Loving Deep: Steele Ridge Series

by Tracey Devlyn

  “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen?”

  Richard inclined his head, and Gaviston shut the door with a soft thud behind him.

  “Why’d you let the solicitor go?” Angus Ferguson asked, his brogue more indecipherable than usual.

  “He lacked the necessary negotiating skills.” Richard rested his elbows on the chair’s arms and steepled his fingers together. “We need someone who will keep the club’s best interests in the forefront of his mind.”

  Neil Watters brushed a nonexistent speck of dirt off the sleeve of his Ermenegildo Zegna suit jacket. “Do you think Steele added the Shepherd acreage to his empire?”

  “Those Steele boys sniffing around here earlier couldn’t have been a coincidence,” Samuel Taylor drawled. “They were measuring up their competition.”

  “What did they learn that could have been used to outbid us?” Jun Ito asked in a low voice, his steady gaze sliding from one man’s face to another.

  “Damned if I know,” Samuel said. “We talked about membership. No harm there.”

  “The billionaire’s brother, Britt, accompanied him?”

  “Yes,” Richard answered.

  “Did Hugh give them a tour?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did they venture into the Canid Room?”

  Richard’s attention traveled to the gray wolf display, then to the empty mount next to it. His jaw clenched and he snatched the phone off the receiver. His finger stabbed at a series of numbers. “We’ll soon find out.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Norwood. How may I assist you?”

  “Send Hugh Donovan to me.” He hung up. To think they’d welcomed the Steele brothers into their exclusive sanctuary and they’d used what they saw or heard to outmaneuver them was unimaginable. Unforgivable.

  A few minutes later, Hugh strolled in, a smile on his fat face. “Daniel said you were looking for me?”

  Richard did not ask him to sit down. “Tell us about your tour with the Steele brothers?”

  As the steward became aware of the tension pulsing inside the room, his smile faded. “They arrived without an appointment. Since I had nothing pressing, I answered their questions and gave them a tour.”

  “Did your tour include this room?”

  “Yes, we spent a bit of time here. The older brother seemed particularly fascinated with the specimens in here.”

  “You may go,” Richard ground out. “Payroll will forward your final paycheck next week.”

  Confusion mixed with beads of sweat on Donovan’s forehead. “You’re firing me?”

  “Obviously.”

  “But why, sir?”

  “Not only did you allow spies to breach our walls, you gave them a grand fucking tour.”

  “Spies? What are you talking about?”

  “The Steele brothers were here on reconnaissance.”

  “Why?”

  “To take our measure and use it against us.”

  “Use what against us? I don’t understand what you’re accusing me of.”

  Richard shifted forward in his chair. “Let me be plain, then. The brothers saw the missing red wolf display on their tour. They used that information to talk Miranda Shepherd into selling her property to them.”

  Donovan licked his plump lips, leaving a gut-roiling shine behind. “Red wolves?”

  “Good day, Mr. Donovan.”

  The steward sent a desperate glance to the other gentlemen, looking for salvation. He found none.

  Into the silence that followed the steward’s departure, Neil said, “Hugh’s been here for nearly thirty years. He had plans to retire this fall.”

  “He cost us valuable resources today. I couldn’t let that go unpunished.”

  “Gaviston’s comment about the Steeles purchasing the Shepherd property was only speculation,” Samuel drawled.

  “Can either of you think of another reason why the Shepherd girl turned down our lucrative deal?”

  Silence.

  “Will the president agree with your decision?” Jun asked.

  “Do not worry about Jack Bennett. I will deal with him.”

  “Bloody hell, what a mess,” Angus grumbled. “Where do we go from here?”

  Richard sipped his whisky. “Simple. If we cannot buy what we want, we’ll take it.”

  19

  Britt pulled up in front of the single-story bungalow sandwiched between two McMansions. Steele Ridge wasn’t unlike many places across the country where wealthy property owners were buying small older homes and tearing them down. No one would blink an eye at that except the new owners used up every bit of land zoning would allow to erect their three- to four-thousand-square-foot structures. The new construction looked ginormous beside quaint homes like Randi’s.

