Blue-Eyed Devil

by Lisa Kleypas

  His tenderness disarmed me until I almost forgot about the knot of fear in my stomach. I stood there breathing him, feeling him . . . but he was all around me, he could overpower me so easily if he chose. I couldn’t handle feeling that defenseless, no matter how gentle he was. Turning my mouth away from his, I broke the kiss with a whimper.

  Hardy’s lips grazed the top of my head, and he released me slowly. He looked down at me, blue heat in his eyes.

  “Now show me the apartment,” he whispered.

  Purely by luck—I couldn’t yet pull a coherent thought from my brain—I managed to dial the right combination and open the door.

  Since I wasn’t certain how far I could walk without staggering, I let Hardy do his own exploring. He wandered through the threebedroom apartment, checking out the finishes, the appliances, the views from every room. In the main living area, a wall of nothing but windows revealed a spectacular view of Houston, the unzoned city sprawling outward in a mix of offices and strip malls and mansions and shacks, the cheap and the great mingling freely.

  Watching Hardy’s long, lean form silhouetted against those windows, I thought the apartment suited him. He wanted to show people he’d arrived. And you couldn’t blame him for that. In Houston, if you wanted a place at the table, you had to have the clothes, the cars, the high-rise apartment, the mansion. The tall blond wife.

  Needing to break the silence, I finally found my voice. “Liberty told me you used to work on a drilling rig.” I leaned against the kitchen counter as I watched him. “What did you do?”

  He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Welder.”

  No wonder, I thought, and I didn’t realize I’d said it aloud until he replied.

  “No wonder what?”

  “Your . . . your shoulders and arms,” I said, abashed.

  “Oh.” He turned to face me, his hands still tucked in his pockets. “Yeah, they usually get the bigger guys to do the onboard welding, the stuff they can’t do in shore-based shops. So I had to carry a seventy-pound power-con all around the rig, up and down stairs and ladders . . . that whips you into shape real fast.”

  “A power-con is some kind of generator?”

  He nodded. “The newer models are built with the handles farther apart, so two people can carry them. But the older version, the one I had to lug around, could only be carried by one guy. Hell, my muscles would get so sore . . .” He grinned and rubbed the back of his neck, as if recalling long-ago discomforts. “You should have seen the other rig welders. They made me look puny.”

  “I honestly can’t imagine that,” I said.

  His smile lingered as he approached me, coming to lean on the other side of the counter.

  “Did you like being a rig welder?” I asked hesitantly. “I mean, was it what you wanted to do?”

  “I wanted to do anything that would get me out of Welcome.”

  “That’s the town you grew up in?”

  He nodded. “Blew out one of my knees playing football—so no chance of a scholarship. And in Welcome, if you don’t make it to college, your options are limited. I knew how to weld, from my fence work. It didn’t take much to get certified. And I had a buddy who worked as a rig roustabout—he told me the welders made eighty bucks an hour.”

  “Did you ever think you’d go on to . . . this?” I gestured at the gleaming, pristine apartment around us.

  “No,” Hardy said at once. “I never imagined I—” But as he stared into my eyes, he paused. It seemed as if he were weighing the consequences of his words, wondering how I’d react if he told me the truth. “Yeah, I knew,” he finally said, his voice soft. “I always knew I’d do whatever it took. Living in a trailer park, running in a pack of barefoot kids . . . my whole life was already set out for me, and I sure as hell didn’t like the looks of it. So I always knew I’d take my chance when I got it. And if it didn’t come, I’d make something happen.”

  As I began to comprehend what a tremendous drive he possessed, I was surprised by the hint of something like shame or defensiveness secreted deep in the quiet admission. “Why does it make you uncomfortable to admit you’re ambitious?”

  He gave me an arrested glance, as if it were a question he’d never been asked before. A wary pause, and then he said, “I learned to keep quiet about it early on. Folks make fun of you otherwise.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s like crabs in a box.” Seeing my incomprehension, he explained, “You can keep a bunch of crabs in a shallow container, and none of them will escape. Because as soon as one of ’em tries to climb out, the others pull him back in.”

