by Day Leclaire
Halfway through the evening, she realized she was actually having a good time. At least she was right up until a woman approached them, a woman who could have passed for Joc’s twin. Familiar deep-set black eyes glittered within a striking face accentuated by high, elegant cheekbones and a wide, sensuous mouth—a mouth curved into a cold smile.
Joc inclined his head. “MacKenzie,” he greeted the woman, confirming her identity. “Hope you’re enjoying the gala. I believe the buffet table has a generous helping of sour grapes I ordered for your personal enjoyment.”
“You think you won?” She laughed. “Deseos was just my first volley in our little war.”
“A volley you lost.”
Her amusement faded and she shrugged. “True. But I won’t lose the next round. Of course, if you sell the Hollister homestead to me, there won’t be another round.”
He shook his head before she’d even finished speaking. “That’s not going to happen, MacKenzie. You couldn’t afford it even if I were willing to sell.”
Anger glittered in her dark eyes. “What did you do to her all those years ago?” she demanded in a low voice. “How did you manage to steal that property away from my mother? What hold do you have over her that she neglected to tell us she sold our home to you a full decade ago? Tell me, Joc! What dirty little secret did you uncover that forced her to sell out to you?”
He simply shook his head, his expression giving nothing away. “I suggest you ask your mother those questions.”
She balled her hands into fists, frustration implicit in every line of her body. “I have. She won’t tell me. I’ve been asking ever since I found out—a full year ago.”
“Because there’s nothing to tell.” He made the comment with surprising gentleness. “Maybe the land holds bad memories for her. It would be understandable, all things considered. Boss’s activities couldn’t have been easy for Meredith, any more than they were for the rest of us.”
She cut him off with a swipe of her hand. “I don’t want your pity. Just because you’ve made it big by swindling widows out of their life’s savings doesn’t mean that people actually respect or like you. They just want your money. Or didn’t that little incident on Deseos prove how little regard your friends have for you?” Her gaze shifted to Rosalyn and narrowed. “You’re making a mistake being with him. You will regret it, I promise.”
“Don’t.” Joc’s voice cut sharper than she’d ever heard it. “You want to come after me, fine. But you leave Rosalyn out of it.”
“If you don’t want her in the line of fire, don’t put her there.” With that MacKenzie turned on her designer-clad heel and stalked away.
Joc immediately grasped Rosalyn’s hand and swung her onto the dance floor. “Relax. You don’t want her to see that she got to you.”
“I don’t have the practice you do at concealing my feelings.” She did her best to smooth the signs of distress from her face. “Just out of curiosity…Why won’t you sell the Hollister homestead to her?”
“She can’t afford it, for one thing.”
Rosalyn shot him a sharp look. “Don’t lie to me, Joc. If you don’t want to tell me, fine. But it’s not the money that’s stopping you. If you wanted her to have the property, you’d be generous enough to price it at something she can afford.” When he didn’t reply, she tried again. “You know, holding on to the Hollister homestead is inconsistent with what you told me about your attitude toward family and connections. Are you sure this particular land isn’t more than mere dirt to you? Maybe you don’t want to sell because it gives you a connection with your own roots.”
“It’s an interesting theory, but wrong.” His hand left her waist to cup her chin and force her to look at him. “Let’s make a pact, you and I.”
She tensed within his hold and stared up at him with undisguised wariness. “What sort of pact?”
“For the next ten minutes let’s agree that everything we say to each other will be the absolute, dead-honest truth. Agreed?” At her nod, he said, “I despise what my father did to all of us. The Hollisters. My mother. My sister and me. I won’t go into the reasons I bought the land, but trust me. It has nothing whatsoever to do with unresolved daddy issues.”
“Then what?”
“No way, Red. Now it’s my turn.” His pinned her in place as they drifted across the dance floor. “First question. When you walked into the conference room, you were attracted to me, weren’t you?”
