Romance in Dallas - Tycoon
By
Nancy Fornataro
Smashwords Edition
* * * * *
Published By:
Nancy Fornataro
Romance in Dallas - Tycoon
Copyright © 2012 by Nancy Fornataro
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Thank you for downloading this eBook. Quotes may be used in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Adult Reading Material, Language and Situations
*****
I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
*****
ROMANCE IN DALLAS - TYCOON!
Prologue
The two of them laughed at her joke as they rode along. And Ramsey Knowles thought the sports car he'd recently purchased drove like a dream, while he rested both hands on the bottom of the steering wheel.
They'd looked forward to this night for a while, as Ramsey's hotels and associated businesses took him out of town often, and he knew she missed him as much as he missed her.
"How is your painting coming?" he asked Susan, glancing quickly at her then back at the road.
"It's okay, although there's just something not right. I'd like you to take a closer look at it when we get home."
"Won't be long now," he said, as his hand came up to stroke her short red hair, "and I'll be your best critic."
But, as he went to exit the freeway onto route twelve, a car seemed to come out of nowhere, going at least a hundred miles an hour. The driver pulled in front of their car, then over-corrected.
"Hang on!" he yelled to Susan. Ramsey's right hand came back on the steering wheel quickly, but not quickly enough as their car slammed into the speeder, went airborne, flipped end over end three times, and skidded to a stop on its roof.
The next thing he knew, someone was talking to him loudly, as he smelled gasoline fumes and smoking upholstery; heard the whooshing noise of a fire extinguisher.
"Ramsey, can you hear me?" a panting, urgent male voice asked him.
He couldn't move or speak. He was barely breathing. Breathe! He told himself. Breathe!
"Ramsey, we're going to cut you out now. Stay with us," the disembodied voice said loudly, too loudly.
"Susan?" he said weakly.
But there was no answer. There was too much noise. And, try as he would, he wasn't able to turn and look at her.
He felt something heavy pushed onto him, covering the top of his body, as the sound of a drill, whirring wildly, metal on metal, came to him.
Shouts. Men talking loudly. Sirens.
He felt himself falling, drifting across time, and he went unconscious.
*****
"Hey, Ram," a familiar voice said.
Ramsey groaned, but still was not able to move himself or will his eyes to open.
"Ram, it's me, Warren. Look at me, man. You're not dead yet, my friend. No way. I won't let you die, Goddamn it!"
Warren shook his arm, and Ramsey was finally able to open his eyes. He still couldn't move his body, though. "Susan?" he asked weakly, as his senses cleared a bit.
When Warren turned away, coughed, and his head came back around looking at Ramsey, it became clear to him.
"She didn't make it?" Ramsey asked him.
He could see tears in his friend's eyes, as the man shook his head. "I'm sorry, man," he whispered, "so truly sorry."
Ramsey looked up at the white tiles in the ceiling. "Was it...was it quick? Painless?"
"She died on impact, Ram."
Grimacing now, as his back began hurting, Ramsey gasped, "They say how I'm supposed to cope? Suppose they didn't tell you that."
Warren watched the bitter expression grow deeper on his friend's face. And he thought right now, at this particular point in time, this was the most difficult thing he'd ever done in his life. He ran a hand over his curly black hair.
His memories went back, two years ago, when Ram and Susan had wed. She was a vision in a long, lacey white wedding dress and Ram so handsome in his tux. It was a huge wedding with numerous members in the wedding party, as they'd posed for picture after picture.
Now, this is why the accident was so very painful, he thought. The two had barely had time to even had children, travel, do all the things that newlyweds do. Just a honeymoon in Hawaii. Ram had been busy in the meantime, building his hotels and his contacts throughout the world.
He tried to sound upbeat, as he watched his friend's blond hair plastered to his forehead from sweat now. "They told me you've got some broken vertebrae in your back. But you'll heal just fine, my man." But, that was a lie. They'd told him Ram was in a bad way.
After a brief silence, with just the steady blipping sound of the monitors, "You having much pain?" Warren asked him.
"Not enough," Ramsey said evenly, still looking at the ceiling tiles, "not nearly what I deserve."
Chapter 1
Jacine was running late, as usual. She sped down the highway at a bit over legal speeds, as she'd had a fair number of tickets on her way to appointments and she decided a few years back that the loss of funds just wasn't worth it.
Her friend and supervisor Natalie called in the early morning with an assignment.
She thought back to their conversation.
In her husky voice, over the phone, Natalie said, "I don't know too much about it really. Just that Ramsey Knowles has asked for a physical therapist. He's some kind of society guy. I don't know the details, so go out and see him and we'll take it from there."
So, here she was, in front of this gigantic two story house, after speeding up a winding driveway with low hanging trees on either side. Looking all around, Jacine whistled under her breath. "God," she said out loud, "this place is enormous."
