Chapter
Four
Clouds drifted through the blue sky that arched
over the sprawl of metropolitan London. A river bus plowed through
the murky waters of the Thames past the famed Savoy Hotel. But Max
Rutledge took no notice of the fine spring afternoon or the
expansive views of the river his suite in the Savoy provided. He
was too preoccupied by the latest batch of reports that had been
forwarded to him.
Distracted as he was, he was slow to
register the initial click of the door latch. Not until he heard
the door close did he become aware of someone entering in the room.
With a swing of his massive shoulder, he glanced toward the door,
his gaze lighting on his tall son, dressed in sweats, a towel
draped around his neck, and a lingering sheen of perspiration on
his face that said, as much as his dress, that he had come straight
from a vigorous workout at the hotel’s health club.
As usual, Max wasted no time with
preliminaries. “I thought you told me that Calder girl was staying
at Claridges.”
Boone Rutgledge hesitated a split
second. “That’s what she indicated to me before we left Rome.” He
caught up a corner of the towel and mopped his cheek and jaw with
it.
“Well, she’s not. She called an hour
ago to say that they’re at the Lanesborough on Hyde Park
Corner.
“Obviously, there was a change of
plans,” Boone stated with unconcern and crossed to a
phone.
“What are you doing now?” Max
demanded.
“I’m just calling to confirm that I’ll
pick her up at eight this evening.” He picked up the
receiver.
“Don’t bother. She’s not there.” Max
pivoted his wheelchair around to face him. “She said she was going
downstairs for tea.”
Boone set the phone back on its cradle.
“In that case, I’ll shower and call her later.”
Max snorted in disgust. “You’re always
letting grass grow under your feet. What’s wrong with going over
there and joining her for tea? It’s not like you’re going to spend
the rest of the afternoon working. You never do a damned thing
unless I tell you. Just once I wish you’d take some initiative
yourself.”
Boone glared at him for a long, stiff
second, then pivoted on his heel and crossed to one of the suite’s
adjoining bedrooms, the one that he had claimed as his
own.
Thick traffic swirled around the busy
Hyde Park corner, but little of its noise invaded the
Lanesborough’s Library Bar, where afternoon tea was being served.
Laura paid little attention to the hushed conversations taking
place around her as she took a sip of the Earl Grey tea in her
Royal Worcester cup.
“Did you speak to Sebastian?” Tara
deftly added a dollop of clotted cream to her scone.
“No, I had to leave messages for both
Sebastian and Boone.” Laura returned her cup to its saucer and used
the serving tongs to remove a petit four from its tray. “I let the
desk know that we’d be in here if either of them
called.”
“Good.” Tara nodded in approval and
took a delicate bite of her scone and chewed it thoughtfully. “As I
recall, Crawford Hall is somewhere in the Cotswolds. I shouldn’t
think it would be much more than a two-hour drive from London. I
wonder if there’s a suitable inn nearby where we could spend the
night. It would be too much to hope that we might actually be
invited to stay at the manor.”
Where they might stay was of little
interest to Laura. “I’m looking forward to seeing that portrait of
Lady Elaine.” But not nearly as much as she was anticipating
Sebastian’s company.
“I’m half-tempted to hire a genealogist
to track down any documentation that may exist on both Lady Elaine
and Madelaine Calder just to see if we can prove our suspicions,”
Tara remarked idly.
“I don’t know what it would
accomplish,” Laura said with a shrugging lift of her
shoulders.
“You haven’t lived with the question as
long as I have, or you would understand how satisfying it can be to
at last have the definitive answer.” Tara lifted her cup and
carried it to her lips. “How’s Quint doing? Did you speak to your
mother?”
Laura nodded that she had. “He came
through the surgery on his leg with flying colors. Logan flew back
home, but Aunt Cat is staying until Quint’s released from the
hospital. Mom said that other than having a pin in his leg he’ll be
as good as new in a few weeks.”
“That’s good to hear. I know how
worried Cat must have been about him.”
A man entered the Library Bar, coming
within range of her peripheral vision. When he paused beneath the
Empire-style chandelier, its light reflected off the deep copper
lights in his hair. The hue was much too familiar for Laura to
ignore. With a turn of her head, she saw Sebastian making a scan of
the room’s patrons, and her pulse quickened.
