by Francis Ray
Dillon accepted the hand. “Your daughter can take care of herself.”
“So can your mother, but we both know there are some snakes out there masquerading as men.” The handshake was firm. “I better get back to work. I plan to actually take a lunch break today.”
“You’re going to see Mama?”
Roman smiled. “Yes.”
Dillon watched Roman walk away. He’d never seen that coming. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Roman dating his mother, but he’d give him a chance. Instead of going back to work on the prototype, he found himself heading toward the office he shared with Sam.
Five feet away, Dillon heard her uncle shouting. He was inside the office in seconds.
“What’s going on?”
Evan turned on Dillon, waving a slim strip of paper in his hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Dillon crossed his arms, feeling better since he had ruined Evan’s day. “Running Collins Industry.”
Evan advanced on Dillon, waving the paper in his hand. “I want my money and I want it now. I had to pay for my lunch. My card was declined.”
“Imagine that,” Dillon said, his smile growing.
“You might think this is funny,” Evan snapped. “I certainly do not. My secretary said accounts payable wouldn’t reimburse me. I want my credit card reinstated immediately and this taken care of.”
Peering closer, Dillon looked at the receipt. “Twenty-eight ninety-seven. Mighty expensive lunch for one person. Sam, how much did lunch for the three of us cost yesterday at Subway?”
“Twenty-one dollars and seventy-five cents,” she answered, coming from around the desk. “You wanted chocolate-chip cookies.”
“So I did.”
Evan sneered. “My taste is more sophisticated.”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me,” Dillon drawled.
Evan looked at Samantha. “Reinstate my credit card. Now!”
“Not happening.” Dillon unfolded his arms. “The company is barely making payroll. Collins Industry is no longer going to pay for you or your wife’s clothes, grocery bill, cell phone, cable, or the myriad things you claim as business expenses.”
“You can’t do that!”
“It’s already done. Abe’s will said you were to continue with your salary, but it didn’t say anything about ‘business expenses,’ so I suggest you learn to live with your twenty thousand dollars a month salary.”
“What?” Samantha rushed to her uncle. “You make that much?”
His chin lifted. “I deserve that and more. I helped make Collins.”
“And spent the profits lavishly on you and your wife. It stops today,” Dillon told him. “I bet you haven’t thought of paying your half of the household expenses.”
“That’s none of your business,” Evan snapped.
“Sam,” Dillon said.
“We should share the household expenses, Uncle Evan,” Sam said. “It’s only fair.”
Evan looked at them coldly, venom dripping from each word: “You’re going to fail, and when you do I’ll be there to see it.” The door slammed.
“The company failing means more to him than its continuation, or what it will do to the lives of the two hundred employees,” Sam said quietly, then looked at Dillon with determination. “We won’t let that happen.”
He had that urge to hold her again to reassure her, but he tamped it down. Perhaps she was right. From now on it was going to be strictly business between them, just as she’d wanted. “Once the company is running smoothly, I plan to turn everything over to you.”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “You aren’t staying?”
“Five years! Are you kidding? My life isn’t wrapped around Collins Industry. I have my own businesses to run,” he told her. “I’m scheduled to be at a vintage race in Las Vegas this weekend. I’m flying out Friday afternoon.”
“I see.” She started for her desk, then spun back. “If you’ve perfected the intercooler by then, could one of the cars be fitted with it?”
He liked the idea. “It could work. But we’d have to get the owner on board.”
“When we do, the next step is to get a write-up in a sports article, which will get Collins Industry out there,” she said. “You handle getting the car, I’ll take care of getting us the press.”
“You sound as if the article is a sure thing.”
“I am.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’d like to go with you.”
“Who is he?” Maybe he’d been brushed off for more than business reasons.
“Since you’re my business partner, his name is Mark Washington. I seem to recall he mentioned covering vintage racing once or twice. I’ll call and see if he plans to cover the event.”
“How close are you?”
“I think you’ve gone from business to personal.” Sam went behind her desk. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
He studied her. She hadn’t caved this time or made excuses for her uncle.
“Yes?”
“Nothing.” Perhaps it was for the best that they keep it business after all. “See you later, Sam.”
Ten
Samantha didn’t look up until the door closed. Blowing out a breath, she leaned back in her chair. She’d done it now, and there was no way she could back out even if she wanted to.
She eyed the phone on her desk. She’d talked as if getting Mark there were a sure thing. It wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
Calling Mark would present problems she wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with. He’d expect the call to be about them, not about business. Once he understood the reason for her contacting him, there was no telling how he’d react. She picked up her pen and tapped it on top of her files.
There was every possibility he would blow her off. She just hoped that he’d already planned to cover the event and that he’d consider getting a scoop on a prototype of a new intercooler a professional coup. If he did come, she knew without a doubt that he’d press for them get back together. Not happening. Ever.
The reason had just walked out the door.
With a breath-stealing kiss Friday night, Dillon had killed any chance of her ever wanting Mark again. She tossed the pencil aside and admitted that he’d stood between her and every man she’d dated since their first kiss on her prom night. She could have taken her prom date up on his offer to get a motel room in Dallas or said yes to any of the other boys who had been trying to have sex with her. None of them had interested her.
