Her Royal Bed

by Laura Wright

  “Right,” Abel said, the late-afternoon sun still pounding him full force. “Forgot to ask you about that shindig. How’d it go?”

  “Pretty dull.” Bobby was closemouthed about women, even with Abel.

  “So why’s this gal coming by?”

  “Her husband’s law firm is donating ten grand to KC Ranch.”

  “Well, we can sure use it,” Abel uttered, then paused, eyed Bobby with an amused expression. “She want anything in return?”

  Bobby swatted away a nagging fly. “She’s pushing seventy, Abel.”

  “Don’t matter. Every time you come back from one of them things the phone is ringing off the hook. And I always end up talking to ’em, trying to make them lovesick fillies understand you ain’t at home.” He shook his head, rolled his lips under his teeth. “Won’t be your damn secretary, Callahan. Didn’t sign on for that.”

  “No one asked you to talk to them, Abel. Just tell them to call back.”

  Abel muttered something unintelligible that involved him ripping off his Stetson and swatting it against his worn jeans.

  Bobby stared pointedly at the older man. “We’re lucky people are calling, and we’re damn lucky to get the funds. It’s for the kids, and don’t you forget it.”

  Abel looked as if Bobby had sucker-punched him. “I’d never forget that and you know it!”

  Bobby tossed the pad on the ground. “Yeah, I know.”

  Neither one of them said anything, just stood there, uncomfortable. It was strange. When Kimmy was alive, they’d been a family—the three of them together for dinner and holidays, working the ranch. She’d always made them laugh, made sure they didn’t take themselves so seriously. Bobby and Abel had struggled somewhat since her death, trying to find their footing, trying not to be so serious.

  The memory of Kimmy, of her beautiful wide face and huge grin, those sky-blue eyes and her bossy ways, slammed into Bobby, made him feel breathless with pain for the recent loss.

  Clearing his throat, Abel, pushed away from the steel gate. “I could use a beer. How ’bout you?”

  Bobby gave a clipped nod and muttered, “Sounds good.”

  Beside Bobby, the mare snorted, her eyes flashing with a readiness for freedom Bobby understood all too clearly. She’d done well today. He gave her thigh a light smack and hollered. She took off toward Abel, who quickly opened the gate and allowed her to run past him, out into the pasture.

  The men walked side by side toward the main house, their strides equally long and purposeful.

  “Got another one ’round the corner, don’t you?” Abel asked.

  “What’s that?” Bobby said.

  “Another one of them charity things.”

  “Friday night.” Bobby was dirty and dusty as hell. Not fit to look at, kind of like most days, but he wanted to see that woman again, right here, right now. He wondered if she’d be at that charity event. He wanted to see if she was real, if those emerald-green eyes of hers would once again streak with gray when he kissed her. He wanted to taste her again, do things he’d fantasized about doing ever since he’d woken up in an empty bed.

  He sniffed and rolled his eyes as they went into the house and headed for the kitchen. He was acting like a real jackass with all this frilly thinking. He liked women, liked taking them to bed, and that night at the Turnbolts’ shouldn’t have been any different.

  Except that it was.

  He grabbed two cold beers from the fridge. On most occasions, one night of good, mutually pleasurable sex was enough for him. But Jane Hefner had wreaked havoc inside Bobby, and he wanted to see her again. Not only because he wanted to touch her, but because he wanted to know why the hell she’d left him. The question consumed him.

  “Is it a tea party or fancy-dress ball?” Abel said, taking a chug of his beer.

  Bobby’s mouth tugged with humor as he leaned back against the counter. “Barbecue, actually.”

  Abel snorted. “Pulled pork and Oscar de la Whatshisname.”

  “I’m going to plug KC Ranch. That’s all.”

  “’Course.”

  Bobby tipped his beer in Abel’s direction and grinned. “You want to go?”

  “I’ll work for you, Bobby,” Abel said, real slow and deliberate, “I’ll even answer the phone for you on occasion—but I sure as hell won’t date you.”

  “I have never seen you so nervous. What is wrong, my sister?”