  We faced each other directly, our forearms resting on the counter between us. It felt too close, too strong, as if some incinerating current had opened between us. I pulled back and looked away, breaking the connection.

  “What did you do in Dallas?” I heard him ask.

  “I worked at a hotel for a little while. Then I stayed at home for about a year.”

  Hardy’s eyes held a mocking glint. “Doing what? Being a trophy wife?”

  Since I would have died before ever letting him know the truth, I said casually, “Yes. It was pretty boring.”

  “Is that why your marriage ended? You got bored?”

  “More or less.” Reading his expression, I said rather than asked, “You think I’m spoiled, don’t you?”

  He didn’t bother to deny it. “I think you should have married someone who could have done a better job keeping you entertained.”

  “I should never have gotten married at all,” I said. “I’m not cut out for it.”

  “You never know. You may want to give it another try someday.”

  I shook my head. “No man will ever have that power over me again.”

  The barest trace of contempt crept into his voice. “You had all the power, sweetheart. You’re a rich man’s daughter.”

  Of course. That was how it looked from the outside. No one could know that I’d had no power at all, over anything.

  “The entire subject of marriage is boring,” I said. “Especially mine. And I’d rather you not call me ‘sweetheart.’ ” I walked out from behind the counter, my arms folded across my chest. “What do you think about the apartment?”

  “I like it.”

  “A lot of space for a single guy, isn’t it?”

  “I grew up in a family of five living in a single-wide. After that, I can handle a lot of space.”

  I tried to remember what Liberty had told me about his family. “Two brothers and a sister, right?”

  “Yes. Rick, Kevin, and Hannah.” A shadow crossed his face. “My sister died last year from breast cancer. Fought it real hard. Double mastectomy, four months of chemo. She went to M. D. Anderson . . . I’d have taken her anywhere in the world, but everyone said that was the best place. Near the end they put her on Arimidex, which she said was worse than the chemo. Nothing stopped the tumor markers from going up.”

  “I’m sorry.” I wanted to convey how much I understood, even the things he hadn’t said. I found myself moving toward him, now leaning on the same side of the counter as he was. “I know what it’s like to lose someone that way. My mother died of breast cancer too. Except she never went through the chemo. They caught it too late. She was at stage four with lung dissemination. Mother chose to have a shorter, better quality of life, as opposed to dragging it out and going through all the surgery and treatments, which wouldn’t have worked anyway.”

  “How old were you?” he asked gently.

  “Fifteen.”

  Staring at me, he reached out to stroke back my bangs, which had fallen over one eye. “Haven . . . tell me not to take the apartment, and I won’t. Otherwise, I want it. It’s up to you.”

  My eyes widened. “I . . . I . . . your decision has nothing to do with me. Don’t make me part of it.”

  “Would it bother you if I lived here?”

  “Of course not,” I said, a little too quickly.

  He smiled lazily. “I’m not a man of
many talents . . . but the few I’ve got are good ones. One of them being, I can always tell when someone’s lying to me.”

  I had no choice but to admit the truth. “Okay. It might bother me a little.”

  “Why?”

  He was good at throwing me off balance. I could feel my pulse kicking up with agitation. I didn’t know what it was about Hardy that broke through my defenses. Damn, he was wily. Aggressive, pushy, but smart enough to cover it with easy charm. He was ten times the man Nick was, and he was just too much, too much in every way. If I ever let him close to me, I would deserve whatever I got, and the results wouldn’t be pretty.

  “Look,” I said sharply, “whether you move here or not, I’m not interested in any kind of . . . whatever . . . with you.”

  His gaze didn’t move from mine. His eyes were darker than a blueprint. “Define ‘whatever.’ ”

  “In this case it means sex.”

