by Caro LaFever
He tapped on the cell once more.
The fireplace behind him flamed to life, sending a blast of hot and bright into the huge room. The scene, the man, the heat rising in her body, all blared seduction into her brain. The fact that part of her wanted what he offered made her pride twist inside. “I’m leaving.”
“No.” He tapped again. “You’re not.”
The lilt of music filtered from speakers high on the ceiling.
Jess gaped. “Country? You like country music?”
“Why don’t we just dance?” Nick mimicked the singer’s words.
“You want to dance?” Not seduce her? Or not quite yet? She’d picked him as a male who could move from the moment she saw him, but country? This sophisticated, polished man wanted to—
“Two-step.” He placed himself in front of her. “Texas two-step, to be exact.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Many people have said that about me.” A flicker of pain flashed across his face, to be replaced by his signature fake smile.
Irritation at his continued deception cut through her. “I don’t two-step.”
“It’s easy.” Sliding his phone back in his suit pocket, he laid his hand on her. Not on her waist, where she’d expected, but high on her shoulder. His fingers pressed on her bare skin, sending a shot of torrid flame through her, far more potent than the fire’s.
She sucked in a deep breath.
“Put your hand on my shoulder,” he commanded, while grabbing her other hand in his.
That command deserved a look and she gave him one.
His blue eyes lit with delight. Obvious delight. As if she’d given him a gift instead of a set-down. “Come on, Jessie,” he crooned. “Let’s dance.”
Before she could decide what to do, he’d swung her around in his arms and shuffled his feet in between hers. “Step, step,” he whispered into her ear. “Then slow, slow.”
“What?” she muttered, feeling foolish and furious and alive all at the same time. “I don’t know how.”
“Follow my lead.” He swept her around the sofa and onto the large, empty space between the living room and the full-length windows. “Relax.”
Relax? How could she possibly relax when she was in the arms of this beautiful man, with his wicked scent swirling around her, his warm hand moving on the skin of her shoulder, and his exhalation brushing her ear and neck? She was hot, and flustered, and yes, turned on by him.
He kept maneuvering her, not letting her catch a breath or figure herself out. Just as she brought her brain online, he’d twirl her again and make her dizzy. When she tried to speak, he’d boldly move his body close and tangle his legs with hers, making any words scramble inside her head.
The song changed to another jaunty tune. Then another.
Somewhere in the heat and hot of their dance, she found her rhythm.
Or maybe she found his.
They moved together in a sensual contest. Jess knew it was this, not a fun romp or a friendly frolic. This was a sexual communication going on between them. With every step, he drew her nearer, his excitement clear when his hips pressed on hers. With every twirl, his hand slid higher, brushing his fingers along the nape of her neck. All the while, his gaze never left hers, the blue darkening to midnight, the flash of starlight in the depths.
She let herself go into him. She let her fears about his deal with her father fly away, into the night of his eyes. She let her convictions about who was beautiful and who was not disappear.
“Jessie,” he murmured, his lips coming so close to hers.
The music changed, then. Changed from breezy and free, to mournful. Their dance slowed, no longer moving across the floor, but swaying in place, circling in the dark of the room, the light of the city and the flames of the fire flickering across their bodies.
“Jessie,” he said again.
Looking up just as the singer wailed out his loneliness and sang about his need and love, she met her partner’s gaze. He didn’t flinch from her this time. He let her in, let her see what was in the heaven of his eyes.
Lonely.
He was lonely.
Shock burst inside, making her gasp. Before she could wrap her head around the fact that this man, this beautiful, successful, charming man was lonely, he dropped his hot hands from her and stepped back. The blue of his eyes turned opaque.
The singer wailed his love, yet there was a chilled silence in the air.
Nick’s mouth finally quirked at the edge, like they’d just had some nonchalant fun and it meant nothing.
It meant everything to her.
He’d let her in and she’d seen. Seen something she was sure he hadn’t intended to reveal.
“I guess we’re done,” he said. “Buenas noches, and all that.”
“No.” She shook her head. “We’re not done.”
“Oh?” His lush brows rose, and he put his hand in his pocket. His hips canted in that pose of his, that casual, silky pose she realized he took when he was agitated. “You want to dance some more?”
“No.” Though she had the feeling she’d want to dance with this man time and time again. “I want to do something else.”
“Sí?” His focus never left her, as if he was worried she might strike him.
“I want to take a ride.”
Coming into the grand suite, Jessica stopped when she caught the light in the living area. “Dad.”
A loud harrumph was the only thing she got in response.
“Why are you still up?” She stepped past the beginning of the sofa and scowled at her father.
He wore the new green robe she’d bought him in Rome several months ago. On his feet were his favorite fleece slippers that had seen better days. Peering at her from behind a newspaper, he frowned. “I can’t be up after ten?”
“It’s actually after midnight.” Which astonished her. How had she spent more than five hours with Nick Townsend and not realized how the time had flown?
“I’m a grown man, and can stay up as long as I want.” Her father flipped the paper closed, settled back and smiled. “How was your date?”