  The man before Jane was tall, dark, wealthy, charming and decadently handsome—he also had her eyes.

  Sakir Al-Nayhal offered Jane his hand as she stepped out of the limousine. “I’m fine, Sakir, just keyed up.”

  “Keyed up?” Under his brand-new brown Stetson, his thick black brows drew together. “What is this, keyed up?”

  Sakir’s wife, Rita, laughed and slipped her arm through his. “She’s excited, sweetheart.”

  “Why are you excited?” Sakir asked as they walked the short pathway to the Gregers’ massive ranch house.

  Jane mentally rolled her eyes. If her brother only knew what was making her pulse pound furiously and her breath hitch. But of course he didn’t. With all of his focus going to his new daughter, his wife and his work, he’d barely acknowledged that his sister had gone to a charity function last week.

  Jane, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the affair at the Turnbolts’, and about Bobby Callahan. Those raw blue eyes haunted her dreams, as did that scar on his lip that she’d traced with her tongue, and the hot-blooded, hungry way he’d made love to her. If that was not enough, her thoughts would stray from his physical attributes to the more emotional queries, such as, had she done the right thing leaving without a word? And was that why he hadn’t tried to find her, to ask her out again? Maybe he wasn’t all that thrilled with her or the time they’d shared.

  Her heart dropped into the brown distressed-leather boots she’d bought just that morning, along with a pair of jeans and a faded denim jacket. She wasn’t all that experienced in the ways of lovemaking, but she knew this much—she’d been dangerously passionate with him that night.

  It was a risky thing to let your imagination run wild, she decided as they stepped inside the Gregers’ home and settled into the jovial crowd of exceedingly wealthy cowboys and cowgirls.

  The interior of the ranch house looked like something out of Home and Garden, the Texas edition. This was no easy homestead as she’d imagined Bobby Callahan’s KC Ranch to be, but an elegantly rustic home with beamed ceilings, gleaming hardwood floors covered in colorful rugs, a massive brick fireplace and a wall of glass that was now retracted to allow partygoers to use the sprawling backyard.

  As Sakir led them outside where the real party seemed to be taking place, Jane’s gaze darted here and there, looking for the tallest, largest and sexiest real cowboy in the crowd. He’d be here, wouldn’t he? Texas society went to everything, didn’t they? And he was a pretty sought-after member of the Dallas crowd, though selective about which parties he attended. She only knew this because of what Mary Beth Turnbolt had said in her speech that night, and the few articles she’d read about Bobby Callahan and his ranch on the Internet.

  Excitement and nerves were forming mini tornados in her stomach as a concerned female voice uttered, “Jane?”

  Jane forced her gaze back to her family. Rita was watching her, curiosity lighting her eyes. And Sakir seemed to be assessing her. Jane gave them both a bright smile. “You two enjoy yourselves. I’m going to work now, see if I can scrounge up some barbecue to taste, and a staff to interrogate.”

  “We don’t want you working the whole party, Jane,” Rita said, smoothing the skirt of her denim dress. “Do we, Sakir?”

  “Jane must do as she thinks best, but it is fact that Al-Nayhals are most content when they are working.”

  Rita lifted an amused eyebrow. “Most content working, huh?”

  A slow grin worked its way to Sakir’s full mouth. “Work is contentment,” he acknowledged, nodding, “while pleasure,
amusement and overwhelming happiness are what I get from you, dearest.”

  On a laugh, Rita said, “That’s better.”

  For a moment, Jane watched the pair. Just as it was with her eldest brother Zayad and Jane’s best friend, Mariah, Sakir and Rita made love look so wonderful, so safe. She envied them all, wondered if such a blissful state would ever befall her.

  “I’ll see you both later, okay?”

  Sakir nodded, and Rita smiled, said, “We’ll meet you by the dance floor for dinner in, say, an hour?”

  Jane nodded. “Sounds good.”

  As they walked away, Jane grinned at her brother in his jeans and boots, so completely bizarre-looking on a man who wore suits, expensive sportswear or a formal kaftan 24/7.