But she couldn't take the time to look at anything, as she was late and the man was bound to be upset with her. She looked at her watch as she rang the bell. Half-hour late.
A friendly looking grey haired, very short woman dressed in black answered the door. "Oh, you must be Miss Lombard. Mister Knowles is expecting you."
"I'm so sorry to be late. I got lost on the way here..." her voice trailed off as she realized she was about to tell the woman she was late to begin with.
"Not to worry," the woman said. Then, in a conspiratorial tone, she told Jacine, "And don't pay any attention to his snit. He's been so moody," and her voice was lower now, as she halted suddenly in the hallway, "since his wife died. It's been almost eighteen months. And he has these horrific headaches."
Interested now, Jacine asked her, "What happened?"
"Car accident," the woman told her, whispering now, "really a bad one. That's why he needs physical therapy. There are times when he has trouble even moving. The doctors told him they've done all they could. So, to say he is discouraged would be an understatement. He's very depressed." The woman shook her head. "He needs some hope to cling to. That's where you come in."
They walked down the long hallway, their steps echoing on the black marble tiles.
She ushered Jacine into a large den, with massive bookcases, wing chairs a
nd a huge desk in front of a large picture window. The place smelled pleasantly of lemon furniture polish.
A man with slightly wavy, over the collar blond hair sat looking at a computer screen, with his back to them, ignoring their entrance.
"Ramsey," the woman said loudly, "your physical therapist is here." And with that, she left the room.
Feeling awkward now, with the ensuing silence, Jacine waited. She watched him slumping in the seat, and thought his posture was atrocious. But she'd fix that. Exercises and a new chair could do wonders for back problems.
He still studied the computer silently with one elbow on the seat arm and resting his chin on his hand.
She dropped her purse, becoming annoyed now. Did he want her here or not?
Suddenly, he whirled around in his chair and stared at her with the most intense turquoise eyes she'd ever seen. "Hello, darlin," he drawled, in an unmistakable southern accent, "welcome to my home." Rising slowly, carefully, painfully, he extended his hand.
As they shook hands, she saw he was taller than she, rangy, slender at the waist, broad at the shoulders. His white shirtsleeves were rolled up with a few top buttons on his shirt undone, revealing a tan chest. He wore black khaki pants and an expensive leather belt.
"My name is Jacine," she said, finally, a bit surprised at his 'darlin' remark, and a bit overwhelmed by his presence. He exuded sexuality with his voice and movements and she'd seen it before in other men. "I understand you need a physical therapist, Mister Knowles."
"Well, guess my friend Warren thinks I need one. He's been pushing this on me for weeks. Please," he gestured to a wing chair in front of his desk, "sit."
Ram looked at the woman in front of him. Her curly auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail; she had a heart-shaped face, pink cheeks, generous lips, and warm brown eyes. But, he noticed absently, that her eyes had unusual little flecks of gold. She was dressed casually in a white t-shirt and jeans. A vague outline of her lacy bra was apparent under the shirt, stirring old memories within him.
And now, she stared at him before she sat back in the chair. "But, how do you feel about the thought of treatment, Mister Knowles?"
"Please call me either Ramsey or Ram. I'm Mister Knowles to Forbes 500 and very few other people in the world."
She smiled slightly, and waited patiently for his response. Having never read the Forbes 500 she wasn't impressed, although she did know it had something to do with wealth. And she'd heard of his hotels.
How could he explain to her, Ram thought, when he couldn't even explain the thing to himself? The ever-present waiting for Susan, listening for her step in the hallway and her light laughter. Waiting for her to come to bed, so he could love her then watch her get up in the morning. Waiting for her chatter in the kitchen while she made him coffee. Waiting for her to finally finish one of her beautiful paintings and asking his advice.
"Why don't you tell me about it and I'll listen and tell you what I think," he said softly, staring at her, not trusting his own voice.
She took a deep breath. "As your therapist, it would be my job to look over your tests with your doctor or doctors, check on the diagnosis, make sure we're dealing with the correct problem, and set some goals for you."
"But," she continued, calmly gazing back at him, "you would have to be on board with it."
"On board," he repeated. "Sounds like one of my 'board' meetings, and I'm spelling that b-o-r-e-d."
As she laughed, he realized it lit up her face. It was a wide, friendly smile. "No, hopefully it would not be boring." Then she grew serious. "It's hard work, though. And, at times, you will absolutely hate me. Although, I've never had a client deck me yet and I've been doing PT for five years."
"That would make you around twenty-five or so?"
Hesitating, she said, "Approximately, yes."
A silence descended on the room, before he finally admitted, "I just need some relief."
