The Tycoon

by Anna Jeffrey

  But despite her best effort, intruding into every one of those plans was the memory of last night and something Drake had said: …This is it, Shannon. The bottom line. I’ve been trying to figure it out. It’s what the whole damn thing was about at that party and in my condo, what it’s been about all evening. It’s why my cock gets hard as a rail spike when I’m near you. All I have to do is think about you and I’m close to embarrassing myself. This picking on each other, driving each other crazy is just an extension of it. And I think you know it as well as I do….

  She wasn’t sure what all of that meant. No man had ever spoken to her so frankly. Did he feel something? Was she wrong in assuming his only interest was another good time? What did he mean by The Bottom Line? What did he mean by It? What were her own feelings, truly? Now that she was removed from the out-of-her-world setting in the Worthington Hotel and his condo, did she feel something other than lust?

  Lust wasn’t the right word for the explosion of emotions and sensations he aroused in her, didn’t explain why just seeing him turned her into a senseless person she didn’t recognize. Did that happen because of his larger-than-life persona or who he was as a man? If he were plain Joe Blow who had an ordinary job with an average income, would her out-of-control reaction to him be the same?

  The stew going on within her and the events suddenly evolving around her were scary, like carrying a bomb in her purse. She thought she knew herself. Was she wrong?

  The jangle of her cell phone in the quiet room jolted her. No one ever called her so early in the morning. She checked Caller ID and saw “Unknown Number.” Drake! Her stomach made a dip. His name might not be there and he had never called her before, but she knew. She had seen him pick up her business card in Jim King’s house and all of her phone numbers were on it. She bit down on her bottom lip, tempted to let the call go to voice mail, but she couldn’t make herself do it. She had to admit it. Hearing from him thrilled her.

  After a few more seconds, she answered with a soft hello.

  “Hey, it’s me,” he said equally softly. “Don’t hang up,” he added quickly.

  Her hand-wringing and self-doubt fled. She loved the sound of his hushed tone that implied a closeness, an intimacy. She even liked that he worried that she would hang up when she heard his voice. “I’m not going to.”

  “Are you at work?”

  “It isn’t even daylight. You?”

  “Soon. I always go in early. I like the quiet time. Shannon, I’ve been awake all night, trying to wrap my mind around what happened. Are you okay?”

  “In what way?”

  “Do you think…well…you know.”

  “That I’m pregnant?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  “You don’t have to worry. I checked as soon as I got home. It’s the wrong time of the month.”

  “You sure?”

  His reply sounded almost as if he were disappointed. Silence followed it. Well, her mind had to be playing tricks on her. No way could he want her to be pregnant. That kind of irrational thinking came from too many margaritas, having no sleep and being stressed to the max.

  Then he said, “You don’t have to worry about diseases. You probably won’t believe it, but I’m careful.”

  STDs! Oh, hell. She hadn’t yet allowed herself to consider that possibility.

  Her cranky alter-ego piped up. You know what they said about sex these days. When you have unprotected sex, you’re having sex with everyone he’s ever been with.

  She cringed, thinking of the number of women who had probably shared Drake Lockhart’s bed. A mild panic zipped through her mid-section.

  Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke. “Listen, last night was off the chart. I can’t begin to explain it. All I know is this kind of stuff isn’t doing either of us any good. We’re too old to be so irresponsible. I think we should to call a halt to whatever this is. Surely you agree.”

  “I don’t agree. Look, I—”

  “I’m struggling to build my real estate business, Drake. It’s only a few years old. That’s where I need to put my time and energy. Selling real estate is an all-consuming job. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. I’ve invested everything I own, every dime I’ve made in the last few years. I’ve avoided involvement with anyone because I know myself. If a guy’s hanging around in my life, I can’t keep from being distracted.”

  There. She had made that speech without stammer or pause. And every bit of it was true.

  “You think I’m a distraction?”

  He sounded almost joyful. “We just met and my life’s been upside down ever since.”