Before she could lift a hand to draw
his attention, he spotted the two of them seated by a window. With
an easy masculine grace, he crossed to their table.
“I see you two ladies are enjoying one
of our quaint British customs,” he said in greeting.
“When in Rome,” Laura quipped, her
thoughts racing back to the night they had spent together, the
memory fresh and stimulating.
“Indeed.” His glance said that he knew
exactly what she was thinking.
“We were just talking about you,” Tara
declared.
“All good, I hope.”
“Naturally.” Tara smiled in
reassurance. “You will join us for some tea, won’t
you?”
“It would be my pleasure,” he said and
signaled to one of the staff, who quickly added a chair to the
table, followed by a third place setting. Hitching up his trousers,
he took a seat. “Your flight from Rome was uneventful, I
trust.”
“It was.” Doing the honors, Tara poured
tea into a cup for him.
“So . . .” Laura settled back in her
chair, letting her gaze run over his smoothly hewn features, their
aristocratic lines so at odds with the smattering of freckles on
his fair skin. “Were you able to wangle an invitation for us to see
the portrait?”
“Better than that,” He paused to stir a
spoonful of sugar into his tea, “I come with an invitation to stay
the night at Crawford Hall.”
“That’s amazing,” Tara murmured, then
explained, “Laura and I were just discussing whether we should make
the drive back to London or find lodging in the area. Obviously
that is no longer an issue. We accept the earl’s gracious offer of
hospitality with pleasure.”
“Will you be spending the night as
well?” Laura asked with more than a little interest.
“I will,” he confirmed.
“Wonderful,” Laura murmured, her
interest in this excursion to the English countryside growing with
each passing moment. It definitely promised something more
diverting than an inspection of Lady Elaine’s
portrait.
“You have no idea how much I’m looking
forward to this, Mr. Dunshill,” Tara inserted.
“Sebastian, please,” he
insisted.
“Sebastian,” she repeated in easy
familiarity. “Is there anything special in the way of dress we
should bring with us?”
“Life is fairly informal at Crawford
Hall. Although if you have some riding clothes, you might want to
bring them along,” he replied. “A morning canter across our English
hills can be an excellent way to start the day. I expect they will
seem quite tame to you, considering that you were raised on the
wild western plains.” He addressed the latter remark to
Laura.
“It’s also a reason why civilized
scenery might be a bit more appealing to me,” she
replied.
“There’s certainly a plentitude of
civilized scenery in the vicinity of Crawford Hall.” Sebastian
sipped his tea. “Have you ever ridden English style
before?”
“I have,” Laura confirmed. “In fact, I
prefer it—much to my family’s horror.”
“Is that ever the truth,” Tara
declared. “Do you remember the time you tried to put one of the
ranch horses over a homemade jump, Laura? You couldn’t have been
much more than fourteen or fifteen. Your grandfather almost had
apoplexy. He and your mother were positively furious with me when I
went out and bought you a show jumper, then hired a riding
instructor.”
“Actually I don’t think my mother
minded all that much. I think she was just relieved that I hadn’t
decided to climb on the back of a Brahma bull the way Trey did at a
local rodeo.” Turning her attention to Sebastian, she said, “Over
the years, my brother and I have managed to contribute more than a
few gray hairs to our mother’s head. We each have a bit of the
daredevil in us.”
“Really,” Sebastian murmured, eyes
dancing. “I never would have guessed that about you.”
“The truth is out, then.” A knowing
smile curved her mouth as she brimmed with the certainty that he
was remembering when she had ventured nude into the Trevi
Fountain.
With all her attention wrapped up in
Sebastian, Laura never noticed the tall dark-haired man approaching
their table until he stopped by her chair. “I was told at the desk
I could find you in here.”
She looked up with a start, her glance
quickly taking in the man’s familiar features, full of rough and
raw masculinity. “Boone,” she said in surprise that quickly gave
way to pleasure. “Your father must have given you my
message.”
“He did.” He flashed her a broad smile.
“Rather than call you back, I decided to come over myself and find
out if you can be ready about eight for our big night on the town.”
Without waiting to be asked, he pulled up a vacant chair and sat
down at the table.
“Eight o’clock will be perfect,” Laura
replied.
As the tardy waiter hurried over to
their table, Tara inquired, “Would you like some tea,
Boone?”