  “That’s one of my other talents,” he volunteered.

  As distraught as I was, I almost smiled. “I’m sure that will make some of the female residents of 1800 Main very happy.” I paused for emphasis. “But I won’t be one of them.”

  “Understood. So where do I end up, Haven? . . . Here, or Post Oak?”

  I made an impatient gesture to indicate it was of no consequence. “Move here if you want. It’s a free country.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  I didn’t like the way he said it. As if we had just made some kind of bargain.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LIKE HELL HE’S GONNA LIVE HERE,” JACK SAID indignantly, pacing around my office later that day. He had dropped by for a quick visit to see how things were going. Although he would never admit it, I thought that Jack was mildly relieved that Vanessa was gone. Whenever she was around, she sent out discreet signals that she was angling for some kind of relationship that went beyond business. Thankfully, he didn’t seem interested.

  While Jack fumed about Hardy, I sat behind my desk, trying to figure out some new software that had gone contrary on me.

  “Here’s the way I’m looking at it,” I said, looking up from my laptop. “ ‘Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer.’ What better way to find out what Hardy Cates is up to, than have him in our building?”

  That made Jack pause. “I guess there’s some sense in that. But why does he want to live here? If this is some whack deal about Gage and Liberty—”

  “No, I honestly don’t think that’s it. I think he would have taken another apartment if it were available.”

  Jack sat on the edge of my desk. “He’s got something up his sleeve. I guarantee it.”

  He sounded so certain that I gave him a questioning glance. “Have you met him before?”

  “Yeah, about a year ago. He was going out with a girl I used to date and I happened to see her at a club, and we all talked for a few minutes.”

  “What did you think about him?”

  A wry smile curved his lips. “Hate to admit it, but if it weren’t for the shit he pulled with Gage’s biofuel deal, and crashing the wedding, I might have liked the guy. We talked some hunting and fishing, and he struck me as a good ol’ boy. And like him or not, you’ve got to hand it to him—that company of his is kicking ass.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “He’s pulled together a great team, and he can negotiate a tight deal. But mostly he’s got the knack for finding oil. Call it luck, call it skill, but some people got it and some don’t. Maybe he’s not college-smart, but he’s smart in a way they can’t teach. Man, I wouldn’t underestimate him.” Jack dragged his hand through his dark hair, looking thoughtful. “Joe’s met him.”

  I blinked in surprise. “What? Our brother Joe?”

  “Yeah. Joe took his picture for that thing they did on him in Texas Monthly last year.”

  “What a coincidence,” I said slowly. “What did Joe say about him?”

  “Can’t remember. I’ll have to ask him.” Jack frowned. “You think Cates has some kind of revenge thing going on against the Travises?”

  “For what?”

  “Because Gage married his old girlfriend?”

  “That would be taking things a little far,” I said skeptically. “I mean, they never even slept together.”

  Jack’s brows rose. “How do you know?”

  “He said so.”

  “You were talking about sex with Hardy Cates?” he asked in the same tone he would have used for et tu, Haven?

  “Not like that,” I said uncomfortably. “It was sort of a casual reference.”

  Jack gave me a long, hard stare. “If he so much as glances in your direction, I’m going to wipe the floor with his ass—”

  “Jack, hush—”

  “—and I’m gonna make that real clear to him before the contracts are signed.”

  “If you embarrass me that way, I’m going to find a new job. I swear it, Jack. Not a word to Hardy.”

  A long silence, while my brother stared at me. “Are you interested in Cates?” he asked.

  “No!”

  “Good. Because—and don’t take this personal—I have no confidence in your ability to pick a decent guy for yourself. If you like someone, he’s probably scum.”

  “That is a huge boundary violation,” I said indignantly.

  “A what?”

  “That means I don’t make any comments about the kind of women you date, and you have no right to judge my choices.”

  “Yeah, but—” Jack stopped and scowled. “You’re right. It’s none of my business. It’s just . . . I’d like you to find some nice guy with no weird fuckin’ baggage.”

