Courted by the Texas Millionaire

by Crystal Green

  He could tell by the bulge in her pants pocket that she used a PDA for recording interviews, though.

  She nodded toward a computer. “Is it okay if I use one? Not for research, exactly, and I can transcribe my notes to my laptop at home. But I had an idea about something other than this Amati story…” She indicated the street outside the door. “During Mrs. Ferris’s storytelling, she mentioned the days when cowboys used to gather in town. Some had poetry to read and music to play. She said it stopped when the silver mines around here got more popular and then got played out. And I guess the kaolin industry chased them away altogether.”

  “I remember hearing something about that.”

  “Well, since you’re always thinking of ways to bring tourists into town… Wouldn’t something like a cowboy poetry and country music festival each year be worth looking into? I thought I’d do a search to see how novel the idea would be around these parts.”

  It struck him that she’d been thinking of more than the Amati story. She’d been thinking of…him.

  Was she starting to notice that he’d spent a lot of years trying to be worth something around here? That maybe the need for doing it was even rooted in the fact that Violet herself had thought so little of him all those years ago?

  As she sat at a computer station, he told himself that he might be jumping to conclusions, so he settled down and considered her idea instead. And the more he thought, the more he liked what she’d had to say.

  What would she, and the town he’d hurt by shutting down the mine, think of him if he could pull St. Valentine’s economy out of the gutter with some new plans like this?

  He leaned against a desk, watching her work. “There’s a Chamber of Commerce meeting tonight at my place. They’re descending on my house this week so we can brainstorm ways to make St. Valentine more appealing to tourists.”

  “You want to pitch them this idea?”

  “Actually it would be great if you could do it.”

  When she whipped her gaze over to him, he held up his hands. “You should take the credit, Vi.”

  “With that crowd?”

  The jab made him grit his teeth. Then he said, “So it still intimidates you—this social divide.”

  “No.” She lifted her chin, as if showing him that her time in the city had taught her to become just as sophisticated as anyone. But then she seemed to remember his fancy cars, his hand-tooled boots, the pure silver belt buckle he was even now wearing. Rich-kid toys.

  Toys she was a far sight from having.

  He lowered his voice. “Just go home, get into your best cocktail dress and meet me out there. Do you know where I live now?”

  “Who doesn’t?” She pressed her lips together, as if thinking about her own reasons for wanting to help out the town, then said, “What if I don’t have a cocktail dress here?”

  Yes. “Did you put your things in storage in L.A.?”

  “No. My parents had plenty of room for what I didn’t sell off.”

  “Then you’ll have a cocktail dress, city girl. Don’t act like you don’t.”

  Now she was frowning, and it occurred to him that she might not be worried about cocktail attire at all—in spite of her apparent confidence, she genuinely might be intimidated by the cocktail crowd, and any dress she owned might not live up to the likes of the designer duds Jennifer Neeson and Lianna Hurst would be wearing.

  How could he tell her that she would outshine them all?

  Something changed in her eyes—a true drive, a determination that was all old-school Violet. His chest rolled in on itself, squeezing.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there.”

  He grinned, because he’d sure be waiting for her.

  * * *

  “Wow,” Violet said under her breath, as she pulled into the circular drive in front of Davis’s mansion.

  All stone and windows, it reminded her of a massive, splendid hunting lodge for rich people. Her heart stuck in her chest, barely daring to beat.

  Wow. Being here, seeing where he lived, really drove home how loaded he was.

  A teen dressed in an ironed white shirt and black pants came to her door. The valet Davis had probably hired for the night.

  She gave over her newly fixed Camry to him, shrugging good-naturedly as he checked out the faded red paint job. He grinned at her just before she went to the mansion’s door.

  She didn’t even have to use the ornate iron knocker because the door opened, manned by a slim guy with slicked-back hair and welcoming eyes.

  He gave her a wide smile. “Ms. Osborne?”

  “You were expecting me.”

  “Davis told me to keep a special eye out for you. My name is Lloyd. I’m Davis’s assistant.”

  “Thank you.” She handed him her simple black wrap, then her dark, beaded clutch purse. She couldn’t stop herself from pushing her hands down her dress, making sure there were no wrinkles.

  “You look very Audrey Hepburn,” Lloyd said.

  This time she beamed. She’d hauled out her best cocktail garb, dressing with care in a black silk sheath with cap sleeves and buttons running down the low back until they got to a playful little bow. Her shoes were one of the few indulgences she’d once allowed herself on a modest salary—Jimmy Choo platform sandals that featured a dainty ribbon around the ankle.

  Even from the foyer, she heard the murmur of conversation. Lloyd guided her toward the sound, outside on a plank-and-stone terrace lined by bushes and Chinese lanterns. The view overlooked an expanse of land and starry sky.

  So this was where Davis went every night.

  Refusing to dwell on what else he did at night, Violet took a breath and forged into the lion’s den.