  But they were both a long way from Emand and its edicts, weren’t they? she thought, walking around the backyard, through the gardens and over to a circle of barbecues, where a crowd had gathered, inhaling the mouthwatering scents of hickory, beef and pork. Yes, she was away from her father’s homeland and her mother’s place in California. She was here in Texas, trying to decide where her life was going, where she belonged and if she was ever going to realize her dream of opening her own restaurant.

  She looked around. She didn’t see any sign of Bobby Callahan, and with a flood of disappointment, she wondered if he might not be coming. She’d dressed with such care, too, wearing a pretty green silk blouse, and she’d even spent a good twenty minutes on her hair and makeup.

  Forcing back the melancholy snaking through her, she decided to concentrate on the real reason she was at the Gregers’ party—to taste and talk, and potentially to employ.

  By eight o’clock, she’d hired two waiters and an assistant chef for Sakir and Rita’s party. She’d also tasted some of the best barbecue in her life. She was very pleased with herself, and quite preoccupied as she made her way to the dance floor to meet her brother and sister-in-law—so preoccupied in fact that she hardly noticed when someone put a hand on her shoulder.

  But the voice, that deep, sensual timbre, sent her reeling back to a night of careless, heedless passion—one of the best nights of her life.

  “You look beautiful tonight, darlin’.”

  Jane turned around, her breath hitching. He stood before her, the man she’d given up hope she’d see tonight, an easy smile on his face. She looked him over greedily. He wore a pair of worn dress boots with faded jeans that hugged his powerful thighs and, under a caramel suede jacket, a blue shirt made his chest look a mile wide, while the color made his eyes pop.

  He pinched the tip of his stone-colored Stetson and gave her a nod.

  She felt like a teenager, all nervousness and thrill. “Hello.”

  “Hello?” he repeated, his grin, sexy. “That’s all I get?”

  Playing along, she cocked her head to the side. “What more do you want?”

  He shrugged. “How about a few answers to a few questions?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Want to tell me why you up and left me in the middle of the night?”

  The question took the breath from her, and she forced a smile. “Jumping right into it, are we?”

  “Why not?”

  “All right.” She shook her head. “I thought it might be best if I wasn’t caught in nothing more than a sheet in the house of—”

  “You were in more than a sheet, darlin’,” he interrupted with a grin. “Had my arms around you, didn’t I?”

  She laughed. “Is my face red? Because it sure feels like it is.”

  “Your face is fine. Beautiful actually.”

  Warmth curled in her belly, and around them the room spun slowly, the noise of the crowd dulled. “As I was saying, I thought it might be best if I wasn’t caught in nothing more than a sheet…et cetera.” She grinned as he laughed again. “We were in a stranger’s bedroom, after all.”

  “Hardly a stranger,” Bobby corrected. “Hal and Mary Beth have been friends of mine for a long time.”

  “Your friends, not mine,” she pointed out.

  “They’re very nice people. They’d have embraced you.”

  “Something that would’ve been good to know nine days ago.”

  “Ten,” he corrected.

  Jane stared at him, into those soulful blue eyes of his, and felt her breasts tighten, felt the muscles between her thighs tingle. So, he had thought about her, had counted the days, had wanted to see her again.

  She cleared her throat. “So the Turnbolts didn’t ask why you’d fallen asleep in one of their guest rooms? Naked?”

  “They thought I’d just tied one on.”

  “Ah.”

  “They were real hospitable. Eggs, bacon and fresh-squeezed orange juice in the morning.”

  “Sounds good,” said Jane, as behind her, the band leader announced a two-step.

  “Not as good as a different morning activity might’ve been.” He laughed at her stunned expression. “Before I scare you away with all my innuendo and good-old-boy frankness, have a dance with me.”

  “I don’t know this kind of dancing.”

  He took her hand in his and led her out on the floor. “Trust me, Jane Hefner.”

  She smiled at him and slipped her hand in his. “But I hardly know you, Bobby Callahan.”