  “Don’t say that. Look, I’ve got some things to say, but not on the phone. And I don’t want to try to talk in the middle of a screaming happy hour in a cantina.”

  “Drake, please. Really, I—”

  “This evening. I’ll drive down to your office and—”

  “No,” she blurted. “I don’t want you coming to my office. Someone might see you. Then I’d have to explain who you are. This town would never stop talking. Please. Don’t come to my office.”

  “I was about to suggest we could go to dinner. Somewhere besides that Mexican cafe.”

  “There aren’t any restaurants in Camden like you’re used to. Besides, I don’t go out. Honestly. I try not to call attention to myself. People in town know me. Not only is my business here, I have family here. I’m doing my best to present myself as a professional businesswoman and not cause anyone embarrassment, most of all me.”

  “Don’t professional businesswomen eat? If anyone asks, you can say I’m a customer. After all, I did call you about a house.”

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Telling him no was so hard. “I can’t, Drake. I just can’t.

  “Then you come up to Fort Worth. If you don’t want me to pick you up, I’ll send a car for you.”

  Was he begging her? Lord, he was persistent. “I meant what I said last night. I don’t want a relationship interfering in my life. I’d rather just…well, I just can’t do it.”

  She pressed the OFF button with more firmness than necessary.

  ****

  Drake stood at his kitchen counter a few seconds listening to dead air. Had she hung up on him? Or had the call been dropped? He picked up her business card from the counter and started to re-key her number, but stopped himself. Hold it, hoss. What she said couldn’t be clearer. She hung up on you.

  To his annoyance, he understood her conflict. If anyone knew the anguish of making a choice between accepting responsibility and following his urges, he did. He had faced it many times. But he refused to believe she didn’t want to see him again. Her words didn’t match her actions.

  Before he called her, he had steeled himself, prepared to hear her say she feared she might be pregnant. But now that she had said just the opposite, he felt an odd letdown. Got to be adrenaline, he told himself. He had spent the whole night keyed up, thinking about the consequences if she had told him something different.

  He sighed. He had no time to dwell on it and try to figure it out today. He had big problems at Lone Star Commons. Getting anything done to fix them during the holidays was hard. In addition to that, he hadn’t heard from the insurance adjustor about Kate’s barn fire. He had to try to talk to him before Christmas.

  For the moment, he had to be content with knowing he had done his duty toward Shannon by calling her.

  ****

  Soon after daylight, Betty Lockhart sat at her bathroom vanity studying her hair. The front of her silver-gray hair had turned white. White as snow. A nice beige-blond would go well with her eyes and complexion and perhaps make her look younger. She was considering that possibility when her doorbell chimed. She glimpsed her clock, saw it was eight-thirty.

  Normally on Wednesday, she would already be getting dressed to go to an early meeting with her book club, but because of the holidays, today’s meeting had been canceled. Only a delivery service of some kind could be ringing her doorbel
l so early in the morning. She tightened the belt of her robe, walked to the front door and peered through the peephole.

  Her estranged husband stood on her front porch. She bit back a swear. Yesterday, after spending the weekend at Kathryn’s house, she had stopped by the Double-Barrel on her way back to Fort Worth. She and Bill Junior had had an unpleasant parting.

  Well, in truth, it had been more than unpleasant. An outside observer might have thought it downright hair-raising, although it was typical. He’d had one of his tantrums over her going away for Christmas. In no mood for another scene, she opened the door a few inches, but didn’t unhook the chain lock.

  “Got a cup of coffee?” he asked.

  She thought she heard a degree of sheepishness in his voice. No doubt he had come to apologize for having been a such an ass yesterday. She knew him well. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for coffee. I came to see my wife who makes the best coffee I know of. You gonna let me in?”

  “You’re full of it, Bill Junior.” But she unhooked the chain and stepped back.

  He came through the doorway, lifted off his Stetson and looked her up and down. She was only too aware that she had nothing on under her robe. Knowing Bill Junior, he was aware of it, too. A shiver passed through her.