“No, thanks.” He dismissed the waiter
with a curt shake of his head. “The only tea I drink is the kind we
serve in Texas—sweet and on ice.” His glance drifted to Sebastian,
as if only then taking notice of his presence.
“You remember Sebastian Dunshill, don’t
you, Boone?” Tara said, supplying the name on the off chance he had
forgotten it. “We met at the contessa’s
party in Rome.”
“I remember,” he said and acknowledged
him with a brief nod that was neither friendly nor
unfriendly.
“Sebastian just brought us an
invitation to spend the weekend at Crawford Hall,” Laura
explained.
“Are you going?” Boone asked and
continued without waiting for her answer. “I was going to suggest
we fly up to Newmarket and take in a horse race.”
“I wish I’d known.” Laura gave him a
look of regret, tempered with a smile. “But Tara and I can hardly
pass up the chance to have a firsthand look at the portrait of Lady
Crawford that hangs in the hall. She has been the subject of much
speculation in our family for too many years.”
Boone lounged back in the chair,
hooking an arm over the corner of its backrest. “This is the first
time I’ve ever been turned down in favor of a painting.” But his
broad Texas smile didn’t reveal any signs of rejection. “Now you’ve
got me curious about it. It must be something
special.”
“We think it will be,” Tara replied.
“Which is why we are so anxious to see it.”
“When are you leaving?” Boone divided
his glance between Laura and Tara. On the surface, the tone of his
question seemed to be one of idle curiosity, but his attention to
their answer was a bit too sharp.
“Actually”—it was Sebastian who spoke
up first—“they are expected for dinner tomorrow evening. I was
about to suggest making a leisurely afternoon drive of it. I
thought I could pick you up around two,” he said to Laura, “stop
for tea along the way, and still arrive in ample time for
dinner.”
“I have a better idea.” Boone’s broad
smile never wavered as he pinned his gaze on Sebastian, the subtle
challenge in it obvious to everyone. “I’ll take them instead. It’ll
give me a chance to get a peek at this painting
myself.”
Laura watched Sebastian, intensely
curious to see how he would handle this gauntlet Boone had thrown
down.
“There’s no need for that,” Sebastian
began in smooth dismissal, “as I’ll be making the drive myself
tomorrow—”
“But I have a Daimler limousine at my
disposal,” Boone interrupted. “I think you’ll agree it would be
much more comfortable for the ladies to ride in it than in an
ordinary car.”
During the briefest of pauses,
Sebastian studied his adversary with a sizing glance, then smiled
lazily. “Since you seem so determined to make the drive, why don’t
I arrange for you to spend the weekend at Crawford Hall as
well.”
The invitation was the last thing Laura
had expected from Sebastian. Most women in her shoes would have
found the prospect of having both men under the same roof to be an
awkward situation. Laura regarded it as a challenge. And she
thrived on challenges.
“I’d love to spend the weekend in the
country with Laura if you’re sure our host wouldn’t object,” Boone
replied.
“His philosophy tends to be ‘the more,
the merrier’ or something like that,” Sebastian stated with a droll
smile.
“Will Max be joining us as well?” Tara
asked with sudden curiosity, then glanced at Sebastian in quick
apology. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed to include him.
Besides, if Crawford Hall is typical of most old homes, it isn’t
exactly wheelchair-friendly.”
“Crawford Hall happens to be an
exception, then, thanks to an ancestor who was similarly
handicapped in his later years,” Sebastian explained. “So there are
suitable accommodations for your father if he should wish to
come.”
“I believe he’s already made other
plans, but I’ll ask him,” Boone replied.
“Do that,” Sebastian said with an
aristocratic nod.
“I will.” Boone gripped the arms of his
chair and pushed out of the seat, rising to his feet. “I’ll let you
all get back to your tea. Pick you up at eight,” he said to Laura,
then winked. “And bring your appetite. Don’t waste it all on those
sweets.” He gestured to the petit four on her plate and left the
table.
Laura watched him exit the room before
she brought her attention back to the table. “This should be a very
entertaining weekend, don’t you think?” Her smile was wide and full
of amusement.
Boone slammed into the suite and threw
a glance around the sitting room that never even paused on his
father. “Where the hell is Edwards?” he demanded, referring to his
father’s personal secretary and chief assistant.