  Anxiety about seeing Randi again battered his body. At his urging, Jonah had directed Grif to send Randi a deposit to hold the sale while the paperwork was being drawn up. The influx of cash would help her restock her cooler and pay off her vendors, keeping Triple B afloat for the length of time it would take to execute the sale. For once, Grif hadn’t grumbled about Jonah spending his fortune. He seemed oddly excited about the additional acreage.

  Lost in thought, Britt didn’t notice Mrs. Lancaster until her age-worn voice caught his attention.

  “Britt Steele, what brings you to Sunset Boulevard?”

  At least eighty, probably nearing ninety, Mrs. Lancaster walked sure-footed down the sidewalk, accompanied by an enormous red Doberman pinscher. The dog had to weigh as much as its owner and the Dobe’s head hit the woman at chest level. Yet the well-trained canine seemed content to prance on tiptoes at her mistress’s side.

  Not waiting for an answer, she eyed Randi’s house and sent him a knowing smile. “About time someone showed that girl a good time. She works way too hard. No play makes a woman age.” She raked a hand down her diminutive body. “As you can see, I had my fair share of fun in my day.” Behind her thick blue-framed glasses, she waggled an eyebrow, causing her enlarged eyes to appear more than a little wonky. Then her expression turned serious. “Treat her with respect though, or answer to me”—she waved a hand at the Dobe, whose brandy-colored eyes bore through Britt’s skull—“and Pansy.”

  Pansy? More like Xena.

  Because she seemed to be waiting for some sort of acknowledgment, Britt fell back on his Southern upbringing for a reply. “Yes, ma’am.”

  That was the thing about living in the same small town all of your life—everyone had a hand in raising you. Even when you were a thirty-four-year-old man. Rather than be irritated by the fact, Britt smiled at the old woman’s gumption. He hoped he had that much fire flowing through his veins at eighty.

  “How’s your mom?”

  “Spry as always.”

  “And your sister, Evie?”

  “Killing it in college.”

  Mrs. Lancaster’s eyes sharpened. “What about your other sister? I never hear mention of her.”

  Because my family’s secrets are none of your damn business.

  “Breaking hearts as usual.” A canned answer, a factual answer. But not in the way most people took the comment.

  “That a girl.”

  Pansy decided to take a dump in Randi’s front yard, redirecting her mistress’s attention.

  Britt released a heavy breath and shoved aside the ancient memories clawing to the surface. He had enough to worry about right now besides his estranged little sister. When Pansy finished her business, he almost bent and gave the dog a hug for saving him—until he realized what his mother’s upbringing would force him to do next.

  Mrs. Lancaster removed a plastic bag from her pocket and moved to pick up Pansy’s crap.

  Dammit. Something like this would never happen to Grif.

  “Here, Mrs. Lancaster. Let me get that for you.”

  “Not necessary, my boy. You’re all dressed up.”

  Grabbing the bag, he said, “I’ll be sure to wash my hands before kissing the girl.”

  The old wo
man cackled while Britt turned the bag inside out and scooped up the warm pile. After he tied the bag handles together, Mrs. Lancaster took Pansy’s trophy from him.

  “In my day, we called men like you good eggs.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Remember what I said about treating Randi right.” Mrs. Lancaster patted her Dobe’s head. “Heel, Pansy.” She carried on toward her own bungalow, two doors down.

  By the time he reached Randi’s porch, she stood in the open doorway, leaning against the frame. Wearing one helluva sexy outfit. A sleeveless midnight-blue dress wrapped around her body, revealing hidden curves and breasts any hot-blooded man would admire. Open-toed black shoes with killer spikes topped the ensemble—or so he initially thought.

  The real icing was her bemused smile. Something about the tilt of her lips clamped around his chest and squeezed like hell. It was a genuine smile. Warm, teasing, sensual. He could wake up to that smile alone, every day. The realization swiped the last of his breath right out of his lungs.

