by Jeanne Allan
“I never told you you had to kiss me if you lost the bet.”
Maybe he hadn’t exactly said the words out loud. “Your intentions were perfectly clear.”
“You said double or nothing for yesterday. You owe me two kisses.”
“We didn’t bet on anything.” She jerked her chin free.
“Because you chickened out. You intended to bet me I couldn’t stay on the horse, didn’t you?”
“No.” She ran her free hand over the piano keys, trying desperately to come up with a believable bet.
“You changed your mind when you realized I could ride. What gave me away?”
She hit a discordant array of keys as she looked up indignantly. “You were setting me up? You wanted me to bet you’d fall off, didn’t you?”
“I knew I’d win.” He drew her up from the piano seat. “I did win.”
“You didn’t win anything.” He stood too close. “We didn’t bet.” Tension built up beneath her skin. She didn’t want to talk about kissing. “Where did a city boy learn to nde?”
“Summer camp when I was a kid. I learned a lot of things there. How to ride, tie knots, build fires, make my bed, swear.” A teasing smile crawled across his face. “How to kiss girls.”
Cheyenne leaned quickly back, lost her balance, and sat abruptly on the keyboard. Jarring sound blared through the room.
Thomas leaned over her, his hands on the piano, one on either side of her, penning her in. “There was a girls’ camp on the other side of the lake. Naturally the boys snuck over there at every opportunity.”
“Naturally.” She didn’t want to push him away. Touching him could be dangerous. “Move before I break the piano.” The piano dug into her back. The keys bit her bare legs. Both discomforts paled beside the unwelcome warmth from his body. A warmth she wanted wrapped around her.
“What about those two kisses you owe me?” Onehandedly he untied the scarf knotted around her hair.
She couldn’t want to kiss him. Not Thomas Steele. She’d always laughed at physical attraction. Chemistry was for laboratories. Smart women were attracted to a man’s personality. Not his broad shoulders. She looked past the shoulders she suddenly, more than anything, wanted to run her hands over. “We didn’t bet.” She had to talk about something else. Make noise. Drown out the sound of her breathing. “I’ve always liked this room. I love the stained-glass windows with the pink lilies and twining greenery. I’m glad someone replaced the broken ones.”
“Davy’s right.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Your hair smells good.”
“The matching painted tabletops were an inspiration. It’s interesting that the original owner decided to do the hotel in Art Nouveau. Not what one expects from a grizzled prospector, but maybe he wasn’t grizzled. That’s such a stereotype. I remember reading he’d seen a picture of the Eiffel Tower shortly after it was built for that Paris exhibition and decided nothing but the latest style for him. I don’t think he ever got over coming to America in that miserable steerage. Once he hit it rich—” A hand across her lips cut off her babbling.
“Your mouth drives me crazy every time I look at it.”
Her gaze flew to his face. “Don’t look at it,” she mumbled against his palm. And she wouldn’t look at his. Wouldn’t think how it would feel to press her lips against his.
He moved his hand to brush fingers along her cheekbone. “A milestone in our relationship. We agree on something.”
“What?” She couldn’t think with him touching her.
“That I shouldn’t look at your mouth.” Cradling her face in his hands, he trailed his thumbs over her cheekbones. “So I’ll quit looking.” He dipped his head.
She had time for one panicky breath before his mouth closed over hers. Heat poured into her body. She gripped the lapels of his suit coat. The silky fabric excited the sensitive skin of her palms. She wanted to rub her palms all over him. Feel his face, his hair, the back of his neck. She wanted to cool her palms against his icy white starched cotton shut. His mouth felt good against hers. Right. Warm. Soft. Hard. The subtle scent of his aftershave curled enticingly around her.
He broke off the kiss.
She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted to disappear between the piano keys.
Saying nothing, he lifted her from her perch on the keyboard. She felt his eyes studying her face and prayed he couldn’t guess how much his kiss had affected her. Turning, she softly played a simple tune on the piano. “That wasn’t fair. You were just guessing I was going to bet you couldn’t stay on the horse.” She hit an off note. “I’m not going to kiss you again. I don’t owe you two kisses.”