“He went to FedEx those documents back
to the States. Why?” Max’s frown was sharp with suspicion. “What’s
happened? Did that girl break her date with you?”
“No.” Boone strode across the room,
jerking loose the knot of his tie as he went. “As a matter of fact,
we have been invited to spend the weekend in the country with her
and Tara Calder.” He snatched up the telephone receiver and punched
out a series of numbers. “I want to place an order,” he said into
the phone.
“I don’t understand.” Max wheeled his
chair over to the desk where Boone stood. “What do you want with
Edwards?”
Ignoring the question, Boone continued
his conversation with the unknown party. “I want a room full of
orchids delivered to Ms. Laura Calder’s suite at the Lanesborough.
No, wait,” he said on second thought. “Make that one exotic and
absolutely perfect orchid. On the card, simply put, ‘See you at
eight,’ and sign it ‘Boone.’ Make sure it’s delivered immediately.
I want it in her suite when she returns.”
When he hung up, Max pounded the arm of
his wheelchair. “Dammit, are you going to answer my questions? I
want to know what the hell is going on.”
Boone looked at him, his lips drawn
back in an expression that was more snarl than smile. “Did I forget
to mention that the weekend invitation came from that Englishman,
Sebastian Dunshill?”
“Dunshill.” Some of the anger went out
of Max’s voice as his mind grabbed hold of the news and ran with
it, exploring its many ramifications.
The door to the suite opened and J.D.
Edwards walked in. He was short and stout and all Texan, as
evidenced by the bolo tie and pointed-toe cowboy boots he wore with
his business suit.
“It’s about time you got back,” Boone
said with impatience. “Find out everything there is to know about a
man named Sebastian Dunshill. And I mean everything,” he snapped.
“And I want it yesterday.”
“Well, well, well,” Max murmured,
fairly beaming in approval. “You do know how to take the
initiative.”
But Boone was too angry to notice his
father’s reaction as he stalked into his room.
With the setting of the sun, a
gossamer-thin fog drifted through the London streets. It veiled the
glow from the lampposts along the street outside the
restaurant.
Laura was oblivious to the fog and the
night-darkened view from their window table. The whole of her
attention was on her dinner companion, Boone Rutledge. She doubted
that anyone could have looked more out of place amidst the
restaurant’s marble and gold Louis XVI decor than this big and
brawny dark-haired Texan. Yet its fussily feminine perfection
served only to accent his blatant good looks and raw virility. His
bold maleness was like a powerful magnet, irresistible in its
attraction.
She watched him cut into his steak
while she idly toyed with her plate of veal and lobster in a
seafood sauce atop a bed of tender vegetable noodles.
“So, tell me,” Boone began in a
conversational tone, “have you always been interested in tracing
your family tree?”
“Hardly,” she replied in amused
denial.
“Really?” His thick black eyebrows
lifted in mild surprise. “You seemed so interested in this portrait
that I figured it must be a hobby of yours.”
“Truthfully, Tara is more interested in
seeing it than I am. Which isn’t to say I don’t have some curiosity
about it, because I do,” Laura admitted. “But if I never had the
opportunity, I wouldn’t cry over it.”
“A lot of people these days have become
obsessed with uncovering their roots,” Boone commented. “A few
years ago my father hired some guy to trace back our family tree.
He was convinced we were related to one of the defenders of the
Alamo,” Boone recalled with a smile. “You should have seen my
father’s face when he learned that the only famous ancestor we had
was the outlaw John Wesley Hardin.”
“John Wesley Hardin? You’re kidding!”
Laura all but hooted with laughter
“ ’Fraid not. Needless to say, he fired
the researcher on the spot.”
“He must have been
furious.”
“Believe me, he was roaring louder than
a Texas tornado. It didn’t help that I suggested he might have come
by his skill in business honestly—he had merely found a bloodless
way to do it, first snuffing out his competition, then taking over
its assets.”
“Something tells me that didn’t make
you very popular with him.”
“He did a bit more roaring,” Boone
admitted, his grin broadening.
“I can imagine,” she said, then added
thoughtfully. “I suspect, though, that Max welcomes any excuse to
roar.”
“And he does bite as well,” Boone
warned.