Okay, she could answer that one with reasonable honesty. “Yes, I was attracted to you, which confused me no end.”
“I can imagine.”
The corner of her mouth kicked upward. “I was furious at you for siccing your goons on me. I actually hated you for your unremitting attempts to try to force me to sell my ranch. And I assumed that hate would grow by leaps and bounds when I confronted you in the boardroom.” Her smile turned bittersweet. What a fool she’d been. “It didn’t.”
Held within his arms, she could feel his gathering tension. “You’re joking.”
“No.” The admission came hard, almost as hard as when she’d first realized the truth. “It’s not something I’m happy about, you understand.”
“I can imagine.” He waited a beat, before pressing on. “And when we shook hands? Do you remember that?”
Rosalyn froze. She understood then, understood his plan and what he hoped to accomplish with his questions. He wanted her to remember. Remember how she’d responded to him. Felt. Ached. Hungered. He wanted her to confront the truth head-on and experience those same reactions all over again. She wanted to lie. Badly. But she’d agreed to answer his question truthfully, and come hell or high water, she would—even if doing so stripped a few protective layers off her hide.
A combination of pain and regret washed through her. “I wish I could forget that moment.” More, she wished it hadn’t changed something vital inside her—all because Joc had come into her world and turned it upside down.
“But you can’t, any more than I can.”
When she didn’t respond right away, his hand drifted from her face to her shoulders, generating a path of fire. The song ended and he urged her from the dance floor and through a bank of doors that opened onto a huge garden. Dusk had settled in and the heady scent of evening primroses heralded the approach of night. Soft lighting illuminated the pathways, allowing them to wander at will.
“You haven’t answered me, Red,” Joc prompted. “What did you feel when we first touched?”
Her movements slowed as they followed one of the deserted walkways. What she’d felt then was no different from how she felt now. “It was just a casual contact,” she whispered. “Two strangers shaking hands.”
“But it generated instant heat.”
“Made an instant connection.” She paused in a small alcove formed by a stand of lilacs and closed her eyes in a vain attempt to block him out. To her distress, it only intensified her awareness, sharpening her other senses. Heaven help her, but she wanted him. “I was attracted to you,” she admitted. “More attracted than I’ve ever been to anyone before.”
The words hung in the air for an endless second. Joc pulled her closer, mating their bodies, locking them together in a fit that could only be described as sheer perfection. “And when we were at Longhorn? When I brushed the hair out of your eyes. Do you remember how you reacted to me then?”
She clamped her teeth together and turned her head away. “What does it matter?”
“Did you feel it? Did you feel the heat? The connection?”
“Of course I felt it.” She opened her eyes, her gaze drawn to him like a moth to flame. “It was all hot connection and broken circuits with a bit of lust thrown in for good measure.”
“That’s how strong the chemistry was before that night on Deseos. Before we made love. How it’s been from the start. Nothing has changed, has it? In fact, it’s only grown stronger. Every time we touch. Every time we kiss. From the moment we made love. It caused whatever this is between us t
o become more powerful. Isn’t that the truth?”
“Yes, it’s true.” And the truth made her want to weep. “I can’t keep my hands off you. I don’t want to keep my hands off you.”
She couldn’t resist looking at him again. And that was all it took. It happened again, just like the first time. The instant heat, the desperate want, the sizzle and burn that came whenever they were within touching distance. He must have read the admission on her face, felt it in the helpless give of her body, because he acknowledged it with a knowing smile.
And then he kissed her. She’d anticipated a kiss of possession, a hard and passionate storming, designed to breach her defenses. And it did breach them, just not through strength. He slipped beneath her guard with a gentle taking, the passion a light, joyous exchange. Worse, he offered no more than a prelude, a reminder of how it had been and what it could become once more. He tantalized her with a single taste before setting her free. But that one taste wasn’t enough. Could never be enough. All it did was intensify the craving without offering any satisfaction.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked unsteadily. “What do you want?”
