The Tycoon and the Texan

by Phyliss Miranda

  Obviously taking the game seriously, Nick dove in after her, turning the lark into a competition.

  Feeling much like a true damsel in distress, she tried to put distance between her and the villain. She wasn’t sure the challenge was all fictional, and should have seen this coming. Nick thrived on opposition, whether in business or recreation.

  Well, if he wanted a contest, she’d be a worthy opponent.

  Stroke after stroke, McCall eased through the water, stretching, gliding, skimming, until she secured a safe margin between them.

  As a child, she had spent many hours swimming in the pond behind Granny’s house. Riding horses, rounding up cattle, and baling hay left her with strong, powerful limbs.

  During her senior year at Kasota Springs High School, all of the good times ended. She’d moved to California due to her parents’ health and finished her education. A Texan transferring to a California school ranked somewhere below coming in midterm from a stint in juvie. McCall found comfort in kickboxing and enjoyed the sport as her recreation and a guarantee of self-defense. So what if the distance from the boat to the island was great? So was her strength.

  No doubt in her mind, Nick had as much stamina for swimming as he did for everything else in life.

  Hitting the beach like the first wave of an assault, McCall felt stimulated and refreshed. However, her legs complained and fought the soft ridges of sand, making her sink into what felt like a bed of wet concrete. Step after step tired, muddled legs sank into the hot gritty pebbles, causing her to stumble, holding her back.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she spied Nick rise from the depths below. A bronzed phoenix pushed the water aside with his strapping arms and ascended out of the surf. She needed to make it to the line of trees to continue the game. After all, she had given him consent to torture her, but only if he caught her first. Actually, she’d given the pirate Blackbeard permission, but somehow she doubted Nick saw it that way.

  Nick closed the space between them. After swimming God only knew how far, and trudging across the sand, she felt like she’d chased a mirage. Short of breath, heart beating out of control, she fell to her knees.

  McCall looked over her shoulder. Dang, wasn’t he a remarkable spectacle? Like a copper-toned warrior, forceful strides carried him closer. Stopping to enjoy the devilishly handsome sight cost her time. She dragged upward and set her legs in motion.

  Nick’s fingers seized one ankle, and she tumbled forward cushioned by the softness of the beach. She scratched and clawed, but came up with nothing to hold on to except a sand dollar that quickly crumbled in her fist. As though caught in an undertow, she couldn’t stop being pulled back to him.

  She found herself under Nick, eating sand. His chest pressed against her back, crushing her breasts into the beach. She stretched her arms over her head, only to have his huge calloused hands seize her smaller ones. Twisting, she lifted her head up. In a not so ladylike fashion, she dislodged grit from her mouth.

  “What in the hell were you trying to do? Kill yourself and take me with you?” he lashed out between labored breaths.

  Not giving her a chance to answer, Nick rolled her over and pinned her beneath his full length, keeping her hands above her head. Palm to palm, they locked fingers. Every inch of their bodies melded together like solder on hot red iron.

  “Nick, I didn’t ask you to come after me. I was only playing with you.” She struggled, but he had her pinned too tight. Minute grains of sand clung to her skin, stinging, filling every crevice, creeping under her swimsuit.

  “Playing with me is right. Hell, you could have been killed,” Nick breathlessly whispered.

  “Why do you have to make everything into a competition? You didn’t have to save me.” She stared at him, feeling exposed and defenseless in the face of his anger.

  “Damn it, I thought you were going to drown.” He groaned and ignored her question.

  “I’m a big girl.” McCall struggled to get loose, very conscious of his enticing wet flesh touching hers. “You just can’t stand something happening that you can’t control, can you?”

  “Not when it’s someone I care about.” Releasing her hands, he anchored long fingers in her wet tresses, clutching a fistful of ringlets. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” Nick moved his thumb, lifted her chin, and ran his fingertips along her jawline. “So very beautiful.”

  Transported on a wispy, supple cloud, his words sent her thoughts into a whirl. She wanted to squirm from beneath him, away from his words, but she could only breathe.