  At first, the crowd didn’t notice her arrival, they were so immersed in each other. But Violet saw Davis right off, dressed in a tailored navy suit that made her libido twirl, especially when his gaze met hers.

  It felt as if she were being lifted out of her body, caressed by the stroke of his gaze…until she saw Jennifer Neeson and Lianna Hurst by his side.

  One dark, one blond, both looking at Violet with barely veiled contempt.

  Why did she feel like Cinderella when the stepsisters had seen her in her first dress, before the fairy godmother had come on the scene?

  Davis excused himself from the women, and Violet didn’t pay any attention to their reaction—she couldn’t drag her sight away from him.

  Tall. Broad-shouldered.

  Oh, boy. Oh, man.

  “Just in time,” he said, his voice as much of a caress as his gaze had been. “We were about to settle down for some brainstorming.”

  He gestured toward a huge glass-and-iron table with seats around it. Her gaze lingered on his long fingers, and she imagined how they might feel somewhere other than her hand.

  Somewhere far more wicked…

  Shaking off the thought, she allowed him to take her by the elbow and walk her to a seat at the end of the table. The patch of skin where he’d touched her burned, spreading all over her body.

  As she sat down and looked down the length of the table, she realized that he’d put her in a place of honor.

  He summoned everyone to their seats, and they put their drinks and appetizer plates on the table. Then he took the chair next to hers.

  A brunette man, his hair longer than most, his skin whiskered, his wardrobe nothing more than flannel and casual jeans, assumed the seat next to Davis.

  Davis introduced him to Violet. “This is Aaron Rhodes. He moved here about four years ago to open up the carpentry shop on Sunrise Avenue. He’s also the president of the Chamber of Commerce.”

  “I don’t know how I was talked into it,” Aaron said, his green eyes sparkling as he stood
up to shake Violet’s hand.

  When his grip lingered a second longer than it should’ve, Violet laughed and withdrew. Aaron grinned, too, and Davis rolled his eyes.

  “Sit down,” he told the man, and from his tone, it was obvious they were friends.

  But when Davis glanced over at Violet, she saw something like possession tinging his gaze.

  She shivered, and not unpleasantly.

  From that point on, her mind raced, barely registering what Davis said to everyone—something about Chamber of Commerce, planning, hell of an idea…

  Then everyone was watching her expectantly, especially Jennifer and Lianna from down the table.

  Violet sucked it up. Why should she care about a pair of former cheerleaders? And who gave a crap if they were wearing Valentino and Versace?

  She launched into her idea about putting on an annual cowboy poetry and country music festival in addition to St. Valentine’s usual Founder’s Weekend. Then she winged the rest of it.

  “We could also attract people by having something novel in, say, the culinary field. A Western barbecue cook-off or a chuck wagon contest that would draw an enthusiastic, specialized crowd. And as far as yearlong attractions are concerned, why haven’t we ever capitalized on the old silver mines? Calico Ghost Town in California uses theirs as a draw, and they have things like gunfights, the Mystery Shack and a working railroad, too.”

  Mayor Neeson, a squat man who had somehow miraculously produced his leggy daughter, said, “Davis mentioned the silver mine angle once.”

  “It was shot down,” Davis said, grinning at Violet. Great minds thought alike—that was no doubt running through his head. “I believe someone said it was too much work to develop.”

  “I don’t know who said that,” the mayor muttered. “But it was before my term. I happen to like what I’m hearing now.”

  Aaron chimed in. “I like it, too. Let’s get started on it.”

  Violet could’ve hit the roof, if there’d been one. The mayor wasn’t dismissing the notion outright just because it’d been presented by her?

  And when the man gave her a considering glance, she wondered if Davis had, perhaps, had a word with him about being open-minded. Or if she’d been just as biased as she’d assumed everyone else still was.

  The rest of the meeting consisted of brainstorming how to institute a festival, who would research what, who would eventually be in charge. Davis took on the brunt of the work, and she found herself smiling at him again, admiring the man he’d become, and not just because he fit a nice suit all too well.

  In the end, she managed to stay after everyone else had left—even Lianna, whom Lloyd gracefully lured out the door.

  Davis shook his head and loosened his tie as he walked out of the foyer and into the seating area, where she’d been looking out a window. “I thought the night would never end.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that you were doing a little sweet-talking in some ears before I got here?”

  He tried to look like he had no idea what she was going on about.

  “Davis?”

  With a maddening grin, he opened a sliding door to the terrace, where the Chinese lanterns were still casting multicolored light. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he lifted his gaze to the sky.

  When she joined him, he finally answered. “I might’ve laid a bit of groundwork. I told you that I wouldn’t tolerate any mistreatment of you.”

  “Thanks. It made things…easier.”

  He seemed surprised, as if he’d expected her to get feisty on him and scold him for meddling.

  “You know,” she said, “you’ve really got this town’s ear. I think they’d be lost without you.”

  “You think so?”

