Knight in Cowboy Boots: International Billionaires X: The Latinos

by Caro LaFever

  “She needs to get back here.”

  “Yeah. I get it.” He sighed and glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping wife once more.

  No one would ever say Jessica Townsend’s face was angelic. It was too strong and bold. But what the hell would he do with an angel? He’d run ragged over the poor darling. No, it was better he married this fierce, magnificent female. This woman could handle him.

  And she could handle this news, too.

  “I’ll tell her,” he said into the phone. “We’ll be back in town by noon.”

  Clicking off before the bodyguard could respond, he slid back under the sheets and sidled to her side. “Jessie.”

  She grumbled.

  “Time to wake up, sleepyhead.” Grabbing her shoulder, he rolled her into his embrace.

  “Mmm.” She grumbled some more, before nestling her head into the crook of his neck.

  Her soft breath on his skin did the inevitable, and his cock went erect. Ignoring its wishes, he nudged at her chin until her drowsy eyes met his. “Hey.”

  She yawned and then smiled at him.

  Demonios! He did not want to ruin their honeymoon. They’d planned on staying here for at least a few more days. He’d suggested they take a tour of his European casinos and the McDowell hotels, but she’d stated she needed to stay close to her dad as soon as this blissful time was over. She’d talked to her father every night, and they’d both thought they had some more time to be with the old man.

  No more time at all.

  He hoped to hell she didn’t blame herself for taking this time with her new husband.

  “What’s going on?” Her gaze narrowed, as that keen brain of hers came online.

  Hating this, hating what he had to do, he did it anyway. “Your dad.”

  Immediate realization welled in her mixed eyes. In the dim morning light, he couldn’t catch every detail, but enough of them. The golden joy dimmed in the green and blue, the brown turning muddy.

  “He’s dead,” she said, a flat statement.

  “Sí.” Brushing her flaming hair off her face, he waited for the storm of tears.

  His Jessie might be strong and brave, yet she was also one to cry and blush. He loved the combination of strength and fragility. Loved so much about this woman.

  “Shit.” Her entire body tightened and, as expected, a well of tears filled her eyes. “He said he was doing fine.”

  “Maybe he was. Maybe he didn’t realize—”

  “No, he realized. He just didn’t want me around at the end.”

  Nick hated the dreary hurt in her voice. “Or maybe, mi amor, he was happy to see you with me and he’d accomplished all he wanted to. Maybe he wanted you to be happy, not sad.”

  For a tense moment, she stared at him. Then, her muscles grew lax. “Yes, maybe you’re right.”

  They lay in each other’s arms, a silent peace flowing between them.

  “I’m sorry, querida.” His brushed his fingers along her taut jaw. “I’m here for you.”

  Her gaze softened, her mouth going from tight to resigned. “It’s not as if it wasn’t expected.”

  “It still hurts, though.” Tucking her into his body, he drifted a soft touch down her spine. “But we’ll deal with this together.”

  “Yes, we will, won’t we?” The tone of her voice wasn’t sad any longer. Instead, there were hints of the joy they’d found in this Painted Lady and in each other. “Together.”

  Chapter 26

  Her father was gone.

  Jess took the plain wooden urn from the funeral director’s hands and managed a slight smile. “Thank you.”

  “We can provide a lovely niche in our columbarium, or, if you prefer, there is a secluded garden where your father’s ashes can be buried.” The man returned the smile, his white mustache twitching.

  Looking at the round urn, she found it practically impossible to believe that the last of her father lay in this small, simple compartment. By the time she and Nick had arrived in Las Vegas, the body had already been removed from the casino. In his typical way, Clyde McDowell had left specific instructions. There hadn’t been anything she needed to do, other than stand around staring blankly at his assistant and their security while they packed away her father’s clothes.

  Her father hadn’t even allowed her the bittersweet experience of saying good-bye to him by packing his personal things.

  “Jessie.” The accented voice of her new husband came from her side. “Would you like that, querida?”