  The scent he had worn forever, Lagerfeld, filled the space around her and zoomed straight to her most primitive place. Her heartbeat began to thump in her ears. She didn’t trust herself any more than she trusted him. Good grief, would she ever get past his affecting her this way?

  “Couldn’t get you off my mind, sweetheart. That argument yesterday upset me.”

  That was as close to “I’m sorry” as he would ever get. He had never been able to say those two words easily. He had too much ego.

  He started toward her kitchen, unzipping his down coat as he went. Of course he knew the way to the kitchen because in the seven years that had passed since she bought this house and moved into it, he had been here many times.

  “How’s Kathryn this morning?” she asked, following him cautiously and tightening the belt of her robe.

  “Haven’t seen her today.”

  Betty shook her head in sadness, still affected by their daughter’s grief. “I feel so bad for her. She loved those horses so much”

  “It’s not like there’s a shortage of horses.”

  “I know, but she thinks hers are special. As much as they cost, I guess they are. And she has so much to deal with.”

  “Her big brothers will take care of her. Drake will handle the insurance company and Pic and Troy have already got people lined up to get the place cleaned up for her. And she can come to me for money or advice any time she wants to.”

  They reached the galley-style kitchen that had a breakfast nook on one end. He set his hat on the distressed maple breakfast table, peeled off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair.

  Wearing starched and creased jeans and a white-and-blue check button-down shirt, he looked ten years younger than his age. He always wore beautiful shirts. He could be a model in any Western clothing magazine. She had never met another man she thought more handsome than her husband. Even at fifty-three, he still had a head of thick hair only slightly streaked with silver.

  “I started to call you, but I wanted to talk to you in person,” he said, “so I just got out of bed and drove on up here.” He found a mug in the cabinet and helped himself to coffee, then turned around and leaned his backside against the counter as he sipped.

  She leaned against the counter opposite him, her arms crossed over her breasts, inhibiting what he might see through her robe. “Have you had breakfast?”

  Why she asked, she didn’t know because she had no desire to cook it. On the other hand, if he said “No,” she might drop everything and do just that. She was that dumb where he was concerned and she always had been.

  “Stopped at Waffle House.” he answered.

  “Ah.” She lifted her chin. “They weren’t serving coffee this morning?”

  “It doesn’t taste like yours.”

  Silence passed while he sipped and butterflies danced in her stomach. “You must have left home before daylight. I don’t believe you came by for coffee, so what brings you here, really?” To her own ears, her voice sounded reedy and feeble.

  “I’m trying to save Christmas. What the hell will it look like if you aren’t at the ranch? What will I tell my mama?”

  Betty gave a fleeting thought of regret at her decision. She had sincere affection for her ninety-year-old mother-in-law and didn’t like the idea of hurting her.

  He set down his mug, stepped across the room and tugged on the belt of her robe. Damn

  him. She grasped his hand, preventing him untying the bow. “Keep your hands to yourself, Bill Junior.”

  He chuckled, low and sexy, but didn’t move his hand. “I figured you were naked under that robe. And you just told me the truth of it.”

  She angled a look up at him. His eyes had gone from blue to violet, an unmistakable leer. He was horny all right.

  “You smell all soapy,” he said huskily. “You just get out of the shower?”

  “I have an appointment,” she lied, knowing exactly where this visit was headed if she didn’t stop him.

  As if she hadn’t said a word, he gently removed her hand from the knot in her belt and pulled on the bow, untying it with nimble fingers. “It’ll keep, don’t you think?”

  Her robe listed open, partially exposing her nakedness. She closed her eyes, feeling the room’s coolness against her skin as he dragged the garment’s panels apart. When she opened her eyes, his gaze was roaming over her body. She knew that dark look too well. Excitement began to tickle deep in her sex, but she drew a deep breath, still determined not to give in to him as she usually did.

  She clutched at the panels of the robe, pulled them tight around her again and re-tied the belt. “Stop it, Bill.”