“It wasn’t a date.” When she’d left this suite earlier this evening, she’d had clear goals. She needed to find out what the deal was between her father and Nick. She wanted additional details on his operation, so she could think about how to incorporate some of his processes into the McDowell hotels. She definitely hadn’t thought of it as a date. It was more of a business meeting with a man who enjoyed flirting. Or that’s what she’d told herself.
Somehow, it had turned into a date. A dinner under the stars, a dance in front of a fire, an intimate insight into a man she bet didn’t do intimate other than physical.
Her dad wasn’t buying her claim any more than she was. “Don’t try and fool me.”
Sighing, she slipped off her high heels and plopped onto a leather armchair. “What is going on with you two? Please tell me.”
“He didn’t tell you, I take it.”
“He told me some things.” Things like he was lonely. Things like he got irritated at himself when he showed too much. Things like he was far more fragile then he let on to the world.
“What things?”
She wasn’t going to share the intimate details Nick had inadvertently shared. A strange sort of protectiveness flooded her. Yes, she and her father were on the same side, yet she wasn’t willing to share what she’d learned about the man. A man who could be an adversary or a rival or a potential buyer of her hotels.
Because he wasn’t only that anymore. He liked her.
And she liked him.
“Jessica?” Her father’s gaze narrowed. “What did he tell you?”
“He likes country music,” she offered.
Clyde McDowell grunted. “Why the hell does that matter?”
It mattered because Nick didn’t just listen to it, he danced to it, too. He knew how to move his beautiful body against a woman’s until she couldn’t catch her breath or her br
ain. But he hadn’t told her anything about this deal with her father, and instinctively, she knew it was important.
Narrowing her eyes, she stared. “Dad.”
“Yes?”
“How can I pick a man’s brains when you won’t tell me what I’m looking for?”
He grunted again and said nothing, telling her she’d hit her mark.
“Well?” she pressed.
“You picked his brains today and found out most of what we needed to know about his operation.” He finally faced her frown.
“So what was this insistence I go and have dinner with him, then?”
“I thought…” Her dad uncharacteristically stumbled to a stop, his gaze lowering to his shifting hands.
“Thought what?” She didn’t let him off the hook.
“I thought you might get along.”
Get along with Nick Townsend? That would not be the phrase she’d use. Getting to him and he getting to her would be far more accurate.
She had to admit something, though. “I like him.”
“Do you?” Clyde McDowell’s smile went wide. “That’s wonderful.”
“Is it?” She kept her alert gaze on his expression. “Why is that?”
“Because I like him, too.”
“There’s more, isn’t there?”
“Yes, of course.” Her father beamed. “There’s always more, Jessica. You know that.”
“What I want to know is, what’s the more?” Leaning forward, she placed her elbows on her silk-covered knees. “What’s the deal you have with Nick?”
“I don’t think—”
“I’m not a child, Dad.” Her old frustration curled inside. “I’m really not.”
“You may not believe me,” he harrumphed again. “But I realize that. It’s why I contacted Nick.”
“And asked him to do what?”
Gnarled hands moved along the leather couch in a restless shift and his expression went sour. “I’m not going to get in the middle of this. It’s between you two.”
“What’s it?” Jess tried to stifle her irritation, yet it leaked into her voice. She could tell she wasn’t going to get anything, because her dad’s face turned stony, like it usually did when she demanded.
“I keep telling you to ask Nick,” he grumbled.
“I do, and the man says nothing.”
That wasn’t really true. He’d said a lot of things to her tonight, if not verbally, nonverbally. He’d expressed things with his body and his tone and his eyes. But not everything. Not enough for her to trust what was happening, or what she thought was happening.
He liked her.
She liked him too.
And they both wanted each other.
But trust? Right now, there wasn’t any trust.
Jerking to a stand, she decided to call it a night. Tomorrow was another day. A day in which Nick Townsend had agreed to give her a ride.
On his bike. Not his body.
A wistful sigh escaped her at the thought of that body and taking a ride on that.
“Well, well.” Her father rumbled. “That’s interesting.”
“What?” Turning, she glanced at him.
“That sigh you just made. And the look on your face.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“No, you probably don’t.” The old man shifted on the sofa, as if he were trying to find a more comfortable spot. “And he probably doesn’t, either. Not yet, at least.”
“You’re talking in complete circles.” She strode toward her bedroom. “I’m going to bed.”
“Jessica.”
Her father’s tough tone stopped her in her tracks, though she didn’t turn to face him. She’d had enough for today. Enough of both these men and their secrets. “What?”
“Just remember you’re a McDowell and you deserve the best.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she eyed his bald head and the heft of his shoulders. He looked tired, even from behind, and almost done. Almost finished. Something broke in her heart. “I know you want what’s best for me. I know.”
“And I aim to get that for you.” He didn’t look at her, but she felt the force of his will. “I promise you, just as I promised your mother.”
“Dad,” she sighed. “I don’t—”
“Don’t worry,” he cut in. “I’ve got this for you.”
