Mating Game

by Maynard, Janice

  “The money and the house will go to some secret recipient. I get nothing.”

  He whistled, shaking his head. “No offense, but she was a coldhearted bitch.”

  Strangely, his criticism made Nola want to defend her grandmother. “She must have had a reason.”

  “To make you take a husband in desperation? Doesn’t sound like a loving grandma to me. Sounds like a master manipulator.”

  There was no rebutting that. It was only the truth.

  “Billy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I asked you . . . before this is all over . . . what would you say?”

  He faced her head-on and took her hands, his gaze almost bashful, but definitely apologetic. “What you told me today should have made all the difference. You were an innocent pawn, as was I. I’m trying to wrap my head around that. But I’m sorry, Nola. I don’t think I could marry you . . . even to save the house and your money. I’ve hated you for such a long time, and I know my demons aren’t easy to face. I should have forgiven you and moved on. But feelings are not so quickly erased. I’ve let my anger toward you and your grandmother cripple me in some ways.” Again, his gaze was shadowed and bleak.

  He rolled to his back again and stared at the blue, blue sky. “Knowing the truth helps—it really does. But I think it would be better if we both went our separate ways. Even today, when I should have been able to reclaim some of the wonder and tenderness from back then, there was a moment at the beginning when I found myself wanting to hurt you. And that scares me. Both for me and for you. I’ve got to work out my own problems. And I don’t think that gives me any leeway to help you with yours. You’d do better to go with one of your other choices.”

  After that, there wasn’t much else to say. They stood up and he took her in his arms. But he was able to give her only a chaste kiss on the forehead. And he quickly stepped back from the embrace.

  When they had repacked her car, he went to his, pausing with his arm across the top of the door. “Goodbye, Nola. And thank you for persisting. I didn’t want to come, but I’m glad I did.”

  She smiled wistfully. “Goodbye, Billy.” Goodbye to childish dreams. They were nothing more than the mist that danced on the lake in the evening . . . ephemeral, beautiful, but with no real substance.

  Heading up the driveway toward Lochhaven, she was struck by a sense of homecoming so powerful it was actually a pain in her chest. She stopped the car halfway and got out. The sun was setting in a fiery ball, painting the vista of house and grounds with a rosy glow that masked all the flaws. This was hers. Lochhaven was no longer someplace she came back to out of guilt. It was her legacy, her birthright, her home.

  As long as she could find a husband.

  More and more she wondered if that man might be Tanner Nash. She’d known him a short time, but even so, she felt something almost frighteningly powerful when she was in his arms. Perhaps she should lay her cards on the table. The possibility lifted her spirits and helped put the whole stressful day into perspective.

  Thank God she had Tanner to come home to.

  When she went upstairs to freshen up and change into old jeans and a soft cotton tank top in her favorite shade of pink, she could hear water running at the end of the hall, telling her that her houseguest was in the shower. Earlier, when she drove up outside, she had noticed immediately an entire new section of fresh paint and sparkling windows. Bit by bit the old house was starting to perk up.

  When Tanner appeared in the kitchen, Nola had the table set for two, and the food she’d picked up at the diner was warming in the oven. Their eyes met, hers oddly shy, his warm, intimately lit with memories of the night before.

  She felt her face flame, and heard him laugh softly.

  He took her in his arms, not waiting for an invitation. “I missed you today,” he murmured, nuzzling the soft skin beneath her ear.

  Her legs weakened, and she clung to him. He was a solid rock in a world that with each new day spun in nauseating circles.

  He kissed her long and slow, and her world righted at last. As they ate dinner they talked lazily about his day and hers . . . more of the former than the latter. When he probed, she invented shopping and visiting with old friends. It wasn’t stretching the truth too much. She had technically shopped for their dinner, and she had run into one old friend at the diner.