Dillon again.
One fateful look when she was thirteen was all it had taken for her to be struck by the reckless look in his dark eyes, the gorgeous face, the sleek muscled body in skintight jeans and a white T-shirt.
She’d been at the bakery with her mother when he’d roared up on his bike, with Jenny Sanders hanging onto him. He’d been the epitome of the town’s bad boy with good looks, easy charm, a loose woman, and the fastest car or motorbike around. It hadn’t mattered to her that he was rumored to be her grandfather’s illegitimate son and going straight to hell with his drinking and fast driving. Everyone in the bakery turned to look at her and her mother to gauge their reaction.
Dillon had come into the bakery with a clinging Jenny wearing white short shorts and a tiny red tube top barely covering her large breasts. People in line were more interested in watching Dillon than getting their purchases. He’d stopped in front of the cookies. When the salesperson asked if she could help him, he’d nodded toward her mother. “Mrs. Collins was here first.”
Her mother had smiled and thanked him, then added, “Samantha can’t make up her mind.”
He’d turned those captivating eyes on her and smiled. Butterflies had taken flight in her stomach. “Chocolate-chip, but I bet your mother can make them better. Mine can.”
Stunned, she’d just nodded. He’d smiled back, ordered two dozen chocolate-chip cookies, and then he and Jenny were gone. Even then, aware she shouldn’t but unable to help herself, she’d wished she we
re old enough to be on that bike with him.
She’d gotten her chance to be with him on prom night. It had been her suggestion to go to the bar in the hope that he’d be there. Graduation was coming up, and with each passing day, she missed her parents more. The Jack Daniel’s she’d drunk hadn’t dulled the unhappiness. She was miserable enough to hope the rumors about sex would. At least the whiskey had given her the courage to proposition Dillon.
Dillon had done what she’d never expected—taken her home. Of course, at the time, she’d felt embarrassed and unwanted. Now, she realized he had been noble. Her father had liked Dillon. He would be pleased that they were working together. Thus far, she had contributed very little.
Now was her chance.
She had to suck it up and make the phone call. Collins Industry needed the publicity. Dillon had come through. She had to do the same.
Samantha snatched up the phone before she lost her courage and dialed the direct number to Mark’s desk. If he didn’t answer, she’d—
“Mark Washington, Houston Sentinel.”
Samantha’s hand flexed on the phone. “Hello, Mark. This is a professional call about Collins Industry. Do you have time to talk?” She knew she sounded abrupt, but she didn’t want him to say anything he’d regret or be embarrassed about.
“So you haven’t changed your mind?”
There was a mixture of surprise and disappointment in his voice. Samantha wished there were another way. “No. You might have heard of my partner, Dillon Montgomery. He’s designed a top-mounted intercooler where the aesthetics of the car are not compromised, and which will give the car greater speed.”
“Dillon Montgomery is your partner?”
“Yes.” Samantha sat up straighter. “Dillon has a great reputation as a top-notch mechanic.”
“He also has a reputation for playing fast and loose with women,” Mark said, a hint of censure in his voice.
“We’re just partners,” Samantha said. At least now. “Collins Industry will have the prototype in a vintage racing car this weekend in Las Vegas. If you’re coming, we’ll give you an exclusive.”
“Are you going?”
“Yes.” She was all too aware that he hadn’t asked for any more information. Not even the car or the name of the team. “We’re flying down Friday morning so the car can be fitted with the prototype in time for the practice runs.”
“I have an event Friday. Where are you staying? I’ll call you when I arrive Saturday.”
“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “We haven’t finalized arrangements.”
There was a long, telling silence. “I’ll bet.”
Annoyed, Samantha came to her feet. “This is business between me and Dillon, just like between us. Perhaps I should call another newspaper.”
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to be so defensive,” he said quickly.
“And you don’t have to be so nasty,” she shot back.
“All right. All right. There’s no need to get upset. I’ll call your cell. What’s the number?”
She hesitated. They both knew she’d changed her cell phone number because he’d kept calling. “It’s 566-555-2222.” She needed him.
“See you Saturday.”
“Thank you, Mark. See you Saturday.” Samantha hung up the phone. She’d done it, but why did she feel uneasy about the coming weekend?
* * *
Roman could be a patient man when necessary, but he could also push when needed. Dealing with Marlene definitely called for the latter. With a bakery box in hand, he entered the main office of the garage. A woman who looked to be in her sixties glanced up from working on a computer at one end of the counter. Roman had hoped Marlene would be there.
Smiling, the woman moved to the middle of the counter. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”
Roman returned the smile and held up the bakery box. “I’m here to see Marlene. I want to surprise her.”
The woman’s gaze flicked to the box, then back to him. “You’ve known Marlene long?”
“Just recently. Dillon and I are old friends, and I’m doing some work for him,” Roman told her. “A thank-you for the wonderful meal she cooked the other night.”
The woman snorted. “If I hadn’t seen her come in, the crew would have eaten all the burgers before I got one. They acted like they hadn’t eaten in days.”
“Marlene wouldn’t have let that happen,” he said. “She cares about people.”
