Sounded good, to have her back in central Texas where she belonged. Especially since he couldn’t talk his dad out of this.
Helpfully, Matt suggested, “Why not just negotiate that it all be done there—except the initial consultation?”
“Wow,” Jen taunted softly. “You genuinely want me off the Triple B.”
Her voice seemed to ripple over him like velvet. He folded his arms defensively. No need to mince words now. “I think it would be best for everyone,” he stated flatly.
“In your view,” she corrected without hesitation. “Not Emmett’s. Or mine.”
With effort, Matt kept his distance. “You’re really planning to accept my dad’s offer and stay here?”
“I really am.” Jen sashayed out of the dining room and into the corridor that led past the pantry to the kitchen. “So cowboy up, fella.” She tossed the words over her shoulder. “And get used to it.”
* * *
“JEN,” CELIA WAILED, when told of the plan in a conference call one hour later. “This is such a bad idea.”
“I agree,” Cy added vehemently.
“Driving all the way out there in that wreck of a van was bad enough,” Celia fretted, “but to stay for the next however many months…”
Jen was used to holding the hands of very wealthy, incredibly egotistical clients who were seeking to immortalize themselves for posterity. This, she told herself firmly, would be no different. Even if there was a handsome, sexy, difficult son on the premises. She could handle Matt. She’d just avoid him.
She ran her palm over the silk fabric of the comforter on her bed. “Actually, I’m hoping it will just be for one month.”
“The time it will take you to complete the first statue,” Celia affirmed.
Jen got up and walked to the guest-room window, overlooking the courtyard. “I think once Emmett understands my process and sees the quality of my work, he’ll be amenable to granting me whatever I need to finish.” Which was an environment far, far away from his maddeningly handsome, wickedly provoking son.
“And if he doesn’t? If he plays the rich man card and says you have to stay and do everything his way,” Celia countered, her voice rising with concern. “Then what? It’s obvious father and son have issues. The last thing you need is to put yourself in a situation where you try to fix other people’s problems—again.”
Jen wasn’t going to do that. Once had been more than enough. “Look, it’s obvious Matt and his dad don’t see eye to eye on hiring me to commemorate Emmett’s life. But that’s for the two of them to sort out. I’m concerned about the business.” Not to mention the fact that Cy and Celia were about to have a baby, and Jen’s van needed substantial repair. “The profit from this job will allow me to expand into the next storefront, showcase other artists and hire another employee.” Which meant all their schedules would be a lot more flexible.
“Assuming it goes as planned,” Cy groused, reminding Jen that he and Celia had a financial stake in this.
“It will,” she promised. “You’ll see.” And when it did, the rent for the gallery would be paid for an entire year, and they wouldn’t be living paycheck to paycheck any longer.
She looked up to see Matt looming in the guest room’s open doorway, a thick accordion file in hand.
She turned away to finish her conversation. “In the meantime, I’m emailing you a list of things I’ll need overnighted to me….”
After Cy and Celia promised they would get right on it, Jen ended the call and put her phone back in her bag.
“Obviously, you have been invited to stay for dinner, regardless of your decision about the offer my father made.”
Jen wondered what Matt thought could have possibly changed in the last fifteen minutes, since she had already told Emmett her decision and he’d asked Matt to show her to the guest room. “You just won’t give up, will you?”
He came closer, his expression grim. “I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this.”
His words had an ominous ring. Jen felt her stomach clench. For the first time since she had arrived at the ranch, she felt she was out of her league as she stared into his implacable blue eyes.
Wordlessly, he handed over the file he held. “You have a very interesting past.”
His statement delivered a punch a hundred times more powerful than she had anticipated. “You had me investigated?”
He let out a breath. “I checked into the backgrounds of all the artists my father was interested in.” Moving closer, he looked at her for a long minute. “Curiously enough, you were the only one who had married for cash. I guess my dad really does have a radar for fortune hunters.”
Jen’s temper rose. “I did not marry for money, Matt. I married for love.” Which, unfortunately, had turned out to be one-sided.
His eyes dipped down to her mouth, then back up again. “His family says otherwise. They say you led their son down the garden path, and had they not intervened, you would have gone through his entire trust fund in a matter of years.”
Jen knew how it looked. But how it looked and how it was were two entirely different things.
Sensing Matt Briscoe wouldn’t believe her even if she did tell him everything that had transpired during the two unhappiest years of her life, she focused on the facts that would vindicate her. At least in Emmett Briscoe’s eyes. She tilted her head and murmured, “Then you also must have uncovered the fact that I left the marriage exactly as I entered it. With five hundred dollars in my savings account. The clothes on my back. An armful of possessions. And the same van I’m driving now.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “A smart move, if you were looking for another rich man to bamboozle.”
“But what if I wasn’t?” Jen swallowed hard. “What if, at the end of the day, all I wanted was my freedom? My self-respect intact?”
A devastating silence fell.
Matt didn’t believe her.
He was never going to believe her.
So Jen did the only thing she could do.
She gave up trying to convince him of the truth and took another approach. One that a man like him would buy.
