the night in my bed isn’t on the agenda, what is?”

  “You invited me to supper. Now I’m thinking accepting was a mistake. You didn’t say the words, but you made it clear from the beginning that you had more in mind than a meal.”

  “Busted. But that doesn’t clear up what you’ve got in mind.”

  “Food. I’m hungry.”

  Just then, a buzzer sounded from behind them.

  He smiled, in that little boy way she had noticed sometimes sneaked across his face. “Well, then. There’s supper.”

  Saved by the bell.

  As he walked away, Shannon closed her eyes and let herself deflate. Her muscles un-tensed and she let out a great breath. Drake’s words filtered through her mind: …you didn’t come home with me to steal the silver....that doesn’t clear up what you’ve got in mind….

  Sex…sex…sex… That was what had been on her mind back in the hotel, what had lured her here. It was still on her mind. Just like the bad old days when she had been devil-may-care and found no reason to resist a romp with a sexy guy.

  She was only human, she reasoned, making an excuse for herself. Drake was an enormously attractive man and she hadn’t had sex in more than two years. She hadn’t had good sex since long before that. And she had never had sex with the likes of Drake Lockhart.

  But something had changed between the hotel and now. When he had first walked up behind her at the hotel’s foyer bar, if he had invited her to a room upstairs, she might have raced him to it, stripping off her clothes as she went. She had found him that appealing.

  Now that she had spent some time with him, doubt and frustration swarmed inside her.

  Doubt that she should do this; frustration because she wanted to. A truth she hadn’t counted on had surfaced. For her entire life she had wanted to belong to a man like him. He wasn’t just an idle playboy. He was smart. Well-educated and successful. He exuded confidence and strength. She instinctively knew that if a dragon roared out of the kitchen, he would slay it.

  She wanted him not to see her as a slut, wanted him to think of her as more than just another notch on his bedpost, wanted his respect. Sleeping with him tonight could hurt her in myriad ways and most of them had little to do with a one-night-stand or sex or anything that simple. He was exactly the kind of man she could fall giddy, silly, head-over-heels in love with and he wouldn’t, couldn’t love her back. What he could do was break her heart, scar her soul and undo all the good she had done for herself.

  That bone-deep realization affected her more acutely than guilt for doing something naughty that would disappoint her grandmother.

  From the entertainment center, Willie Nelson sang about an angel flying too close to the ground. She stood rooted in front of the windows, listening to the music and waiting. How long would he be gone? He had just left her, a stranger, alone in his home. He evidently trusted her not to steal him blind in his absence.

  You could just walk out, her cranky alter ego said. Just go. You don’t owe him an explanation.

  True. But she couldn’t think how she could escape. She would have to go inside his closet for her coat, which she was loath to do. Doors with coded locks stood between her and the outside world. Her SUV was blocks away. She would have to either walk back to it or call for a cab. Fort Worth wasn’t a city where she could just walk out onto the street and find transportation. And last, she would, without a doubt, meet him in the hallway.

  Dither, dither, dither. Why couldn’t she make a decision? She made decisions every day.

  Just then, he returned carrying a large aromatic bag with a REATA logo. When he had called in the order for food, she hadn’t known he had contacted one of Fort Worth’s best eateries. She didn’t know it made home deliveries. And maybe it didn’t for anyone but him.

  He carried the sack into the kitchen and set it on the island. She followed him tentatively. He opened drawers and pulled out placemats and cloth napkins, picked silverware from a different drawer. He pushed them across the island toward her. “Want to take these to the dining table?”

  She hesitated, then picked up the utensils. He opened the sack of food and lifted out two heavy crockery ramekins. When he uncovered them, a bouquet of vanilla and butter bloomed into the room. Crème Brûlée. She recognized it. She had ordered it every time she had eaten at Reata.

  But she had made up her mind. She couldn’t let even food she loved distract her. She cleared her throat and plunged. “I hate to say this, but I really do need to get home. I don’t expect you to take me back to my car. I’ll call a cab and—”

  His brows climbed up his forehead. “You want to leave now?”

  Thank God he doesn’t have a gun. She nodded.

  When he didn’t move, she looked away, a tight grip on napkins and placemats in one hand and silverware in the other. “Yes. I need to leave now.”

  “All right,” he said sharply. “No problem.”

  His obvious anger put her on the defensive. “I told you back at the hotel I only wanted to eat. You even said the choice beyond that was mine to make.”

  “You’re right. I did say that. Okay, then. Since food’s what you came for and it’s been

  delivered, maybe you’ve got a few more minutes to spare.”