  His warm, moist breath embraced her face, making her heart race.

  Resting on one elbow, Nick shifted his weight, pressing her deeper against his hot pulsating body.

  Tenderly, he studied her. “You have the eyes of an angel. When you look at me, I can feel it way down in my soul. A place I’ve never allowed a woman to venture.”

  “Nick, why do you continue saying these things? I’m not pretty, just an unsophisticated, lanky, country girl that—”

  “Don’t.” Nick’s hushed her lips with his finger.

  His eyes blazed like glassy volcanic rock as he moved his hand to touch the side of her face. “Don’t ever say that. Please, Angel Eyes, don’t let me hear those words again.” His thumb traced a line to her lip.

  His words weren’t totally absorbed as she fought the awareness of his body pressed into hers. Blood rushed through her veins like a wild awakening river. Her mind bellowed to resist her urges. But her body did not.

  On gossamer wings, the word beautiful floated through her mind. She ached to have him repeat the word. The word she had heard little in her life. But if she asked him to do so, it might end the fairy tale. She’d have to return to a clown-like puppet in a box waiting on someone to come along and wind it up, so she could spring to life again.

  Feeling wild and daring, she refused to return to her secure, complacent life. The thought of coming out of her private box never to return frightened her. She felt like an inquisitive butterfly that had just escaped its cocoon. “You avoided my question. Why does everything have to be a competition?” she asked.

  “I like a challenge, and you sure as hell are one. Never has a woman intrigued me like you, and I like”—he shifted his body—“the feel of your body under mine. Your long, graceful throat.” He nudged the hollow of her neck with his nose, running his lips down its length, but never kissing. Only nuzzling. Touching, while his hot breath and the light stubble of his chin caressed her like blades of scrunch grass nestled against forget-me-nots. “I can lose myself when I’m with you. You make me want to be a better person.”

  Damn. Nick wanted to make her see herself as he did. Kudos for Mother. His pigheadedness had kept him from seeing McCall as a beautiful, exciting woman beneath the layers of self-imposed dowdiness. He wanted to chisel away at the facade until he exposed the true beauty.

  “Your breasts . . .” His voice trembled, but his gaze did not. “They’re nice.” Easing his hand lower, it stilled atop her shoulder for only a moment before moving over her collarbone and settling near the valley between her breasts. “Look at me, Angel Eyes.” His lips were so close that he felt the beat of her heart. “They are magnificent, enough to make a man ache. Make him fantasize about how good they would feel in his hands.”

  Beneath the thin wet fabric of her bathing suit, her nipples stood in rigid knots, exciting him more.

  Nick knowingly issued a smile at her responsiveness, her breasts that he longed to touch, taste, enjoy. If only she’d give him permission to explore.

  “Nick, you can have any woman you want. Why me?”

  “Because you are so down-to-earth and honest. But you still can’t see your own beauty. I want to show you. Make you see.” He rubbed his cheek down the side of her jaw in a stealthy caress. “Feel it.” A throaty groan escaped from deep inside his chest.

  “I know I’m not beautiful, but you make me believe that I am.” She buried her face against his chest and he took in the i
ntoxicating smell of the ocean mixed with suntan lotion, as he rested his chin on her head.

  His fingers slid down to her waist, along curvy hips, and stopped near her firm stomach. With palms tucked beneath her hips, he lifted her against him. Against a very obvious show of desire. He held his breath, waiting for a response, praying he didn’t frighten her.

  She stiffened, then relaxed, raising her violet-blue eyes to meet his. “McCall, a blind man could see your beauty. Any man would want you,” he whispered. She tilted back her head and arched upward, allowing him access to the cleavage between her breasts.

  Slowly, deliberately he maneuvered first one, then two fingers up and down the valley. Covering one breast with a palm, he tortured her nipple with his thumb. God, he wanted to kiss her.

  Say it, Angel Eyes . . . give me permission.