Dropping all pretext of innocence, she threw up her hands and sashayed toward him like a hussy on the hunt. “You’re right.” Reaching behind him, she shut the bedroom door, then swung back around to face him. “Why deny it?” Her heart pounding, she glided even closer and lifted a hand to his hard chest. “I did come out here looking for another rich husband.” She splayed her fingers over his heart. “But it’s not your father I want, Matt,” she confessed, even more softly. “It’s you.”
His eyes smoldered. He caught her wrist and held her away. “Very funny.”
Her instinct was to fight his grip. Instead, she relaxed into it. Pretended she wanted him to touch her. Moved closer still.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Aware what a dangerous game she was playing, she brought her other hand up to trace his lower lip. “You’re a vibrant and sexy guy.” Surely, in another second or two he’d realize how ridiculous this all was.
“Tall. Dark-haired. Handsome.” She continued her litany of his attributes. “What’s not to like?” She let her fingers sift through his dark, curly hair, stroke the shell of his ear, feel the pulse in his throat.
“It’s not going to work.” He stared at her, daring her to get past his tough exterior.
“Sure about that?” Jen prodded, her ego suddenly in play. She extricated her wrist from his hand. “Sure you don’t want to make a pass at me, just a little bit?”
Again he refused to budge.
“What if I want to make a pass at you?” With both hands free, she wreathed her arms around his neck.
To her disappointment, he didn’t respond.
“What if I want to kiss you…” She rose on tiptoe and, with lust pouring through her, brushed her lips ever so briefly across the scruff on his jaw. “Just like this…”
Matt remained still as a statue. The only hint that he m
ight be affected by her outrageous ploy was the heat emanating from his body, the thudding of his heart and lower, the unmistakable imprint of desire.
“You really want to find out?” he asked hoarsely.
Did she? Jen tilted her head and searched his eyes.
Maybe not…
She stepped back slightly, telling herself that she had made her point.
Then, to her shock, Matt made his. His arms clamped around her, tugging her close again. Suddenly, she was anchored against him in a way that thoroughly outlined the challenge he presented to her.
Aware that it was her turn to call his bluff, she narrowed her eyes and declared, “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”
Matt lifted an eyebrow, lowered his head and growled, “Yeah? Watch me.”
Chapter Three
Matt had not expected their confrontation to end with a kiss. But as he gave into instinct and flattened one hand against her spine and slid the other through the silk of her hair, he knew that was exactly where it was headed. Trouble was, one kiss wouldn’t begin to satisfy the desire pouring through him. Not when he brushed her mouth lightly with his; not when he responded to the slight opening of her lips and moved in to kiss her hard and deep. And
especially not when he heard her make a soft, sexy sound that was part frustration, part need.
And then, suddenly, she was surprising him again by meeting his demand. Going up on tiptoe. Wreathing her arms about his shoulders once again.
Her breasts pressed against his chest. He felt the hardness of her nipples, the quick beating of her heart, the erratic rasp of her breath. And knew he had invited way more than should be happening….
Jen knew Matt was only trying to prove a point.
She was proving one, too. Not only could she handle a forbidden kiss. Or two. Or in this case, three… She could handle him.
Yes, he was hard and sexy. Yes, he looked really hot, whether dressed up, as he’d been the first time they’d met, or in a simple chambray shirt and worn jeans, as he was now.
Yes, he knew how to fit her against him for maximum contact, angle his head and kiss her breathless.
He tasted good. A combination of cool spearmint, warm summer sun…and man.
And he made her feel wonderful.
All soft and willing and womanly.
Even when she knew she was not going to let this go any further than it already had, for fear her knees would collapse under her and she’d lose what precious little common sense she had left.
Not when this was solely for the purpose of proving a point.
Deliberately, Jen broke off the kiss.
Ignoring the molten look in his eyes, she drew a halting breath and stepped back. Watched him get control of his faculties, too.
She struggled for calm, reminding herself this was very dangerous territory they were in. “Look. I get you trying to control everything, because there have been times when I tried to do that, too. But life doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to control someone else’s actions or prevent their mistakes. Never mind engineer their epiphanies.”
He quirked a brow but allowed her to continue.
Jen aimed a lecturing finger at the center of his chest. “You get to be the master of your destiny. Make your own decisions. Control your own reactions to things. And that, pal, is it.”
Matt’s lips compressed. “Sounds like the credo for Al-Anon,” he said, in a voice dripping with cynicism.
Reeling from the verbal left hook, Jen sucked in an anguished breath. She had expected Matt to fight hard. But this was a low blow. She scowled at him, making no effort to hide her resentment. “Nice, Briscoe, bringing that up.”
Shock had him going completely still.
Jen groaned and bit down on an oath. Darn it all. He didn’t know!
Working to get her pulse under control, she slid him a look. “I thought you had me investigated.”
He met her gaze, his eyes dark and heated. “Briefly. Just in terms of your professional expertise and general background.”
She studied him intently. “Then you know I grew up in the economically disadvantaged part of Austin.”
“And that your mom died when you were three, and your dad raised you,” he stated in a quiet voice.