  She sensed he was waiting to hear about the lawyer, but she avoided the subject. There was a time for everything, and she was not yet ready to reveal the whole truth. Later tonight she would offer Tanner a deal. Marriage to her in exchange for what? She frowned mentally. Even as her husband, would he be opposed to spending her money on the house? It was a thought that gave her pause. A prenup would seem to be in order, but that seemed cold . . . too cold for the woman she knew herself to be. More complications . . .

  She sighed and concentrated on her dinner companion. His tan was deepening daily. He’d dressed in jeans along with another oxford shirt, this one pale green, a shade Krystal would have called celadon. He looked even more appealing than the apple pie Nola had brought home, and her breathing quickened as she thought about the night to come.

  When Tanner offered her part of the single huge piece of dessert, she demurred. “You can have it all.”

  She enjoyed watching him eat. The flash of his even white teeth . . . the muscles in his throat that moved as he swallowed . . . the way his long fingers held her grandmother’s silver and china. He was a large man, but by no means clumsy. The sharp intelligence in his eyes and the sheer power in his big frame made him a formidable male, not someone you’d want to cross.

  She’d never seen him truly angry, and she didn’t want to. She sensed it would be nuclear in proportion.

  Tanner stood up and tugged her to her feet. When she was expecting a heated kiss, he offered her a bottle of dishwashing liquid. “Let’s get this started.”

  She was confused. Tanner didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who would choose chores over sex.

  But once again, he surprised her.

  As soon as the sink was full of soapy water, he scooped up a handful of bubbles, tugged up her shirt, and smeared her chest with foam. She was so shocked, it took her a full three seconds to respond.

  Then, trying to stifle her broad grin, she scowled. “I can play dirty, too. . . .” She grabbed some suds and decorated his crotch.

  His mouth gaped. “These are my best jeans.”

  “Then take them off.”

  He obeyed in record time, but she was under no illusions that he was always so easy to control. An impression that was corroborated when he cleared the kitchen table with a sweep of his arm, dragged her pants and panties to her ankles, and lifted her onto the hard surface without ceremony.

  He rose over her, rapidly donning protection, his eyes no longer amused. “I want you Nola. I’m sick with wanting you.”

  And then he fucked her.

  It was hard. It was fast. It was glorious. And no man was left behind. They came in tandem. Nola couldn’t breathe with Tanner a deadweight on top of her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  He finally lifted up on one elbow and eyed her blearily. “Pacing,” he groaned. “We have to pace ourselves.”

  It took another half hour of sweaty petting and one more quickie, but finally the sexual tension was alleviated. For the moment.

  When they were dressed, she produced her list, eager to see how Tanner would respond. He sat back down at the table and studied it, a frown on his face. Predictably, his eyebrow went up when he digested the scope of the things she was asking for.

  Finally, he leaned his chair back on two legs and whistled. “I’ll say this for you, Grainger—you don’t think small.”

  She squeezed onto his lap, forcing him to sit all the way down. “You told me to tell you what I wanted. And I did. Now it’s your job to come through with the figures. No sugarcoating it. I want honesty from start to finish.”

  He flinched and put her away from him sudde
nly to stand and pace, running his hands through his hair. Strong emotion radiated from his tough frame, filling the kitchen with tension. “We need to talk about some things, Nola. I doubt I can accomplish all of this on my own, and even if I wanted to . . . even if I could . . . the cost . . .”

  He was troubled, and she sensed he didn’t want to quash her excitement again. It gave her a warm, funny feeling to know she could afford everything on that list. What would he say? How would he react when he knew?

  She almost blurted it out, but she held back, afraid for no concrete reason of what his reaction might be. Instead, she changed the subject. “Let’s deal with it tomorrow. Okay? I’ve got a few things I want to do this evening, and then I’m all yours.”

  His face cleared slowly. Was that relief she saw?

  He leaned against the doorframe. “What’s on your agenda, Red? Other than turning me on—those tight jeans are driving me crazy.”

  She grinned. The pants were a calculated choice. They made her butt look curvy and her waist small. “It’s only seven o’clock. I’ve been gone the better part of the day and I’ve got a couple of things that I really need to do tonight.”