  She dithered again. She wasn’t comfortable being rude after he had ordered supper. Delivered from Reata, it had to be expensive. And Crème Brûlée was so tempting.

  She glanced at the digital clock above the oven door. It showed 11:36. With the rain and fog outside, if she left now and ran into no problems, she could be arrive back in Camden by 2:00 a.m. So, as he said, maybe she could take a few extra minutes to at least enjoy the dessert.


  Dither, dither, dither….

  “I can have dessert and coffee. If we hurry.”

  She carried the silverware and placements to the long dining table that stretched under a chandelier giving off a soft golden light. She hastily set places on opposite sides at one end. He brought the ramekins of Crème Brûlée. The air crackled with tension as he set them on the placemats.

  He pulled out her chair, but before she could sit, he cupped her shoulder with one hand and gently turned her to face him. His eyes captured hers and her heartbeat stumbled. She couldn’t turn away.

  “Don’t go,” he murmured.

  The softness of his voice hung in the air and his scent filled her nostrils, as delicious as the dessert on the table. They stood so close she could see that a dark ring encircled the amber color of his mesmerizing eyes, could feel the heat radiating from his body. Warmth surged within her own body and her will slipped.

  His head bent, angled to the left and his lips brushed hers as softly as a whisper. Gripping the chair back, she closed her eyes and stood as still as her wobbling knees allowed while his lips melded to hers in a non-invasive kiss.

  When his mouth lifted from hers, she opened her eyes, found him staring at her mouth. Her lips formed a silent “Oh.”

  His hand slid along her shoulder and up until he caressed the side of her neck, his touch flooding her with more warmth. His head angled in the opposite direction and his lips brushed again—her eye, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She tilted her head back, giving him her throat. Here. Kiss here. You missed this part.

  He knew what she wanted. As his warm lips moved down her neck, his tongue flicked her sensitive places—where her neck joined her shoulder, the pulse beat between her collarbones. She could well imagine what else he might do with such an agile tongue and a craving, dark and thick as molasses, oozed through her unmentionable places. Finally, his mouth moved back up and settled squarely on hers. Tender. Gentle even. Nothing like the marauder she had expected him to be. When he stopped, she gazed up into his eyes.

  “I’ve never wanted a woman to do something she didn’t want to,” he said softly. His breath touched her lips. His thumb stroked her cheek. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep, but I’ll say this. I’m not selfish. If you stay, I’ll do my damnedest to see that you’re not sorry.”

  Her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed. “We—we…I don’t want to be—I don’t want either of us to be sorry.”

  His head slowly shook, his expression intense. “Never happen. We were drawn to each other from the first. We both sensed it. It’s one of those elemental things.”

  After what had happened back at the party, how could she deny it? His head angled again and his mouth covered hers. She drew his tongue inside, savored the taste of him—luscious, like good coffee and a dozen other concoctions that were less easily identified.

  His hands coasted around to the small of her back, warming her bare skin and pulling her in

  closer. A hard ridge pressed against her stomach and surge of raw lust flashed through her system. The only logical place for her arms was around his shoulders, so that was where she put them.

  His tongue skillfully explored, thrust and withdrew in a slow, sensuous rhythm. Oh, he was an excellent kisser. Without a doubt, he’d had a lot of practice. Donna Schoonover might not be the only woman he slept with. But with desire battering her without mercy, Shannon couldn’t make herself care who he slept with, past or present.

  His mouth traveled to the other side of her neck. His hands glided down, clutched her bottom and he moved her pelvis against his erection. They kissed open mouthed for the longest time, with the heat of him passing through their layers of clothing into her stomach and his tongue finding new places to tease. She took her own pleasure, licking into his mouth, her tongue dueling with his. The room spun and she felt she might lose her balance if she weren’t hanging onto his shoulders.

  Without warning, he tore his mouth away and stared down at her, his breath shuddery.

  “What?” she said, startled by the abrupt move.

  His pupils had taken on a different look. Instead of being golden brown, they had turned a shade so deep they appeared to be black. He drew a hiss of a breath between his teeth and clasped her head between his hands, his strong fingers curving around her skull, his eyes boring into hers. “Have you got any idea—”

  “Yes,” she said, stopping him. She had ceased dithering, ceased over-thinking. Every dubious moment she had experienced since she first saw him in the hotel had shrunk into a taut ball of desire. She wanted him, wanted his mouth all over her, wanted him on top of her, wanted him inside her and she gave herself permission to have it all. “Yes,” she said again, then rose to her tiptoes and kissed him, showing him her own hunger.