“You do and you know it, but I’ll settle for dinner tonight in place of the second kiss.”
His cool voice told her the kiss meant nothing to him. She quit playing and folded her hands together, striving to regain her composure. “I’m not buying you dinner. We didn’t bet.”
“I’ll pick up the tab. We’ll eat here at The Gilded Lily. I’m leaving my nephew in your hands for most of two weeks. I want to know what I’m paying for. Bring a detailed plan for entertaining him so I can check it over.”
The kiss might not have happened. He could have been kissing the piano for all the impact she’d made on him. He probably kissed women as often as she brushed her teeth. If she had his wealth of experience, his kiss wouldn’t have affected her, either. Discussing business at dinner was fine with her. She wanted her clients involved in the decision process. “We’ll have to eat early. Davy will be starving after our hike.”
Thomas shook his head. “Just you and me. I’ll see Davy gets dinner. He likes the burgers and chocolate shakes in Café Sullivan, the hotel coffee shop.”
He knew something about Davy. Cheyenne considered that progress. She wanted him to realize he and his nephew needed each other. That’s all she wanted from Thomas Steele. She certainly didn’t want his kisses.
He’d kissed Cheyenne Lassiter to prove a point. For some stupid reason the woman intrigued him. He’d told himself once he kissed her and proved she was a woman like any other woman, he’d be immune. Once he kissed her and proved he could have her if he wanted her, he would no longer want her.
He scowled at the Grade-A idiot in the mirror. The only thing kissing her proved was that he wanted to make love to her on the piano. It had taken every bit of his self-control to pull away from her. He still wanted her.
Wanting her was not an option. Taking her to bed might be a voyage of discovery worth making, but he suspected a woman like Cheyenne considered sharing a bed as a proposal of marriage. He had no intention of marrying her or any other woman.
Grandmother Steele had warned him more than once never to give an opponent an advantage. Seeing Cheyenne Lassiter on her turf showed her at her best, giving her an advantage.
Therefore, his spur-of-the-moment decision to invite her to dinner. A masterful solution. Get her off her turf and on his.
Thomas congratulated himself again as he inserted simple gold cuff links. If he’d brought evening clothes, he’d have worn them The poor girl probably didn’t own clothes suitable for dining at one of the most exclusive restaurants in town. He ought to be ashamed of himself. He wasn’t He was doing her a favor. Tonight, on his turf, she’d look gauche and out of place. Less desirable.
“Gosh, you’re all dressed up. Is Cheyenne gonna look like that, too?”
Thomas watched in the mirror as his nephew bounced on Thomas’s bed. Bouncing on beds was definitely prohibited. Thomas gave himself a reminder to discuss the rules tomorrow at breakfast. “I assume she’ll dress like a girl.”
“In a dress? Cheyenne isn’t like girls. She’s cool.”
“I bow to your expertise.”
“Does that mean you like her, too?” Before Thomas had to answer, Davy added, “I’ll bet she don’t have a dress.”
I’m counting on it, Thomas thought. “Someone’s knocking at the door. Must be your baby-sitter.”
“I don’t
need a baby-sitter.”
“Take that up with Cheyenne. She made the arrangements,” he said to his nephew’s back.
One last inspection in the mirror, a snowy white handkerchief for his pocket, and Thomas prepared to go.
Allie stood in the sitting room of the suite, removing the leashes from two greyhounds. “Hi. Don’t you look smart.”
“She brought Moonie and this is Chuck’s Angel.”
“Maybe the St. Christopher Hotel ought to rethink its policy on allowing pets,” Thomas said dryly, eyeing the two dogs.
“You’d lose customers. Too many hotels in Aspen allow them, including the Hotel Jerome,” Allie pointed out.
“I saw the gray dog yesterday, but where did this lady come from?” He allowed the dog to sniff his fingers.