Jacine watched the expressions flit across his face, pain, which was always the number one shadow with her clients, then sorrow, and almost a look of rage. A deep-seated anger. And, she had doubts whether physical therapy would help him.
He shifted on his chair in discomfort.
"You'll need to change your chair," she told him quietly.
He looked surprised. "But this one is so comfortable. It's the only one I can find any peace sitting on."
"It really has no lumbar support. Plus, you're slouching."
Looking at her sharply, he said, "Just the way I sit."
Stiffly, she replied, "As I said. You'd have to be cooperative or the whole thing would be no good."
Rubbing his face with both hands then holding them over his eyes momentarily, his gaze caught hers as his hands came down. The emotion was back, a hot intensity searing into her.
"What I need," he said finally, "is a person to travel with me as I go to my hotels. They are numerous and circle the globe. At first, I thought the global exposure was a good thing, but that was a few years back, before..." his voice trailed off, and then he continued, "Well, I have a lot of pain. I'd thought of a masseuse but then Warren suggested your service. I understand you are freelance then?"
"Yes. I worked at the hospital for a while but then my friend Natalie opened her own service and I joined her. It's worked out well for both of us."
He nodded. "What's the best and worst part of your job?"
Looking thoughtful, she said, "I think the best part is knowing clients cope with pain more effectively after I've worked with them. And the worst part is when people are temperamental and wishy-washy about their participation. As I've said, a person has to agree to the program. Do their exercises, that sort of thing."
"And, you've got nothing to hold you back? No children or jealous boyfriends?"
She thought of Ralph and cringed inwardly, although her face didn't show the change. She'd walked in one day, into their duplex, and found him with another woman. Soon after, she'd divorced him, and quit the hospital so she wouldn't see him again. Natalie, Jacine and two other therapists, Ann and Lee, built their own business, now a successful one. And Jacine felt grateful for this on a daily basis.
"No," she told him firmly, "no children, no attachments."
He studied her carefully for a long minute. "So, what's step number one?"
"Your doctor?"
"Seth Truman."
"A very good choice. He's the best." She thought of the doctor, older, grey-haired with thick black glasses and an attitude. Deservedly so.
"I always try to get the very best, darlin,' whether it be surgeons or physical therapists." His look pierced her now.
She was silent, still unsure of him, unsure whether she had the job or not.
The grey-haired woman stood at the doorway and said, "Warren is here for lunch. Would Miss Lombard like to stay, then?"
Now smiling warmly at Jacine, Ram said, "Would you like to stay for lunch?"
"Oh," Jacine replied, "no, thank you. But before I leave I wanted to ask you whether I have the job or not." She hated to be so blunt, but if she did have it, she'd need to pack if they were traveling and let Natalie know about the assignment.
His look grew serious. "Of course. I just told you. I only hire the best. We leave two days from now, Friday. First stop Honolulu. Be sure to bring a bathing suit," he added, as his eyes roved over her body a bit blatantly now, she thought.
"Do I...do I need a passport eventually then?"
"Not on my plane. Not this trip."
"All right," she said as she rose to leave, "tomorrow I'll see Doctor Truman on your test results. Then I can assess you in Hawaii."
"Sounds interesting," he drawled, as a smile quirked his lips, and he rose to shake her hand. "See you Friday. Nine o'clock sharp, here." He then handed her one of his business cards after he wrote his cell number on the back.
Warren strolled in just as Jacine was leaving.
"Holy shit," he said to Ram when she was out of earshot, "that's your physical t
herapist?"
Ram laughed and gingerly sat again, as Warren plunked down in a wing chair. "Yeah. She's assessing me in Hawaii."
"Lucky dog." He paused. "She looks pretty young, my man. I wonder if she's on birth control."
"What a thing for you to wonder about, Warren. Besides, that's why God made condoms," Ram said quickly. Too quickly.
"You know, Ram," Warren began, "your sex life sucks. What are you saving it for? A rainy day?"
But Ram didn't answer that. Too personal, he thought.
"Me, on the other hand, I'm with a different woman every night."
Ram grinned and kidded him, "The internet doesn't count."
Before she took to the freeway, Jacine stopped her car and called Natalie at the agency. "Got the assignment," she told her.
"Girl, have I got some news for you."
And Jacine could picture Natalie with her feet up on the desk, her black face smiling, her feet wiggling around, now a bit breathless from her daily run.
She continued, "Ramsey Knowles is just so damn hot. I looked him up on the computer, and he is a babe."
Jacine thought of his many expressions, his hair brushed carelessly back from his face, his tremendous, unusual turquoise eyes staring a hole in her, his physical impact, like a tiger lying in wait. "Yes, I noticed that," she said dryly.
Natalie said, "Lots of the pictures on the net are of him and his wife at fundraisers, or should I say dead wife."
"Yes, his housekeeper said something about an accident."
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