  “No.” In this one area, for some reason, her dad hadn’t dictated. So she’d take that as a sign and put her own stamp on his passing. “I’m taking him to my mother’s grave.”

  “In Tasmania.” Nick’s accent turned crisp and contained.

  Glancing at him, she cradled the urn in her arms. At the look on his face, she frowned. “Yes, but you don’t have to come with me.”

  “Don’t be silly.” His fake smile, the first smile she’d seen on his face since they’d left San Fran, slid onto his lips. “Of course, I’ll come with you.”

  “Well, then.” The funeral director clapped his hands, as if he were applauding her decision. “I offer my sincere condolences, Ms. McDowell.”

  “Mrs. Townsend.” Her husband’s tone went sharp.

  “Yes, yes. Have a good day.” Nodding, the director turned and walked down the long hallway leading to the funeral office.

  “Shall we go?” Nick’s firm grip grasped her elbow, like he was afraid to let her go.

  “What’s wrong?” she mumbled, as he pulled her into the late-afternoon Nevada sunshine.

  “Nothing.” Another fake smile came her way before he slipped his cell out of his pocket. “I’ll let my pilot know so he can start booking the flight. When do you want to leave?”

  Her head and body hurt, ached with a combination of exhaustion and grief. They’d left their Painted Lady early yesterday. The rest of the day had been filled with travel, paperwork, meeting with city officials, talking to various McDowell staff. Now, she had to take the awful last journey with her father and confront her mother’s grave once more.

  The thoughts swirled in her head, making her tear up.

  “Hey, hey.” Nick’s expression softened, and a light of inspiration brightened his blue eyes. “We don’t have to take this trip right at the moment. We can wait for months, if you want.”

  Why did it appear as if that would delight him? Frowning in confusion and stress, she glanced down at the urn. Her father would want it done. He’d want to be by his wife’s side, and he’d want his daughter to move on. She knew that in the center of her heart. “No.”

  “No?” Disappointment filled his one word. “You’re tired. Let it go for awhile.”

  “No.” She straightened her shoulders, knowing her decision was the right one. “Dad would want me to do this now.”

  “Would he.” The statement wasn’t a question. Nick dropped his hold on her and his lips curled, a touch of that anger he tried to hide from her making the action almost a sneer. “Then by all means, we can’t go against his wishes.”

  She sighed. Who knew what was going on with her new husband? If she took a second here, she supposed a man could be forgiven for being irritated at the interruption of his honeymoon. But couldn’t he see she was doing the best she could to keep herself together?

  Together.

  The word echoed in her mind. How together they’d laughed and loved in their Painted Lady. How they’d explored the streets of her now-favorite city. How she’d never felt so tied to another human being, not even her father.

  Together.

  A headache suddenly pounded, overtaking the precious memories.

  “Come on.” Nick grabbed her again and pulled her toward the limo humming in wait for them. “We’ll do it your way.”

  Jess climbed into the car and slumped back in the leather seat. Her husband placed the call and ordered the plane to be ready within an hour. “I’ll have to pack again,” she muttered, he
r gaze trailing along the swaying palm trees and dusty streets.

  “I’ll have Maggie send our things to the airport.” His clipped tone didn’t leave any room for objections, and she was too tired to fight him.

  Why were they sniping at each other, anyway? A shot of pure agony went through her. Had they lost all the joy they’d found over these last few days? “I’m sorry my dad died during our honeymoon.”

  A sharp silence fell in the limo. Finally, he leaned across to press a button. A glass panel rose to block off the driver. “Jessie.”

  “What?”

  A muffled chuckle came from across the seat. “¿Qué.”

  The tease startled her out of her funk. Jerking around, she caught his grin before it disappeared into a scowl. Yet, her heart still lifted. Still surged.

  “Here’s the thing.” His hand dropped to his knee and tapped an impatient tattoo on his leg. “I’m not mad at you, okay?”