  “She’s got quite the spunk, doesn’t she?” Randi asked, her grin widening.

  “Does she vet all your guy friends?”

  “Every single one.”

  An image of Randi inviting other men to her house dampened his good humor. He refused to let it ruin his evening, though. Lord knew he was no saint when it came to female companionship.

  “I see I misjudged dinner attire.” Her gaze raked down his body, taking in his black button-down shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll put on something more appropriate.”

  “Don’t you dare.” He made to snatch her wrist to prevent her from disappearing inside, then pulled back at the last minute, remembering the load he’d picked up. “I’ll be the envy of every man in Chick-fil-A.”

  “You’re going to make this painful for me, aren’t you?”

  He could think of many more ways to describe tonight, but painful wasn’t one of them. Unless he counted the ache building in his pants. Having Randi, in that dress, within reach all night could be debilitating.

  “I have the perfect place for us.”

  “Would you like to wash your hands while I get my things?”

  “Saw my poop-scoopin’ abilities, did you?”

  “Indeed I did.” Her teasing smile softened. “Very gallant of you, Britt Steele.”

  “Mom would’ve tanned my hide had I stood there and watched.”

  “Big guy like you afraid of his mama?”

  “Every Southern boy is afraid of his mama.”

  Laughing, she retrieved a small black purse while he made use of her powder room. When they left her house, she slid her hand into his. The act was so natural, as if they’d done this same thing a thousand times, that Britt didn’t think twice about leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. In those dream-worthy heels, she almost stood nose-to-nose with him.

  Perfect.

  When he opened Old Blue’s door, she hesitated a moment, no doubt assessing the most ladylike way of climbing into his pickup.

  “Would you care for a suggestion?”

  “Would you care for a stiletto to the forehead?”

  He laughed, lifting her into his arms and setting her inside. “You can work out the logistics next time—when I’m not starving.” He shut the door on her curses.

  Thirty minutes later, they arrived at Urban Grille, a contemporary restaurant decorated in grays and black and lots of natural stonework. The place had an upscale vibe with a down-to-earth feel. A perfect place for worn jeans and boots or cocktail dresses and heels.

  “This is amazing,” Randi said as they waited to be seated. “How’d you find this place?”

  “Grif.” His brother had a knack for finding all the unique, worth-your-money shops and restaurants in any area he visited.

  The hostess showed them to an intimate table for two adjacent to a low-burning fireplace that was more for ambiance than warmth. A tea light candle flickered on their tabletop.

  Britt pulled out Randi’s chair for her before taking the seat next to her.

  The hostess handed them their menus. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Randi opened her menu. “Any suggestions?”

  “I’m a steak kind of guy. Big, juicy, bloody.”

  She made a face. “Not helpful.”

  Britt kept his attention on his menu, even though he knew before they’d arrived what he would order. The next hour would be agony. He would rather have taken her on a hike or a drive along the Parkway. With those two options, he could have discussed various points of interest.

  Everything they might talk about over a meal—the wolves, her bar, her mom—would be a forbidden, open wound. Did she have hobbies? Favorite places to visit?

  Chancing a peek over his menu, he studied her. What did she do with her precious few hours of freedom? TV? Movies? Books? Music? Or maybe she preferred to sit on her porch with an iced tea while watching the sunset. Or tracking her nosy neighbor up and down the street.

  She wore her hair down. He couldn’t recall ever having seen her wear it that way before. She seemed to prefer taming it into a ponytail or a sloppy ponybun. Tonight, her blond strands appeared animated in the firelight. Like silken flames dancing on a woodland breeze.

  Woodland breeze? What the hell?

  Britt slapped the menu onto the table. He couldn’t even blame his brothers for putting such poetic nonsense in his head. Phrases like silken flames and woodland breeze didn’t show up in Jonah’s graphic novels or Grif’s financial e-zines. And who knew what Reid read for enjoyment. Probably survival guides or how-to-take-your-badass-gun-apart-in-ten-seconds-or-less mags.

  “Everything all right?” Randi asked.