  “Stop what, darlin’? Admiring your body? I’ve always appreciated your body.”

  Betty felt her cheeks flush. She had worked at maintaining a toned and tanned body for years, all for Bill Junior. She still worked at it, although she wasn’t sure nowadays if she did it for him or for herself. Fearful of hurrying the arrival of wrinkles, she no longer tanned like she used to and her Yoga sessions three days a week at Bally’s were mostly a habit. She pushed away from the counter edge, crossed to the coffee maker and took a mug from the cabinet. “My body’s getting old. It isn’t the same as your teeny-bopper girlfriends’.”

  “Teeny-bopper? Godalmighty, woman, what would I do with a teeny-bopper?”

  “I wonder,” she said.

  As she poured coffee, he stepped behind her, his size making he feel small and feminine and his body heat radiating against her back. She wanted desperately to lean back against him, but didn’t dare. His thick arms came around her waist and his warm lips brushed a sensitive spot on her neck. She stiffened. Now her heart was galloping.

  “I don’t care if we’re a hundred years old, Mrs. Lockhart,” he said softly. “You’ll always be beautiful to me.”

  “Hah. Me and how many others?” She moved her neck away from his mouth. “You’re wasting your time coming here, Bill. We settled the Christmas issue yesterday.” She willed her hands not to shake as she poured three teaspoons of half-and-half into her coffee.

  “That cream will make you fat,” he murmured.

  His lips moved to the other side of her neck. At the same time, he easily loosed her belt again. His big hand slid beneath the robe’s front panel and closed over one of her breasts. She let out a sigh. Her breasts fit into his hands as if that were their purpose. Many times they had joked about it. She stood deathly still, hating herself for loving his touch so much. She had never been able to resist him, which had resulted in her getting pregnant while she was still in high school.

  “Hmm-hmm,” he said softly, carefully lifting, slowly caressing. His other hand moved down between her thighs and he cup
ped her, his fingers teasing. “I want you, Betty,” he whispered, his warm breath against her neck giving her gooseflesh.

  God help her, she wanted him, too. Wanted him. Lusted for him. But she knew she should order him out of her house.

  “Right now, I can’t think of anything I want more than to lay you down and kiss you all over,” he said.

  And he would, too. He had done so many times. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting her own weakness.

  He continued to stroke. “Remember how it was in Nashville? Like when we were kids? We can have that again if we want to. We can make it come back for good. Right down at the Double-Barrel, in our own bed.”

  She shouldn’t have gone to Nashville with him, shouldn’t have let herself or him believe their marriage could be reconciled.

  His hand moved back up. His calloused fingers began to gently pluck at her nipples. A contraction clenched deep in her sex. Oh, God. “Bill, please don’t…”

  He eased the robe off her shoulders. It slid noiselessly to the floor leaving her wearing nothing but goosebumps and heady desire. Fool that she was, she raised no protest.

  He began to kiss her shoulders and neck, kept stroking her breasts and nipples. She was already wet. Her deep vaginal muscles were already contracting, readying to receive him and she knew she wouldn’t tell him no. That was the problem. When it came to sex, she had rarely ever refused him.

  “Just look at those little puppies’ noses,” he murmured against her ear, continuing to tease. “They’re perked right up there. I know just what that means.”

  He made a deep soft chuckle and closed his teeth on her ear lobe. “’Member when you were having trouble dropping that stubborn Pickett? How that little devil didn’t want to come out. I wanted to get a calf-puller, but the doc sent us home and told me to play with your nipples. ’Member that?”

  She hated when he used terms related to livestock at moments like this, but she smiled at the memory. That had been thirty-three years ago, when she was barely nineteen, big as a barrel with her second child and two weeks overdue. Bill Junior was a twenty-year-old college student. Both of them had thought that doctor was crazy, but they had followed his orders dutifully and she had soon gone into labor. Even now, she didn’t know if it had been the result of the nipple stimulation or if it would have happened anyway.