  “All right.” Holding onto her hope, she kept staring at him. Because although she believed him, there was something lurking between them she didn’t like. It scared her, honestly.

  “If you want to go to Tasmania, then we’ll go.” His gaze flashed to hers, intense and focused. “That’s fine with me.”

  But it wasn’t. She could tell he was lying to her by the gray shadows in the blue of his eyes, and the line of his taut jaw. This man was the consummate player and gambler, a man who sold people with a charming smile. She’d come to know him well, though.

  He was lying about something. To her.

  The realization of both his lie and the instant knowledge of him shook her.

  She had no idea what to say. Accuse him of lying? All he would do was get angrier or retreat. She knew that about him, too. She decided on doing nothing for the moment, other than concentrating on the loss of her dad and the trip back to her mother. Slumping, she stared through the window. The desolate, dry landscape matched her mood. The silence between them seemed to expand until she found it hard to breathe.

  “Jessie?”

  Her hands clutched into a tight knot in her lap. She supposed she could say this angst and pain welling inside was because of her dad’s death. But in reality, this something that lurked between Nick and her since they’d left San Francisco and their honeymoon behind was the real cause of this muddle inside. “Yes?”

  “Look at me.”

  At his command, her mouth quirked although she still felt queasy. “Demanding.”

  A huff of amusement was her answer. “Come on. Look at me.”

  Obedient for once, she glanced at him.

  For the first time in their entire relationship, his eyes didn’t twinkle with charm or blaze with need. The blue wasn’t shadowed, or even its usual celestial brilliance. He didn’t glare at her with anger or tease her with a gleam of affection.

  His eyes were bold and defiant. The blue glowed like a laser of clear intent.

  “¿Qué?” she whispered.

  “No matter what, know this,” he said, his voice low, his accent rough.

  “¿Qué?” she said again.

  “I love you.” His gaze whipped around to stare through his own window.

  He’d said those exact words so many times during the last week, they were imprinted on her heart. Except the way he said the three simple words now was fundamentally different. They weren’t filled with tenderness or even love.

  No, those three words were filled with a powerful purpose, as if he were girding for a fight, a war. As if he needed those words imprinted on more than her heart. Jess felt as if he wanted those words to go past her heart and brand themselves into her soul.

  Why?

  The unease inside her intensified, making her gut tighten into a knot.

  He was damned. He knew it the moment his new wife opened her mouth and announced she was going to Tasmania.

  Fucking Tasmania.

  At least he had thirty days before Clyde McDowell’s will would be filed with the court. The will his attorney had informed him not two hours ago contained a new clause.

  A clause his wife wouldn’t like.

  The wily old man hadn’t been content with using that cursed contract to tie Nick into an impossible predicament. No, the clever tyrant had deeded him the hotels outright, instead of including his daughter as he’d promised her. Something about the marriage changing the situation.

  When his Jessie found out…

  “Nick?” Her pointed gaze had barely left him, as they’d boarded his plane and taken off an hour ago. “What’s going on with you?”

  The last of the sun brightened the western horizon, and the fluffy clouds reminded him of some of the details in Devil Skye. He was going to have to stay calm and appear normal for at least twenty-four hours while they traveled to the other side of the world. He wouldn’t be able to escape into the desert or corral a meeting with his staff to avoid the questions he knew were burbling in his wife’s smart brain.

  “Nothing.” He threw her a smile. “I’m merely trying to adjust from a honeymoon to a funeral pilgrimage.”

  “You told me you weren’t mad our honeymoon was interrupted.”

  “I’m not.” He was, but it did him no good to say that. It would only wound her and upset her. If he’d had just a bit more time to cement their relationship, to show her what she’d come to mean to him, then perhaps he wouldn’t be so agitated.

  Yet his luck, surprisingly, had run out, and now he was stuck with a wife who’d be very angry in thirty days when the will was revealed. He also had a damned contract he needed to find before she did. Although Clyde had assured him it was safe, he no longer believed it. Not only because the man had backtracked on his promise to his own daughter, but because Nick’s gut had filled with acid the moment Tasmania had been mentioned.