“She needs a home, Uncle Thomas. Could we—”
“What would your grandmother say if you returned with a dog?”
Davy’s face fell. “She wouldn’t like it.”
“I didn’t bring her to persuade you to adopt her,” Allie said. “I’m keeping her for a few days until she has a new home. She arrived today, and she’s still nervous and confused so I didn’t want to leave her alone. Cheyenne tends to be a little narrow-minded when one of these guys destroys our place.”
The first sensible thing he’d heard about Cheyenne. “Where is your sister? We have an appointment for dinner.”
“She’ll meet you downstairs. An old friend waylaid her.”
Cheyenne wasn’t in the lobby. Or in the dining room. Or in The Green Room. Not that he expected to see her there. This morning he’d realized Ms. Lassiter had her own battles to fight with sexual attraction. After tonight, when they proved so incompatible, they could both rest easy.
Allie said Cheyenne was here. He looked toward Belly’s. Thomas P. Sullivan had named the bar “Belly’s Bar” for “Belly” Smith, the fat miner who’d sold Sullivan the silver claim which ultimately made Sullivan rich beyond his wildest dreams. Inevitably the bar became known as Belly’s. A disgusting name, but Thomas couldn’t change it in the face of almost one hundred years of tradition.
Cheyenne was not in Belly’s. He didn’t think the bar with its red-flocked wallpaper and prints of half-dressed women would be her kind of place.
Thomas started to walk out when he saw the back of the blond woman standing at the original, hand-carved bar from France. Her low-cut, thigh-high black dress hugged the small amount of body it covered. Long, shapely, nylon-clad legs ended in shoes consisting of a few black straps and ridiculously high stiletto heels. Neon pink toes could be seen through her hosiery.
No woman’s skin could possibly be as silky and smooth as her creamy back looked. An earring glittered from her visible earlobe. Much longer and it would touch her shoulders. Her hair had been securely fastened at the back of her head in a fat braid. Thomas couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t have to.
He knew trouble when he saw it.
McCall must know about the blonde by now. This would be an opportunity to see how the hotel manager dealt with a crisis.
Thomas had no trouble putting a name to the man who possessively held the woman’s waist. Last week Thomas had attended the premier of the Hollywood star’s latest movie, a movie sure to increase the actor’s net worth by ten million or so. Apparently he was celebrating his latest success. The actor had stayed in Steele hotels before, and Thomas knew him casually. He also knew the wife the actor was supposedly so devoted to. If Thomas’s memory served him correctly, and it usually did, the actor’s wife had dark brown hair and stood a little over five feet tall. This woman towered over the seated actor. One hand rested on the man’s shoulder.
The actor caught sight of Thomas in the doorway. “Steele,” he called. “Come say hello.”
The blonde turned. “Thomas, there you are. I was beginning to think Allie forgot to tell you where I was.”
CHAPTER FIVE
HER plan had worked. From the moment he’d spotted her in St. Chris’s bar, Thomas had regretted inviting her to dinner. He’d said a few pleasantries to Jake, if one could call words spoken in such a cool manner, pleasant, and ushered Cheyenne into The Gilded Lily without so much as brushing a finger against her. He’d dispensed with drinks before dinner without asking her preference, read the menu with the concentration of one attempting to commit it to memory, and once he’d given their orders, slouched back in his chair and stared around the room, tapping his fingers on the table.
Her plan was definitely a success.
Thomas Steele didn’t want to be interested in her any more than she wanted to be interested in him, but it was easy enough to figure out why he thought he was. She was different from his usual women. Cheyenne had encountered the same attitude at college. People had acted as if she were a strange, exotic species because she’d been raised on a ranch out west.
His tapping fingers irritated her.
Now that he’d seen her looking no different from any of a hundred women in New York, he was wondering why he’d kissed her. Good. She wanted Thomas to care about his nephew, not her.
A man who couldn’t see beyond a woman’s outer wrappings held no interest for her.