Chapter 11
Jessica liked jeans and sweaters and her hair up in a bun so it didn’t get in her way. She’d come to peace with the fact she lived in a world of glamour and prestige. A world where it was expected a woman dressed up every day. She did her duty and looked sharp when she met with the McDowell investors and staff.
But she really liked her jeans. Specifically, her oldest pair with a tear on one knee.
Nick Townsend seemed to like them, too. He gave her his real smile. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” She took him in.
He straddled a wicked-looking motorcycle. It was big and bold and black, with silver detailing that glistened in the bright Nevada sun. They’d agreed to meet outside his casino early this morning, before the tourists started to crowd the streets.
She hadn’t slept a wink last night, thinking about their dinner and dance and what was going to happen today.
Slinging his leg over the bike, he stood and grinned. “At your service, my lady.”
Her brows arched when he gave her a bow.
The male grin widened. “Are you ready to climb on my trusty steed?”
“I’m not looking for a knight in shining armor, Nick. Just to be clear.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I’m not looking to be swept away by you.”
He looked nonplussed for a moment, but then his grin returned. “How about a knight in cowboy boots instead?”
The stamp of his feet drew her attention. His boots were leather and appeared well-worn. They looked like they belonged to a real cowboy. Curiosity pulsed in her brain. “Where’d you get those?”
“They’re mine.” Puzzlement crossed his face before he shrugged. “Come on. Let’s get going.”
Along with the boots, he wore an old jean jacket and a plain white T-shirt. Paired with well-worn Levis, the outfit made her think of James Dean or Marlon Brando.
A bold daredevil, ready to take her for a ride.
A knight in cowboy boots who definitely was trying to sweep her away.
He grinned at her. “Scared?”
“No,” she said with a sharp snap. “I’m not.”
“Prove it.” Turning, he grabbed a leather jacket and a blue helmet. “Put these on, so you’ll be safe.”
She knew with a deep, atavistic instinct, she wasn’t safe with this man. Except she didn’t seem to care. She wanted this ride. She wanted what he guaranteed her.
You’ll like the feeling of being free.
There wasn’t anything free about her life. Honestly, she couldn’t ever remember when she’d been totally free. Free from her dad’s expectations, free from the demands of her role, free from rules and responsibilities.
Today, this one day, she was going to take this chance with this beautiful man and be free.
Marching down the casino’s stone steps, she arrived at the bike’s side. It was a lot bigger close up. Chrome pipes zipped along the sides to shoot out behind the thing. The handlebars were low and wide, and the black seat looked like it wouldn’t fit two.
“Don’t worry.” He gave her another jaunty grin. “You’ll be fine.”
He slung the leather coat around her, tugging it in place.
“I can do it,” she protested, pulling away from his hands to stuff her own down the sleeves.
“Here.” Plopping the helmet on her head, he frowned. “This isn’t going to work.”
“What do you mean?” She frowned back at him, as she pulled the jacket closed.
“Your bun.” The sunlight hit him at that moment, slanting a golden glow onto his cheekbones and lips. The color of his skin was olive, yet that one word did nothing
to describe the reality of how rich and warm it looked. How much it called to her fingers. His lips also called to her. Called to her with the way they curved in a masculine sweep, the way the burnt-red hue complimented his skin and beckoned, promising pleasure.
Her breath caught at his beauty. And her old insecurity reared its head.
Why was he with her?
Before she could figure anything out at all, he yanked the helmet off her and placed it in front of him on the bike.
“Ouch,” she complained.
“Sorry.” His apology was sincere yet sounded absentminded. He stared at her, hard.
“What?” Her confusion and excitement roiled inside, making her grumpy. “The helmet fit.”
“Not good enough.” With a lightning-swift move, he wrenched the tie, holding her hair in a bun, off her head.
“Ouch,” she exclaimed again, as her hair flopped to her shoulders. “Give that back.”
But he wasn’t paying any attention to her words. His blue eyes widened and went impossibly bright.
The wind suddenly strengthened, whipping the strands around her head and into her eyes and mouth. “Dammit.”
Jess didn’t think much about her hair. It was hair. She’d once cut it very short when she’d been in college, in an attempt to be modern and snazzy. Her father had hated it. Since she was still in the throes of trying to capture his approval, she hadn’t cut it again. Every time she thought about going to a salon, her dad pooh-poohed the idea as a waste of time. So for the last few years, she’d just had it trimmed and stuck it in a bun. After all, her father was right. There were more important things to do than spend time at a beauty salon.
Trying to catch it all her in hands, she glared at Nick. “Give me the tie.”
“Buen Dios,” he whispered, his focus not wavering.
“It’s just hair.”
His gaze flashed back to hers, an intense look that made something inside her quake. “Who told you that?”
“What?”
“Told you it was just hair,” he barked.
“No one.” She had no intention of disclosing how much her father’s opinion mattered to her. This man might be creeping into her wary heart, but she wanted him to respect as well as like her. Frustrated, she grabbed at another strand as it flew in the air in front of her face. “Could you please give me the tie?”