“You’re pregnant with my baby, Red. I want you to marry me.”
Eight
“She turned me down flat, Ana.” Joc paced his study, as he waited impatiently for his sister’s response.
“Let me guess. You proposed a business merger instead of a marriage.”
“I’m not that stupid,” he retorted, stung.
“Oh, really? This is Joc Arnaud, right?” She tapped the receiver with her fingernail. “Hello? Hello? Who are you, and what have you done with my big brother?”
“Damn it, Ana—”
She cut him off without compunction. “No way, Joc. You don’t get off that easily. Allow me to refresh your memory, brother dear. Are you, or are you not the same man who signed a contract with Prince Lander Montgomery and made marriage to me a clause in said contract?”
“Rosalyn’s pregnant with my child.”
Dead silence greeted his statement. “I’d ask how that happened,” she said at length, “but I’m forced to assume it was in the usual way. I’m surprised. Check that. I’m not surprised, I’m flat-out shocked. You’re normally so scrupulous about those things.”
He spoke between clenched teeth. “Could we stay on topic? It happened. Now she won’t marry me.”
“I don’t suppose you proposed to her once you found out she was pregnant?”
“Of course I did. What other choice was there?”
“Oh, Joc. For such a brilliant man, there are times you can be as thick and brainless as the proverbial brick. Hang on a sec. Lander just walked in.” A brief, muffled conversation followed, and then Ana came back on the line. “My husband wants me to give you a message.”
Joc thrust a hand through his hair. “Hell.”
“He said he warned you that one day you’d find yourself boxed into the sort of corner you boxed him in. And that you were supposed to remember him when that day came.” Her tone grew dry. “I think that’s Verdonian for ‘I told you so.’”
“I called you for advice, Ana,” Joc snarled. “Not so you and Prince Not-So-Charming could rub my nose in my mistakes.”
“Fine. Here’s my advice. Women want to be married for love. It’s that simple.”
He opened his mouth and closed it again. Love. Damn. Why did it have to be love? He could negotiate his way around any number of troublesome issues. But not that one. He drew the line at making claims he couldn’t back up with hard evidence, especially not when it came to something that serious. He cared for Rosalyn. He wanted her with a passion that defied understanding. But love? He shook his head. He’d never trust a woman that far or expose himself to that sort of vulnerability.
“There must be an alternative. What other choices do I have?” he demanded.
“Well, you can always follow in Lander’s footsteps and simply announce your engagement to the press. But I wouldn’t recommend it. I doubt Rosalyn will take it any better than I did.”
“Thanks, Ana. I’ll think about it.”
“So, when’s the baby due?”
“Mid-February,” he replied absently.
Maybe if he offered to end his negotiations to buy Longhorn she’d reconsider his proposal. With any other person, that would undoubtedly work. Any other person would be downright grateful. But somehow he had the feeling that gratitude would be way down on the list of Rosalyn’s reactions. Like, maybe dead last.
“That’s fantastic,” Ana was saying. “The two cousins will share a birthday.”
It took a minute for that to sink in. Once it had, it stopped him dead in his tracks. “What? Ana, are you pregnant?”
“Wow. Score one for the financial genius,” she said with a laugh. “Maybe you aren’t so brainless, after all. I’ll talk to you later, Joc. Good luck with Rosalyn. Let me know what happens.” And with that she cut the connection.
Joc tossed the phone aside and leaned against the desk in his study. He scrubbed his hands across his face. There had to be a way around his predicament. Something that Rosalyn wanted enough to agree to marriage. Analyzing the problem from a business standpoint filled him with a calm determination. He just had to find the right lever that would win her agreement. Because he wouldn’t claim to love her when he didn’t. And he sure as hell didn’t love her. That decided, he went to find his woman and start the negotiations.