  Instantly, everything became more urgent. Their embrace became a tight clinch and they kissed savagely. She felt more than heard a deep groan in his throat. He put space between them, hs lips still clinging to hers. She felt the movement of his hand, heard the clink of his belt buckle and the quick slide of his zipper. The scent of heated male filled the air around them, dove straight to the core of her sex.

  He grasped her hand and pressed it against his open fly. He was big. And rock hard. And hot as a stovetop. A visual of him naked and rearing set her vaginal muscles contracting so fiercely her moisture released in a gush, wetting her panties and making her thighs slick.

  “Hold me,” he said raggedly, his mouth hovering above hers, his hand covering hers and molding her fingers around him. “Just don’t pump.” His mouth dragged down her neck. “It’s all yours. Any way you want it. Hard, fast. Slow and easy. All night long if that’s what it takes.”

  All of it. I want all of it.

  His open-mouthed kisses reached the slope of her breasts. At the same time, his fingers went to her shoulder. Her dress sleeve slid down her arm and air touched her left breast. Her hand tightened on his erection. She even stroked his damp little slit with her thumb, eliciting another deep groan from deep in his throat.

  He lifted her breast. “A yellow rose,” he mumbled, brushing the rosy nub with his thumb, each stroke making her nipple more achingly taut. She let go of his erection and quickly pushed The Dress’s long sleeve completely off.

  It’s the practical thing to do, she told her cranky alter-ego, to keep it from being torn.

  He drew her nipple inside the wet heat of his mouth. A silly sound she didn’t recognize escaped her throat. She clutched his head and held him to her breast while he sucked and licked

  and teased and muscles buried so deeply inside her she had forgotten she had them rippled wildly.

  Then he went for the other shoulder of her dress.

  “Wait, you’ll tear it.”

  Her heart was thrashing in her ears. She was shaking. She was on the verge of surrendering her self-imposed celibacy. She took the task of removing the sleeve from him and slid it off. The top of The Dress fell loosely around her waist and she didn’t even care.

  He stepped back. Like a starving man at a banquet, his eyes roved over her torso. “Just look at you,” he said reverently. “Jesus, you’re exquisite.”

  She had never been proud of her breasts, but at this moment, with her vivid rose nipples large, firm and distended, they felt golden. He looked up at her and among other things, she saw a plea in his eyes. “You’re staying?”

  How could he doubt it? When she only stared back at him, he said, “You’re staying.”

  He crushed her against him, length to length. She looped her arms around his shoulders and pushed her nakedness against the hardness of his chest. He buried the fingers of one hand in her hair and they kissed ravenously. Simmer turned to boil throughout her body. She ran her hands all over his muscular back, caressed him everywhere she could reach, pulled at his shirt until she freed it from his waistband, giving her access to his hot bare skin.

  Then her skirt slid up her thighs and his warm hands were caressing her nearly-bare bot
tom. One hand moved around between them and fondled her through her panties. “I’m—I’m wet,” she said.

  His forehead pressed against hers. “Move your leg. Let me in.”

  Her sex felt hot and heavy, but she obeyed. He pushed the crotch of her panties aside. She was so slick his finger easily slid into her. “Oohh,” she whimpered, closing her eyes as a shudder slithered through her.

  He drew out her moisture and stroked her sensitive layers. The greedy little bundle of nerves at the top of her sex strained toward his fingers. On a muffled gasp she grabbed the back of the chair, bent her knees and parted her legs. Anything to make it easier for him to continue. He played with her clit, gently plucked, swirled his finger around it, but release eluded her.

  “Releax, baby….Just let it happen…”

  But it had been too long since it had happened with a man’s fingers rather than her own. “I—I can’t,” she whimpered. “I want to, but…”

  He stopped. Her breath hitched. “Oh, no, don’t…”

  “This isn’t working.” He gripped her bare bottom with both hands. “Hang on to me.”

  Unable to do otherwise, she clutched his shoulders. He lifted her and half carried, half stumbled with her backward until they reached the cooking island. He set her on her feet, quickly pushed her panties past her hips and they fell around her ankles. He lifted her again and perched her on the island’s cold granite. He yanked off her shoes and panties and tossed them aside, then began to unbutton his shirt with visibly trembling fingers. He gave up on the buttons, jerked the garment over his head with a one-handed pull and tossed it aside, too.

  Then he nudged her knees apart and stepped between them. His erection, dark red and huge, jutted through his open fly. And it was right there, only inches away from entrance to the empty channel that wept for him. She couldn’t take her eyes off of it. Ohgod,ohgod.

  She reached for it, but he caught her hand and stopped her. “Not yet.”

  The sack of food still sat on the counter inches away. With a sweep of his arm, it hit the floor. Thwack!