  I had to laugh. My irritation vanished, and I reached over to pat his hand. “If you ever meet one,” I said, “let me know.”

  My cell phone rang, and I fished it out of my purse. “Bye, Jack,” I said, and flipped the phone open. “Hello?”

  “Haven.”

  The sound of Hardy’s voice gave me a subtle, pleasurable jolt. “Hi,” I said, and damned myself for sounding breathless.

  Jack, who’d been in the process of leaving, stopped at the doorway and shot me a curious glance. I waved for him to go on, but he stayed where he was, watching and listening.

  I adopted a brisk, professional tone. “Do you have a question about the apartment? I’ll give you Samantha’s number—”

  “I’ve already got her number. I want to talk to you.”

  “Oh.” I fiddled with a pen on the desk. “How can I help you?”

  “I need a recommendation for someone who can come in and fix up the apartment—pick out the furniture, colors, that kind of stuff.”

  “An interior decorator?”

  “Yeah, but a good one. The one I hired for my last apartment charged a fortune, and it ended up looking like a Fort Worth bar.”

  “And that’s not your style?”

  “No, it’s exactly my style. That’s the problem. I need an image upgrade.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” I said. “The formal look is out. Casual and comfortable is fine.”

  “I have a sofa that once roamed the open range.”

  I couldn’t help laughing at that. “You mean cowhide? Oh, God. You do need help.” I thought of Todd. “I know someone—but he’s not cheap.”

  “That’s okay, as long as he’s good.”

  “Would you like me to call him for you and set up something?”

  “Thanks. That would be great. And as a favor—would you be there with me when I meet him?”

  I hesitated, my fingers tightening on the pen. “I don’t think I’d be much help.”

  “I need your opinion. My kind of decorating usually involves fur, skins, and horns. You have no idea what I could be talked into.”

  “All right,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll be there. When are you free?”

  “I’m tied up the rest of today and tomorrow, finishing up an AFE. So the next day or anytime after that would be fine.”

  “
What’s an AFE?”

  “Authority for expenditure form. Basically it’s all the estimates for drilling and completing a well, including salaries, services, and equipment. You can get screwed six ways to Sunday if you don’t get the AFE right and make sure everyone follows it. It’s real important for a smaller company with a limited budget.”

  “So are you the one who makes sure everyone follows the AFE?”

  “Yeah, I’m the heavy,” Hardy admitted. “Neither of my partners are good at it—one’s a geophysicist and sticks to the science stuff, and the other one can’t handle confrontation. So it’s up to me. I figure I haven’t managed a project right unless I get a few death threats along the way.”

  “I bet you’re good at confrontation,” I said.

  “I have to be, sometimes. But I’m not that way by nature.”

  “Sure,” I told him, smiling skeptically. “I’ll call you later with the appointment time.”

  “Okay, boss.”

  The smile was still tucked in the corners of my lips as I looked up and saw Jack there. I couldn’t tell if he was frowning or scowling—but it was not a happy expression.

  “Don’t tell me you were just talking to Hardy Cates,” Jack said.

  “I was just talking to Hardy Cates. What about it?”

  “I haven’t heard you giggle like that since high school.”

  “I wasn’t giggling,” I said defensively. “I never giggle. And before you say anything else, remember my personal boundaries.”

  “You make sure Cates remembers about your personal boundaries,” Jack muttered, and left my cubicle.

  “YOU KNOW,” TODD said, “I’ve had lots of clients who have crappy taste in decorating. But they never want to admit it. They hire me and then they waste a lot of time arguing over the design scheme. This is the first client who’s ever admitted he has crappy taste.”

  “I think he may actually be proud of it,” I said.

  We were riding up in the elevator to the eighteenth floor, where we were going to meet Hardy at his new apartment. “Did I tell you what Beebe Whitney said when I told her that I was doing his apartment?” Todd asked.