  Her ragged breathing made her breasts rise and fall, tantalizing him beyond words. She began to soften beneath him, her body supple and warm. He took in her scent. All woman, layered with almond-musk suntan lotion and sea salt. He dipped lower, running his mouth over the upper part of her chest. The salty taste of the ocean lingered on his lips, and he imagined how wonderful it would be to kiss her completely, passionately. He imagined that she breathed only for him.

  “Don’t do this to me, Nick. Please.” Her gaze was clouded with tears. “Please don’t . . .”

  At her plea, Nick jerked back to reality. The reality that she had zapped every ounce of his willpower when she snuggled her hot, sensual body against him on the boat. Her warm, silken flesh destroyed the self-discipline he had sworn to uphold. Her nearness had driven him crazy. He had let himself lose control and was on the brink of taking what he wanted without asking.

  Damn, he had accomplished exactly what he did not intend. Scared her off. He desired her in the worst way, in all the ways a man wants a woman, but he had to keep his word, and could not take her until she was ready. Until she gave him permission. He wanted to kiss her, but she was like a newborn kitten, cuddly and innocent. He had to protect her. But from whom? Him? Nick knew what he had to do.

  Drawing to his feet, he grasped McCall’s trembling hand and tugged her upward. “You are beautiful, Angel Eyes. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel you aren’t.” He brushed sand from her cheek and stroked a damp curl from her face. “We need to talk about our feelings.”

  “Yeah, we do,” she said warily.

  He shot her the most understanding smile he could conjure up, hoping she’d find it sensual as well.

  “First, I need the closest thing to a cold shower I can find. Want to come?” He started across the beach. “But, don’t expect an apology,” he called over his shoulder. “You won’t get one.”

  By hitting the waves, he hoped to clear his hazy mind, quiet the turmoil in his heart, and defuse his full-blown arousal. Then they could talk.

  McCall watched the ocean breeze whip Nick’s dark hair, making it ruffle from his face in a short crest. He waded through the surf, dove in, and disappeared beneath a breaker.

  He had just said he had no intentions of apologizing. Technically he could be right. He hadn’t actually kissed her, but she needed to double-check the definition of a kiss. All the elements were there. His mouth. His lips. His tongue. And her flesh. The key words were mutual touching. A very thin technicality.

  Sinking to the ground, McCall hugged her knees. “No, Nick. You can’t do what you just did and walk away to, uh, cool off.” She didn’t want to talk about her feelings, because she couldn’t allow him into her heart. Couldn’t take a chance on revealing something she didn’t want him to know—the part of her personal life she had kept a secret for years and planned to keep that way.

  From the tight fit of his swimming trunks, no doubt Nick needed a cold shower. She didn’t know how long it took to cool off, but he had been swimming long enough to put out a forest fire.

  To give him some privacy and her some time to think through her plan, she decided exploring the island might be a good distraction.

  What had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours? She wasn’t sure, but was certain she could learn to enjoy the reinvented woman she felt clawing to get loose.

  A cool ocean breeze quickly replaced the warmth of the day. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be much longer since the sun was slowly sinking over the horizon.

  Beyond Nick, she saw the boat. She expected that the captain would send a dinghy for them at sunset. She definitely wasn’t up to another strenuous swim. There were not that many backstrokes left in her, not today. Not after the way Nick touched her.

  To the west, she spied a rundown shack. Nick motioned for her to join him in the surf, but she waved toward the small hut, indicating she planned to go exploring. The wooden structure overgrown with purple and white vines intrigued her. A dilapidated screen frame hung by one hinge much like someone hanging on for dear life.

  As she wandered along the beach her mind soared, swooping around like seagulls attacking anything that moved. Nobody had ever said she was pretty, much less beautiful. Could she tell Nick what his words did to her? How she felt? Deep in her heart, she dug for the answers. Did she dare open up to him and be honest? What would happen if he only spoke the words out of emotion, on an impulse, in the heat of passion? Okay, so maybe heat of passion was a bit strong, but what if . . . what if he actually meant what he said?