Her stomach quivered. This was stuff she never discussed. “What else?”
Matt cocked his head, still studying her. “That your father was a self-employed housepainter who worked sporadically, usually eking out just enough to get by.”
The hardships of that time still haunted her. Jen was working on being okay with it, but she hadn’t quite gotten there yet.
Deciding if Matt was going to hear this, he was going to hear it from her, she moved a step closer and asked, “Do you know why?”
Matt continued watching her as if something didn’t quite add up. “The investigator didn’t get that far, but I can go back and see what else can be found out….”
Jen shook her head and lifted a staying palm. “No need for that,” she declared firmly, forcing herself to hold his steady gaze.
Might as well get this over with.
“I’ll just tell you.”
She swallowed as another wave of emotion swept through her. “My father drank.” Her throat closed in a way that made it difficult to get the words out. “A lot. Not all the time, but…whenever something set him off. Instead of dealing with his frustration and anger over the hand that fate had dealt him, he would self-medicate with booze.”
Compassion flashed across Matt’s face. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged off the sympathy. She didn’t want his pity. “I wouldn’t have survived my childhood had it not been for Alateen. The people there—the counselors, the sponsors, the other kids—helped me realize that my father’s problem with alcohol was not my fault.” Tears stung her eyes.
Matt clamped his hands on her shoulders, gave her a brief, comforting squeeze. “Of course it wasn’t,” he said softly, looking a little rough around the edges himself. “He was the adult. You were just a kid.”
A kid with a big heart and a sensitive nature…and a hopelessly idealistic outlook on life.
Jen had worked hard to erect a hard shell around her vulnerable inner self, to put all her pent-up emotion into her artistry, where it could do some good.
The trouble was, with just one steamy embrace, and an unexpectedly gentle word or two, Matt tempted her to undo all that.
She had no intention of letting the floodgates open. “Unfortunately, I didn’t learn my lessons well enough until I got a lot older.”
Matt locked eyes with her. “And this caused problems.”
“Oh, yes. Tons of them. In big and little ways.” Jen hitched in a restless breath and resisted the urge to pace. “Because for a while there, I still chased after lost causes. Thinking if I could just make someone else’s life better, it would make up for the fact that I never got through to my father. Never managed to get him to a single meeting.”
Matt’s expression softened. The empathy in his eyes gave her the courage to go on.
“So I got involved with someone else, someone with family problems of his own, hoping to help him in a way I hadn’t been able to help myself.”
“Only, that didn’t work, either.”
“No,” Jen said tautly. “It didn’t.”
“Which is why you got divorced.”
Jen nodded.
Pushing the turmoil away, Jen lifted her chin. “But don’t worry. I am not interested in sponsoring you.” Jen threw up her hands, her boundaries firmly in place once again. “Your issues are your own. And so,” Jen emphasized flatly, “are your father’s.”
Jen spun around and made a beeline for the door, which she flung open, gesturing for him to take his leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get ready for dinner.”
* * *
MATT HAD WEATHERED a lot since his mom died. Some of it was caused by his own grief and reaction to loss. The rest was due to his dad. So Matt didn’t feel
guilty about trying to prevent more heartache for all of them.
This, he figured, was his duty as Emmett Briscoe’s son.
But he also knew enough to realize he was holding Jen Carson accountable for far more than she deserved. She hadn’t pursued his father, as the other women had.
Emmett had evidently done his research this time and sought Jen out for the clearly defined purpose of commemorating his life.
So maybe, Matt thought, if he let them all concentrate on the business at hand, there would be no more romantic disasters.
He sure didn’t need to be acting on impulse and kissing her. Either to make a point, or to ease a natural desire that had gone unfulfilled for way too long.
What he should do, he decided, was adopt a formal attitude. Be helpful, yet reserved. Become a sort of emotional Switzerland for Jen and his dad to come to if and when they needed him. Clearly, they were both grappling with some deep-seated issues, but he wasn’t exactly sure what was at the root of it all.
All Matt knew for certain was that Jen wanted the money and fame that came with this commission, badly enough to put up with the rest of the flack.
Wanted it enough to come into the formal dining room—even after he’d admitted to having her investigated—and sit down for a meal with him and his dad.
Luckily, from that moment on, Emmett dominated the conversation with talk about the Texas art scene. Jen was only too happy to oblige. When the meal concluded, they rose from the table, and Emmett, looking happier and more content than he had in weeks, led the way to the library.
More than a dozen storage boxes sat in front of the oversize mahogany desk.
“I’d like to have the sculptures commemorate my adult life on this ranch, and I’d like them all to honor my first wife, Margarite, as well. I’ll leave it to you to figure out how to do this, Jen, but the bronzes should include our courtship, marriage, and the birth and upbringing of our only child.”
“Sounds good.”
“I don’t want to look old or infirm in any of the sculptures,” Emmett further stipulated. “And I don’t want Margarite to ever look ill, or be confined to a wheelchair or a hospital bed in any of the bronzes. She would not have wanted to be remembered that way.”
The Texas Rancher's Vow: The Texas Rancher's VowFound: One Baby Page 3