  He grinned. “Boy, we’re gonna have to remedy that, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I think so.” She’d never flirted so outrageously in her life—but of course, as far as Bobby Callahan went, she seemed to be racking up a laundry list of firsts.

  He moved with masculine grace, slow, sexy, making sure she was taken care of as they circled the floor. At one point the music came to a twangy crescendo and he led her into a slow turn, then pulled her back into his arms. “So you know why I come to these things—to help out my ranch—but why are you here? You’re not a society lady, are you?”

  “No,” she said, slightly breathless as she felt his chest brush against the tips of her breasts. “I’m a chef.”

  “Oh, a woman who can cook,” he said with a slight growl. “Be still my heart.”

  She grimaced and said with mock severity, “That sounds a little nineteen-fifties, Bobby.”

  “It’s Mr. Callahan.” He grinned. “Maybe it does sound a bit old-fashioned, but it’s a lost art.”

  “What exactly? Cooking? Or cooking for your man?”

  He released her hand, and touched the brim of his hat. “Don’t get me wrong. This goes both ways. Women don’t have the time to take care of their men anymore, and the men won’t take the time to please and care for their women.”

  Jane opened her mouth to reproach this statement, but she promptly shut it. He was right, she’d just never heard anyone say something quite like that. In fact, she’d never heard anyone speak the way he did—honest, forthright and just plain sexy.

  “So you’re a chef,” he said, giving her another twirl. “Where do you work?”

  “So, you didn’t try and find out about me, huh?” she chided. But deep-down, she held her breath for his answer.

  “As a matter of fact I did. But the Turnbolts didn’t know a Jane Hefner.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you crash that party or something?”

  She laughed. No, the Turnbolts wouldn’t have recognized her name. They’d only known her as an Al-Nayhal, and if Bobby had tried to describe her that might not have worked, either, as they’d only seen and spoken to her briefly. “The truth is, I’d heard who the guest speaker was going to be, and I just had to get in to see him, no matter what the danger.”

  He grinned. “Well, I’m flattered, darlin’.”

  If he wanted to, he could say darlin’ at the end of every sentence.

  “So you didn’t tell me,” he said, catching her attention, once again. “Where do you work, so I can come in and—“

  “Heckle me?” she joked.

  “Have a bite,” he said slowly, his eyes hooded and slightly dangerous as they swayed slow and easy into the strains of the music.

&nbs
p; Ripples of excitement ran through her, and she knew she was powerless to resist this man. They had serious chemistry, the kind the women’s magazines were always having you take a poll to help you find. “Unfortunately, I don’t work at a restaurant here. I was working in California for a long time, but I’ve recently acquired some new family members here, and a quasi-catering gig.” She shook her head. “It’s a strange situation, and probably dull for you—”

  “Stop right there.” He laced his fingers with hers, stepped closer, even as the music ended and couples left the dance floor. “Dull is the very last thing you are.”

  “Jane?”

  Jane heard her name being called, recognized the man who spoke it, but had a hell of a time turning away from Bobby to face him.

  “I think we’ve interrupted something,” Jane heard Rita say softly, but with a ring of a smile, behind her.

  “And I am glad of that,” Sakir said coldly. “Jane?”

  This time Jane turned, saw her brother and sister-in-law standing there and smiled apologetically. Rita looked bright-eyed and interested. Sakir, on the other hand, appeared intense and irritated.

  Unsure of what was bothering her brother, Jane made quick introductions. “Sakir, Rita, I’d like you to meet—”

  Sakir cut her off. “We know each other.”

  “Oh,” Rita said, confused.

  “Unfortunately,” Bobby muttered, from beside her.

  Jane turned to look at Bobby Callahan. Gone was the charming, funny and highly sensual man she’d just danced with, and in his place stood a man of stone, a thick vein pounding in his temple.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered to him.

  Bobby acted as though he hadn’t heard her. He stared at Sakir, his gaze hooded like a predatory hawk.

  “Is it possible for us to behave like civilized gentlemen tonight, Callahan?” Sakir said, ice threading his tone as he stuck out a hand in Bobby’s direction.