“And we all care about her,” the woman said, studying him intently.
“Dillon most of all, and he knows I’m here,” Roman said. He wasn’t about to be deterred.
She eyed his wrinkled shirt, then angled her gray head to the side door. “We’ll be watching you.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Thank you.” Roman went through the door and down the short hallway. The woman’s comments just confirmed his belief that Marlene hadn’t dated much.
As beautiful and as vibrant as she was, he would never believe it was because she hadn’t been asked. Somewhere a man in her past—perhaps Dillon’s father—had hurt her so deeply that she refused to trust again, to open her heart for fear of being misused again.
Roman had his work cut out for him. He wouldn’t allow Marlene to push him away. He could take a no, but not after the kiss that had unleashed a hunger in both of them. He knocked.
“Come in.”
Opening the door, he saw her sitting behind her desk. Sunlight spilled through the windows on either side of her. She was beautiful in a lemon-yellow blouse, and as weary as ever. Her shoulders tensed; the pleasant smile turned to ice. He’d known it wouldn’t be easy.
He closed the door and headed straight for her desk. He lifted the lid on the oversize red velvet cupcake. “I thought you’d like a dessert you didn’t have to cook. There’s enough for you to share with your crew.”
“I told you I don’t want this.”
“So you said.” Placing the box directly in front of her, he braced one hip on the edge of the desk. “I told Dillon we went out and asked his permission to try and persuade you to go out with me again.”
“What!” She surged to her feet. “You had no right to go behind my back and discuss me with my son.”
He stood. “Can’t you see, that’s exactly what I didn’t want to do. I want to date you openly. It’s going to be hard enough to get you to trust me. I didn’t need the added aggravation of Dillon out for my blood.”
“Why can’t you just let it go and move on to the next woman?” she asked, her voice trembling as much as her body.
He heard the fear in her voice and again thought he’d like to punch the man who had made her that way. She deserved so much and was afraid to reach out and take it. He’d teach her.
“I’m not a man who goes from woman to woman. True, I try to relax between jobs, but that doesn’t mean I have to have a woman to do so,” he told her. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. Trust me. Trust this.”
His mouth took hers, gently, then with growing ardor. Both were trembling when it was over. “That’s why I’m not walking away. You move me, excite me.” He brushed his hand over her hair. “I want to do wicked things to you, protect you, make you laugh for no reason. No woman has ever made me feel that way.”
“Don’t do this,” she whispered, blinking rapidly.
Pulling her closer, he gently kissed each eye. “Dillon said if you shed one tear, he’d do more than wrinkle my shirt.”
Her gaze dropped to his shirt. She ran her fingertips over the creases. “He’s protective of me.”
“And he loves you. If he thought I was running a con, I’d be in need of a doctor by now,” Roman said. “I’m asking again that you give us a real chance. Don’t try to read something negative into my every sentence. Just trust me. Please. I won’t hurt you or lie to you. Like I said, I know what that feels like.”
“You might not want to go out with me if you really knew me,” she whispered. She’d been the other woman.
“I doubt that, but I’m willing to take the chance.” He lifted her chin. “How about a movie tonight? Or we can drive into Dallas and go out to dinner.”
With the muscled warmth of his body against hers, his beautiful face so close to hers, it was difficult to think straight. “If we go to Dallas, you’ll be late driving back and then you’ll have to come back in the morning.”
“I like your being concerned about me, but I’m used to driving.” He grinned. “If it will make you feel better, we can go by my place afterwards. I’ll pick up some things and when I drop you off at home, I can get a hotel room in Elms Fork.”
Going by his place would be too risky. “A movie here should be fine. I’ll fix dinner.”
“Nope, we’ll go out.”
“Dillon—”
“Can fend for himself.” Roman kissed her. “Six thirty all right?”
He kissed her and her logical mind shut down. She might be getting in over her head. “I suppose.”
He brushed his lips across hers. “Thank you. You won’t be sorry.”
“If I am, you’ll be sorrier.”
He laughed, kissed her again, and then was gone. Scared, excited, Marlene plopped into her seat. Roman, please don’t be a lie, she thought.
* * *
Dillon was too restless to work on the prototype. He’d gone outside and called Carson’s father, Nathan Rowland, about using the intercooler in his 1948 BMW in Saturday’s race. Nathan might respect Dillon’s ability, but he was a race car fanatic and as competitive as they came. Carson, his oldest son, owned three luxury car dealerships in the Southwest. He drove the BMW on race day and was even more competitive.
The best Mr. Rowland could offer Dillon was a chance in the qualifying trial in Friday’s races. If the intercooler did its job, Dillon was in. If not … In exchange for the opportunity, Dillon gave a verbal agreement to be on call exclusively for Rowland Racing Team for the next two months. Dillon hadn’t hesitated. Both of them knew that ideas for improvements on cars came quickly; it was imperative to get his on the car as fast as possible and see if it worked.
Dillon disconnected the call, got in his truck to go pick up lunch and ended up at the garage. He saw Roman’s convertible Porsche pulling out as he was pulling in. He parked and went inside the main office. “Hi, Gloria. You’re looking as sexy and as beautiful as ever.”