  “Of course.” He nodded toward her menu. “Did you find something?”

  “I found a lot of somethings. Deciding on one is the hard part.”

  “Hey, there,” a masculine voice said over Britt’s shoulder. A young man with icy-blue eyes parked his well-honed body at the end of their table. “Welcome to Urban Grille. I’m Blake and I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get y’all to drink?”

  Randi closed her menu and smiled up at the guy. “A sangria, please.”

  Blake moved closer to Randi. “Red or white?”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Red. Definitely red.”

  It was hard for Britt to tell at this angle, but he was almost certain the waiter’s gaze lingered on Randi’s mouth.

  “Bud Light for me,” Britt cut in. He glanced at Randi. “Ready to order?” Anything to keep this guy from ogling his date one more minute.

  Randi nodded. “I’m torn between the cedar-planked tilapia and chicken marsala. Any recommendations?”

  Britt clamped his mouth shut as he listened to the two go back and forth. When Blake finally turned to him, he gave the twenty-something kid a hard look. “Prime rib. I want it hopping on the plate.”

  “Got it,” Blake said, unaffected. “I’ll be back with y’all’s drinks in a sec.”

  Randi crossed her legs and sat back. “Do you know our server?”

  “No.”

  “Would you prefer he’d been a she with her breasts bursting out of the top of her too-tight T-shirt?”

  Her words slapped away his bad humor. “It would have been more pleasurable on my part.”

  “And less on mine.”

  “Have I mentioned I’m territorial?”

  “Territorial? A trait you picked up from the wolves?”

  “A trait I picked up around you.”

  “For a woman you barely know?”

  His voice lost its teasing tone. “I know you, Miranda Shepherd.”

  “How is that possible? We’d barely spoke to each other until a week ago.”

  Britt couldn’t tell her the truth about his Friday night visits to her bar. Lord only knew what she’d think of a thirty-something guy who hadn’t dropped a large enough set of balls to ask her out. And he certainly wasn’t ready t
o admit he’d never been territorial with any other woman.

  “Your mother spoke of you often.”

  “My mother knew less than nothing about me. All of her attention was focused on her work, her causes.” She let her gaze roam over the other guests, visibly collecting herself. She attempted a smile, no doubt trying to direct him away from her too-revealing words.

  She’d made other vague references to her relationship with Barbara. She was dealing with abandonment issues, whether perceived or real, he didn’t know. In the time he’d spent with Barbara, she’d never let on about the state of her relationship with her daughter.

  In fact, she seemed to know a great deal about Randi’s personal and professional accomplishments. She was never shy about praising her daughter. He’d been intrigued well before their chance meeting at his mom’s sixtieth birthday party six months ago.

  Their brief conversation had him entering her bar the very next Friday. Though he’d seen her only a few days before, he hadn’t been prepared for his first glimpse of Randi in her element. Outfitted in a powder-blue V-neck top with bootcut jeans and cowgirl boots, she’d fit the mold for most small-town working-class girls in North Carolina. But her sloppy ponybun and fresh-faced appearance had tantalized him all night. She’d zipped around the bar for hours, always sparing a comment or smile for her customers. Never tiring, never disappearing, never looking his way.

  Triple B was Randi and vice versa. Her stamina and focus put him—and everyone around her—to shame. No one on her staff could keep up with her. No one commanded the same attention.

  The more he’d visited her bar, the more he’d wanted to get to know her. Not her public persona. The real Randi. The Randi who broke open a bottle of wine behind closed doors. The Randi who wore sweats and read books in her living room. The Randi who smiled a genuine smile at her friends.

  His life wasn’t exactly complicated, but it was full. He had no idea how to work a romantic relationship into his schedule. Still didn’t, especially with this new project Jonah had laid at his feet.

  Women liked attention—a lot of it, and it had to be delivered in various unfathomable forms like flowers, phone calls, movies, meals, kissing but no sex, touching but no sex, and then sex, sex, I love you. The sheer volume of need blew his mind. And if he didn’t deliver…silent treatment.