  Why did it sound as if her approval meant a lot to him?

  When she’d left him years ago, she’d no doubt smashed his ego by questioning his worth. But it was ridiculous to even think that she was the reason he’d become such a leader.

  Or that he wanted her to see the fruits of his labor now.

  “After the mine shut down,” he said, “I thought that most of the town saw me as a rich boy who was trying to throw around my money in an attempt to win their forgiveness.”

  “I don’t get that feeling at all.”

  “Then maybe I’ve finally done a one-eighty from that playboy you knew way back when.”

  She looked down, then back up at him. She was so tired of always glancing away.

  Their gazes held, and yearning sizzled through her.

  Just say what you want to, she thought. He deserves to feel good for once.

  “I’d even venture,” she whispered, “that you’ve become a hero, Davis.”

  It was as if she’d opened a door—one that led to terrifying, wonderful things that she could barely see through the haze that scrambled her vision.

  His expression changed, growing intense, shocking her system.

  The next instant, he was closing the distance between them, cupping her face then lowering his mouth to hers.

  Swept away, Violet allowed that door to stay open, even as she battled to keep hold of her heart.

  Chapter Six

  The kiss was all-consuming, taking possession of every thudding cell in Davis’s body as he gently pressed his lips against hers, as if testing, anticipating that she might once again pull away.

  But when she didn’t, Davis’s emotions came to a head.

  Passion.

  Need.

  Maybe even some of the anger that had been pushing at him these last few days.

  His kiss grew harder, more demanding. One of his hands slipped back to cradle her head while the other slid down to the small of her back, urging her closer to him.

  Her breasts and hips crushed against him, and she sucked in a breath under his mouth. His gut tightened, encouraging him to continue the bruising kiss. Devouring, seeking, making up for lost time, he showed her just what she’d been missing.

  Yes, he’d wanted her to notice everything he’d done for St. Valentine, even though he hadn’t accomplished any of it for her sake. When he’d come back to town, his motives had been pure—he’d only wanted to redeem himself for getting that mine closed, and he’d put every effort into helping St. Valentine rise up again.

  But now that Violet was back, Davis didn’t mind being looked at as a hero—a man who was made of better stuff than what his mother had told Violet on that long-ago day that had changed their futures.

  By now, she was pulling at his jacket lapels with a desperate grip. She made a small sound against his mouth, the vibration tingling his lips…

  Too hard, he thought, easing up on the kiss. Too fast. But it was nearly impossible to fully back away from her, because he’d been waiting for so long, never knowing if he’d ever have this chance again.

  A chance for what? Showing her that she made a mistake?

  Or something else?

  He lifted his lips from hers all the way, and she raised a hand to her mouth, as if the pressure of his kiss had left her lips pulsing and tender.

  An apology twisted inside him, but he didn’t voice it—he didn’t have the chance, because Violet buried her face against his chest.

  Instinctively, he rested a hand on the back of her head. Her hair…just as soft as he remembered. Long, gleaming, thick. The scent of it—cherries and almond—took him back to better times, when it’d been so easy to be gentle. To not just reach for her like some man possessed and taking what he wanted.

  She finally spoke. “That was…”

  Her words trailed off, and she stepped away from him, not far, but far enough so that he didn’t feel the impression of her nestling against him anymore, the shape of her burrowing deep inside h
im.

  “I’m sorry if it’s not what you were expecting,” he said, his voice graveled.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t plan to.”

  She pushed back her hair, almost nervously. “Oh, so you haven’t been stringing me along, inviting me to work with you on the story and then to come here, to a Chamber of Commerce meeting? You never planned to get me alone during any of those times?”

  “You were the one who stayed longer than anyone else tonight.”

  She rested a palm against her face, as if to feel the heat there. The blushing light from a lantern veiled her skin.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I did stay longer than everyone else.”

  Night sounds hushed around them, expansive and yet far too intimate all at the same time. An intimacy he didn’t deserve with her. That was agonizingly clear now.

  “You’re still angry about everything,” she said.

  His kiss had told her that. “I was trying to be anything but angry.”

  “But I felt it. It’s unavoidable, that anger. And, believe it or not, I was the same way, right after I left St. Valentine. I was angry with your mother. I was angry with who we were, because it was such an issue between us. The fact that you wouldn’t go public with us told me that.” She swallowed. “I was angry with myself, too. And…”

  A hesitation, then the words came rushing out. “I was angry at you for not understanding that I was only human for listening to your mom, even for the slightest second of doubt.”

  He understood every bit of it now, all too well.

  He wanted to kiss her again, showing her that he could get beyond the anger. Every inch of him was dying for her, pounding, growing hotter and hotter with every passing second, and he almost reached out to take a lock of her red hair between his fingers, to trail his fingertips down her neck to rest on her delicate, perfect collarbone in a prelude to what could be between them now.

  But she had already crossed her arms over her chest. “Why would you even kiss me when you know I’m only going to leave again?”