It was well past midnight before Rosalyn slipped into the room she shared with Joc. The instant they arrived home from the charity gala, she raided the kitchen, desperate for a light snack, while Joc excused himself to make a phone call. She didn’t know how long he’d be, but she suspected he would want to return to the subject of marriage, something she’d managed to avoid during those final few hours of the night’s affair. She’d seen it in the determination burning in his gaze each time he looked at her, as well as the hard set of his mouth.
Tension built across her shoulders at the thought of another confrontation. More than anything she wanted to strip away her evening finery and crawl into something plain and comfortable and, above all else, cotton. Somehow she didn’t think she owned any cotton anymore, and probably wouldn’t as long as she lived under Joc’s roof. Kicking off her heels, she reached behind her to ease down the zip. Her fingers collided with Joc’s.
“Let me help,” he murmured.
Her heart picked up a beat. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“No, you were lost in thought.”
He helped her strip off the gown, along with the ridiculous thong, before dropping a nightgown over her head that felt remarkably like cotton. She gathered it up, her tension draining away. “It is cotton,” she said in delight. “Where did this come from?”
“From me. I noticed over the past few weeks that you weren’t comfortable wearing the other nightgowns I purchased for you.”
She shrugged awkwardly. “They were all silk and I’m used to something a bit plainer.” She ran her hand over the fabric, realizing as she did so that the cotton she wore at home held little similarity to what was clearly an Egyptian blend with a thread count in the trillions. It amazed her what such a small change made to her overall well-being. It felt good to be back to normal. Or almost normal. “Thank you.”
He crossed the room, stripping off his tux as he went. She eyed him apprehensively. They were interrupted right after she’d refused his proposal and there hadn’t been an opportunity to discuss it further. She suspected that wouldn’t be the case for much longer and she had to admit, she didn’t have a clue how to handle the conversation.
Giving herself time to think, she bent her head and spread her hand low across her abdomen, marveling that a life grew there. Dear God, a baby. She still hadn’t absorbed the full meaning of the event. A moment later, Joc crouched in front of her, his hand joining hers over the life growing in her womb.
“We need to protect this little one,” he said.
His si
mple statement had her slipping from his grasp and retreating across the room. She gathered the last remaining vestiges of her fading energy. Time to deal with his proposal once and for all. “And marriage will do that?”
“You had to know this particular negotiation was coming.” He pursued her, his intonation remaining calm and cool. Painfully businesslike. “You had to at least suspect that I wouldn’t allow a child of mine to come into this world a bastard. Been there, done that. And it’s not happening to my baby.”
“He or she will be an Oakley, not a bastard. And that’s not open to negotiation.”
He’d boxed her in so she couldn’t retreat any farther. “Wrong, Red. He’s going to be an Arnaud. I won’t compromise on that point. I’m willing to make concessions on any other stipulations you’d care to name. But not that one.” His face settled into inflexible lines. “I told you about my childhood. I told you how my sister and I suffered. Are you willing to inflict that on our baby?”
“What I’ll be inflicting on our baby is Oakley roots,” she corrected. “The Oakley line will continue. This isn’t the way I planned to do it, but since it’s happened and there’s no changing it, I want our child to sink his roots as deeply into Texan soil as I have. Those roots may mean nothing to you, but they mean everything to me.”
“Don’t you get it?” The question held an edge of impatience. “His roots may be planted in your world, but he’ll have to live in mine.”
She released her breath in a rough sigh. “Face facts, Joc. I don’t fit in your world. I’ll never fit in your world.”
“You will. And so will our child.”
How could he say that? “Because you say so?”
“Yes.”
Simple and direct. She groaned. And probably true. When Joc Arnaud spoke, everyone else jumped. Well, not her. “Look—”
He cut her off. “No, you look. This baby will be under a microscope from the minute he’s born. I will do whatever necessary to protect him from that onslaught, to raise him—” He broke off and lowered his head, reminding her of a wounded animal gathering himself for a final, desperate attack. “To raise him with honor and integrity and…and love.”