  When his gut filled with acid, he listened.

  He needed to find that copy of the contract. He already had his attorney making inquiries, except some deep instinct told him that wasn’t going to produce any results. His gut and instincts roared at him to be careful and be thorough. Not until he held Clyde’s copy of the contract in his hands would he feel reassured that at least one bomb wasn’t going to go off in his face. Then he could deal with his own father, the deed to the ranch, and Jessie’s inevitable anger when the will was revealed.

  She injected herself into his thoughts with a sharp comment. “You are upset about the abrupt end to our honeymoon.”

  Sighing, he eased back into the plush, cream-leather sofa lining one wall of his plane. “Ginger Snap.”

  At the sound of her nickname, her wide mouth softened. “Yes?”

  “We’ve got twenty-four hours before we land in Tasmania.”

  “I know.” Her glance drifted to the wooden urn she’d placed so carefully on one of the seats. “I’ve traveled there many times.”

  He’d been there exactly once. Walking into a trap he still struggled to extract himself from. The reminder made his temper surge. He masked it by smiling at his wife once more.

  “That is not a smile,” she said with a snap.

  “¿Qué?” He looked at her blankly. No one had ever questioned one of his smiles except for his pa.

  “That thing you just did with your mouth.” Leaning forward, she zeroed in on him with a determined gaze. “That wasn’t a smile, and I don’t want you to do that anymore.”

  “Demanding something again?” A jangle of violent emotions rushed through him, making him dizzy. It wasn’t precisely like a confrontation with his father, one of thousands he’d successfully forgotten over the years. But it was close enough to make a line of sweat break out along his spine.

  She snorted. “Don’t obfuscate.”

  “Big word,” he murmured, his brain scrambling for some kind of cover.

  “Let me rephrase what I said so it doesn’t freak you out.”

  His gaze reluctantly met hers. Because he was curious and he loved her, and he was mortifyingly afraid he was going to screw this relationship up. Th
e least he could do for her was listen. “Okay.”

  Settling into the chair sitting across the aisle, she took in a deep breath. “I don’t need you to smile when you don’t feel like it.”

  “No?” Confusion swarmed back into his heart. He’d used his charm and smiles to conceal for so long, he had no clue how to do anything else.

  “No.” The decisiveness in her voice almost made him smile.

  But he was afraid of what kind of smile that might be.

  “I know you do it to keep people guessing,” she continued. “Except I’m not people, I’m your wife.”

  “Sí, you are.” A smile started to slide onto his lips.

  She shot him a sharp look. “Don’t.”

  “I smile.” He shifted in his seat. “It’s something I do. You’ve never objected before.”

  “I love your real smiles.” Those mixed eyes of hers thawed into a gentle gaze. “The ones that reach your eyes.”

  “You aren’t making sense.” Jerking to a stand, Nick paced to the end of the aisle and glowered at the door leading into the bedroom. If his smiles no longer distracted her, maybe he could use sex instead. “We should go to bed.”

  She gave him another snort. “We haven’t even eaten dinner. And by the smells coming from the galley, your steward should be serving in a few minutes.”

  The obvious smell of some kind of tomato sauce hit his nose as soon as her words did. The last thing he wanted to do was try and stomach a meal with her intense focus on him.

  “I’m not hungry for food.” Before she could start the interrogation again, he turned and threw her a sultry look. “I’m hungry for something else.”

  Instead of responding as he’d expected, or at least hoped, she threw him back a glare. “I’m not going to be diverted, cowboy.”

  “Dios joder que todos al infierno,” he spat at her, his heart racing, the sweat on his spine making him itchy.

  “You’re cursing in Spanish.” A satisfied expression crossed her face. “That means I’m getting close.”

  “You’re making no sense at all.”

  To his relief, his steward appeared at the door of the galley with two plates of pasta. The man’s expression turned wary as if he sensed the tension in the air. “Sir?”