  “Like me?” he asked with a naughty smile.

  She swatted him with her dish towel. “Rein it in, big guy. We have to pace ourselves, remember? We have all night.”

  Tanner looked down at the bulge in his pants. “I don’t think I can hold out for long. Do you need help?”

  She contemplated what that would lead to. “No,” she said, stifling the urge to say yes. “I can handle it.”

  “Fine.” He pretended disgust. “In that case, can I check my e-mail? My computer’s in the shop with a virus.”

  “No problem.” She slid past him into the sunroom, where she had set up her laptop when the wireless was installed. “I’ll power it up and get it ready for you. Won’t take a minute.” She showed him her e-mail service and left him to his own devices. Truthfully, she would have liked to goof off tonight, but she had done nothing at all on the house today . . . if she didn’t count finding out about the $60 million. That surely had to count as something. Even if the amount sounded like fiction.

  Her stomach lurched. Best not to think of that. It still blew her mind, and she needed to concentrate on the house.

  She made it through three and a half of the old-fashioned upper kitchen cabinets, stacking out-of-date cans on the counter and tossing the other stuff toward the garbage bag on the floor. Her aim was lousy. She’d have to clean up the mess later. She added shelf paper to her mental list of things to buy and sneezed when a puff of dust made its way up her nose. Her grandmother should have used a little of that money to hire a hardworking housekeeper now and then.

  It was a dirty job, but knowing she would soon have everything clean and in order spurred her on. She might not spend much time in her own kitchen, but she liked organization. And at the moment, she needed all the soothing rituals she could find.

  She reached to open one more cabinet door and shrieked bloody murder when a mouse eyed her, jumped haphazardly from its perch, clung to her shoulder for a half second, and bounded to the floor.

  Tanner, preceded by a crash, came running, summoned in haste by Nola’s paint-peeling yell. He skidded into the kitchen in his sock feet. “What in the hell is going on?”

  She clung to the back of the chair she was standing on. “A mouse,” she cried hoarsely. “It ran under the fridge.”

  Tanner’s mouth gaped. “Good God. I thought you were dead.” He gave her one of those disgusted male looks that implied evolutionary superiority. “You’d better stay away while I catch him.”

  He lifted her with no apparent effort and set her outside the doorway. “Keep out until I’ve got him. If he makes a break for it, I’m afraid you’ll toss a pot on my head.”

  She squeezed his arm. “Don’t kill him. Cover him with a bowl or something and take him out into the woods. Please . . .”

  Their eyes met, and he shook his head. “I can’t believe this. You grew up here. I know you’ve seen a mouse before.”

  She thrust out her chin, embarrassed, but not backing down. “Doesn’t mean I have to like them . . . or share my house with them.”

  He shoved her firmly toward the sunroom, and moments later she heard weird rustlings as Tanner gathered his arsenal. His muttering was almost comical.

  She sat down at the desk and glanced at the laptop. Tanner had come to her rescue so quickly, his last e-mail was still up. Without conscious thought, Nola let her eyes scan the words. The letter was from someone named Harold. . . .

  Tanner,

  What in the hell is taking so long? You were supposed to work your magic and convince her to sell last week. I’ve got investors breathing down my neck and a stack of loans about to come due. If you don’t get her signature on the dotted line soon, we’ll be in deep shit.

  Do whatever you have to do, but close the deal. We can’t wait another day.

  Her first instinct was to throw the laptop across the room. When her stomach churned with nausea, she stood up, wanting to pretend she had never seen the damning words. There was a buzzing in her ears, and she actually felt faint. This time there was no urge to cry. The slicing hurt, the depth of the betrayal, were too deep.

  Tanner wasn’t falling in love with her. Tanner wasn’t fixing up her house to please her. Tanner was a snake in the grass trying to steal her inheritance right out from under her.