How would he like it if all she saw were his outer wrappings? If she looked at him and thought only about how sexy a white shirt could be. Boiled shirts, her grandfather used to call them when he wore them to church. Thomas’s shirt didn’t make Cheyenne think of church. Neither did the dark suit which made him look taller and broadened his shoulders. A business suit had never before stuck her as clothing which enhanced masculinity. Not that Thomas’s needed enhancing. Which he must know, based on his staid, wine-colored tie. A boring tie.
She wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. If he loosened it a little, he might not look so stiff and uptight.
He could quit tapping his fingers. Tapping because he was bored. She was no longer a novelty.
Being proven correct always made one feel smug.
“If you don’t stop tapping those fingers, I’m going to break them.” Great. Just what the sophisticated Stephanie would have said.
He barely glanced at her. “This is a business dinner, not a date.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? That you always bang on the table when you discuss business?” She opened her small purse and yanked out some papers. “Here’s the schedule you requested. Weather and Davy’s interests may call for changes. I’ll fax you the night before if I plan something else.”
He set the papers down without looking at them. “I expect my business associates to show up at the scheduled time. Not to booze it up in the bar.”
“You’re mad about that? I told Allie to tell you I’d run into a friend and would meet you down here.”
“I’m not mad and Allie didn’t tell me you were in the bar with Jake Norton.”
“You make it sound as if I were slugging down whiskeys.”
“I didn’t know you knew him.”
“You mean you’re surprised I know him.”
“If I’m surprised, it’s at you fawning over a married man because he’s a famous movie star.”
“I wasn’t fawning. We’re friends. He and Kristy stayed with us when he made the Western film which won him his Academy Award several years ago. They filmed on the ranch, and Jake thought living there put him more into his role. It was uncanny the way he started talking and walking like worth.”
“Is that why you wore that dress? For Jake Norton?”
She flapped her eyelashes at him. “I wore it for you.” Thomas Steele absolutely froze in his chair. Cheyenne would have laughed if the look of horror which flashed across his face wasn’t so darned insulting. “Did you think I’d show up in worn blue jeans and embarrass the owner of the hotel?”
“I wouldn’t have been embarrassed.” He hesitated. “You look very nice.”
The compliment came so begrudgingly Cheyenne wondered why he bothered to make it. “I can clean up well, you know. But of course, you didn’t
know. Which is the point. You think I’m different from the other women you know.”
“You are different.”
“You only think I’m different, and that’s why you think you’re physically attracted to me. But, as you can see for yourself, I’m like all the other women you know.”
He gave her an arrested stare. “You think dressing like that will stop me from wanting to take you to bed?”
Her heart rate quadrupled and heat rose to her face. “Nobody said anything about bed. I have no intention of sleeping with you.”
“Nor do I plan to sleep with you, which is why I proposed keeping our relationship on a business level. I dressed to meet a business associate. I’m not wearing something designed to attract everyone’s attention.”
“You’re certainly not. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more boring tie.” So boring every woman in the dining room could hardly keep her eyes off him from the minute he’d walked in. The men didn’t stare, but their gazes continually wandered in his direction. Thomas Steele didn’t need clothes to attract everyone’s attention. His sheer presence did that.
The waiter provided a distraction, setting salads in front of them. Cheyenne studied Thomas from under lowered lashes. She couldn’t figure out what made him tick. He hid himself from prying eyes, walled himself off from seemingly everyone, including Davy, and yet, when Thomas forgot himself, warmth and humor danced in his eyes.
Emotion scared him.
The conclusion came from nowhere, stunning her with its simplicity. Someone, sometime, had taught Thomas Steele it was dangerous to care. Until she discovered who and why, she couldn’t make him care for Davy.
“My tie isn’t boring,” Thomas said, taking exception to her earlier remark. “It’s practical. I don’t have time to decide if a tie goes with this shirt or that suit. Everything matches.”
She shook her head in mock despair. “I’ll bet you don’t even own an aqua polka-dot tie or a purple pop art tie.”
“That would be a safe bet.”