  The whole idea of getting Nick to break his promise with a kiss had blown up in her face, unraveled as quickly as a bad alibi. Dern his hide for being so resilient, trying to prove his point. Refusing to kiss her had sent her right into a quagmire.

  Thinking back to the night of the auction, Nick had said he would have paid more than the thirty thousand dollars to keep her out of the clutches of Anson. She guessed she owed Nick big-time. After all, that was a lot of money, even for Nicodemus Dartmouth.

  Last night, she had felt like a rich boy’s toy, but today for some reason she didn’t feel that way at all. There was something about the attention he bestowed on her. A suaveness she had seen a glimpse of previously covered his rough exterior.

  The last thing McCall wanted was to return to the woman she shimmied out of the day before. She liked the new version of the feisty Texan she never knew existed. Out of obligation, she had forfeited the fun side of her life to care for her mother, and suddenly she was ready to see what she had missed.

  By dern, that son of a gun wasn’t about to force her to go back to that cautious, boring life. She wasn’t sure she had ever dealt with a man who was totally honest with her.

  Why couldn’t she simply settle back and let Nick prove himself?

  McCall stopped in front of the hut.

  The sand-covered wooden steps to the shack creaked with pain, and brought her back to earth. She stared at footprints leading to the door. Someone had been here and not too long before. Yet, Nick said the island was uninhabited.

  Big . . . man-sized footprints.

  Who else could be on the island?

  She inched forward.

  Creak . . . squeak. She slid the old wooden door open, then stepped back in surprise.

  Chapter Eight

  McCall stood in the threshold of the hut very shaky, but soon the surprise turned to amusement. She had truly let her imagination run wild.

  On the table sat an enormous wicker basket topped with towels and a quilt. The shelf-lined walls held cases of water and canned foods. A hot sunbeam illuminated the edge of a stark-white envelope sticking up out of one side.

  She leaned down and fingered the elaborate, yet manly, initial D embossed parchment paper. “Master Dart? Hmm?” Not the type of paper a simple note is scratched on, but one that cries urgent com-muniqué. The salutation indicated familiarity, yet formality. Tapping the envelope against her palm, she considered reading the note and putting the envelope back where she’d found it. After all, the envelope wasn’t sealed, so it must not be too personal.

  But it wasn’t hers to read.

  She tucked the env
elope into the basket right where she got it from, between the fabric lining and the wicker side, and would tell Nick of its existence later.

  Within minutes, McCall had toted the items back to the beach, and ventured out to hunt firewood. Thanks to a tin box of matches found in the basket, a campfire soon roared.

  Whoever left Master Dart the refreshments, and she suspected it was someone from the boat, knew exactly what a woman liked. Champagne packed in ice, chocolate-covered strawberries, and caviar with toast points. The delicacies certainly did not represent a beach bum’s idea of beer on the surf. She picked up marshmallows and squeezed the bag.

  Perfect for roasting. Perfect. Just plain perfect to work right into her plan.

  Digging a hole in the soft sand with her fingers, she screwed in the bottle of chilled champagne.

  Looking up, she noticed Nick watching and waved. Thoughts of his roughened chin caressing the valley between her breasts and his thumb stroking her nipple flooded back to her. Double dog dern, if she wasn’t having those funny feelings all over again.

  “Well Slugger, it’s payback time.”

  Nick flipped over and backstroked away from the beach, keeping his eyes peeled on McCall as she strolled toward the water.

  His time in the surf had not only served to cool him off, but also made him do some heartfelt soul-searching. Just the thought of how mouthwatering her skin felt crushed against his, how tempted he had been to ravish her and to hell with the consequences, sent him into a heightened state of excitement. The rushing water quickly dampened the visual effects.

  Cutting his eyes sideways, he caught a glimpse of his boat. At sundown, per his explicit instructions to Stanley, he’d have the captain send a rowboat their direction as soon as the campfire died down. But, which fire? The inferno within Nick or the blaze roaring on the beach? Hell, he should have helped her build the campfire but enjoyed watching her domestic side way too much. Domestic? Damn! That’s pretty close to thinking in terms of a commitment, big boy.