  And then she remembered snatches of conversation with Tanner . . . about the feasibility of pouring dollars and time into a money pit. It all made sense now. He and this Harold person planned to bulldoze Lochhaven. Suddenly, everything was clear. Tanner must have approached Nola’s grandmother with an eye to convincing her to sell Lochhaven. The elderly Mrs. Grainger wouldn’t have been suspicious in the beginning. Work needed to be done. She hired Tanner . . . simple enough.

  But before Tanner could convince her to sell, the old woman had gone toes-up, and Tanner had been forced to move on to plan B—the one where he wormed his way into Nola’s bed and into her confidence and pretended to actually care about what she thought. The one where he seduced her into cooperating.

  Her hands were tingling and her legs were numb. Her lungs couldn’t get enough air, and she saw little tiny black spots behind her eyelids.

  She couldn’t handle another confrontation today . . . didn’t want to, at least. She was at the end of her rope. But apparently the fickle finger of fate had decided that this was knock-Nolaon-her-ass day.

  Tanner appeared in the doorway, his broad grin a bit patronizing. “You’re free to get back to work, my lady. The mouse has been returned to the wild. I wish you could have seen your face. You were white as a ghost and sweating. I’ll bet you—”

  He broke off suddenly, perhaps noticing for the first time her expression and her frozen posture.

  It was only a matter of time before his gaze followed hers to the laptop. He winced. “Damn.”

  She nodded, folding her arms around her waist and hanging on so she didn’t shatter in a million pieces. “Yeah. The jig’s up, Tanner. I’ll give you twenty minutes to get out of my house before I call the cops.”

  He paled, holding out his hands and taking a tentative step in her direction. “Let me explain.”

  How often did she have to hear that old saw? “No.” Her anger boiled hot and violent. “I’m pretty clear on what went down here this last week. Gullible woman. Lying, deceitful man. A little sex. Some flattery. A few nails and some paint to smooth things over . . .”

  Her bottom lip trembled, but she bit down on it—hard. “I never want to see you again. You make me sick.”

  He started after her, actually grabbed her arm, and she turned on him in a rage of hurt and disappointment. “Don’t touch me.” She slapped him with all her might, right across his cheek, and watched dull red bloom on his tanned face.

  His eyes burned in their sockets, and she saw words trembling on his lips, trying to spill forth
in some kind of request for absolution. But she had none to give. Not after today. Maybe not ever.

  “Goodbye, Tanner.”

  Eleven

  Nola lay on her bed on top of the covers, listening to the wind whistle around the edges of the rafters. Tanner was gone. It had taken him less than half an hour to clear out of her house, her life, and her bed. He’d wanted to argue with her, to protest—she could tell. But he must have seen in her face the futility of such an attempt when she was so angry.

  She hoped he got food poisoning and died a slow, painful death.

  She knew she would have to deal with what happened . . . would have to sort out her feelings about Tanner and his lovemaking. But for now, she shoved the hurt to the back of her head and her heart, choosing to concentrate now on righting past wrongs. In truth, she would have enjoyed hanging on to the anger. It was far preferable to the dull pain that now filled her chest. Whoever said, “Money doesn’t buy happiness,” was a frickin’ genius. Nola had just inherited $60 million, and she wanted to die.

  She slept in brief, fifteen-minute snatches throughout the night, waking at every weird noise and then collapsing again from emotional and physical exhaustion. The sunrise found her up, dressed, and wandering aimlessly around the big old house that she was trying so hard to keep.

  As a photographer, she had an eye trained to see the possibilities in a subject. Even in the midst of her depression, studying Lochhaven excited her. With money no object, Nola would be able to use original materials, despite their price, and she would not have to scrimp and cut corners on quality.

  Her cell phone rang four times during the morning—each one was Tanner. When the house phone began ringing as well, she took it off the hook. She had nothing to say to Tanner Nash. She’d been falling for a false image, and the truth hurt.

  The reality was simple: Tanner needed to do business with her. And he’d done what any savvy salesman would do—he had made her comfortable with him. He’d offered her what she wanted to see and hear, and, if his will had prevailed, he would have convinced her that it wasn’t worth it in the long run to save Lochhaven . . . not at such a cost.