The remark reminded her of the many
stories she’d heard about her own Calder family. On occasion they
had been known to bite, too.
“He wouldn’t have become what he is
today if he didn’t,” she said realistically. “Just the same, I like
your father. I’m glad he’s going to join us this
weekend.”
“He likes you, too.” His glance
traveled over the golden sheen of her hair, its loose waves framing
a face that was classic in its beauty. “He usually doesn’t have
much time for the opposite sex, but he’s really taken with you.
Exactly how did you manage that? I could use some
lessons.”
For all the jest in his tone, Laura
suspected he was half serious. “My way probably wouldn’t work for
you.” She laid down her silverware and reached for her wineglass,
using those few seconds to think through the rest of her answer.
“You and my brother Trey are in somewhat similar positions. Both of
you are being groomed to take over the family business. I don’t
have any of that pressure. The only expectations my family has for
me are negative ones—you know, don’t get into trouble, don’t become
involved with drugs—that sort of thing. It leaves me amazingly
free.” She took a sip of her wine as if to punctuate the thought.
“My brother, on the other hand, if he makes even one small mistake,
everyone seems to come down harder on him than they would on anyone
else. Not out of cruelty, but because of the role he’ll have to
fill one day.” She tilted her glass toward him. “I suspect it’s the
same for you with your father.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He was
deliberately offhand even though he knew her summation was right on
the nose. It was the first time he could recall anyone ever
demonstrating an understanding of his situation. In one way, it
touched something deep inside him. But in another, it made him
uncomfortable.
“I remember my brother said to me one
time, ‘You know, Sis,’ ” Laura switched to an imitation of a man’s
voice, ‘the worst thing about it is you’ve got to take their guff
and keep your mouth shut when you really want to knock their heads
off.’ ”
“I’ve been there a time or two,” Boone
agreed wryly.
“I think that’s why Trey took up
rodeoing in college. It’s his way of rebelling a little—and blowing
off some steam at the same time.” She studied him over the rim of
her wineglass, a knowing gleam in her dark eyes. “So what’s your
form of release from the pressure? Fast cars or fast women? I’d bet
it’s the latter, considering your reputation for playing the
field.”
He was much more comfortable with this
kind of conversation, and it showed. “You know what they say about
safety in numbers.”
“Variety is the spice of life and all
that,” she teased. “You sound like me—easily bored.”
It was not the response he had
expected. In the past when he had made similar comments, the
response had invariably included a subtle lecture on the benefits
and joys of monogamous relationships.
Even now, a part of him was skeptical
of her reply. At the same time, though, he had to acknowledge that
it rang true. And it stung a little that she didn’t seem to be
interested in “catching” him. Simultaneously Boone realized that
Laura Calder would not be an easy conquest. He’d never had to work
to get a woman before.
And it was that thought that prompted
him to say, “Tonight, sitting here with you, I’m not all that
interested in the variety that’s out there when you play the
field.”
“Now that sounds like a line,” Laura
chided lightly.
“With other women, it would be,” Boone
admitted. “With you, I’m really not sure.”
“In that case, I’ll take it as a high
compliment. Thank you,” she said with an accepting dip of her head,
her eyes alive to him in a way they hadn’t been before. It was a
look he was determined to keep there.
Following dinner Boone instructed the
chauffeur to take them to one of London’s many gaming
establishments. Laura eyed him curiously. “Don’t you have to be a
member to go there?”
“I am,” he stated.
“Do you enjoy gaming?” she
wondered.
“Don’t you?” he countered, flashing her
a smile that was reckless and sexy.
The London casino had none of the Vegas
clamor of slot-machine bells and clattering coins. Here the
gambling was limited to table games—blackjack, poker, roulette, and
craps. It was an atmosphere that would have been sedately British
except for all the shouts and excited chatter that came from the
crowded craps table.
Boone guided her toward it. “Have you
ever played craps before?”
“Once or twice,” she said, but the
twinkle in her eyes indicated a greater familiarity with the game
than that.
“In that case, you’ll need a stake.” He
pressed a stack of tokens into her palm.
“There’s really no need. I can afford
to buy my own,” she reminded him.
“I know. But tonight’s my treat,” he
said with a smile and shouldered his way to the table, urged on by
half a dozen excited bettors.
The feverish contagion of the scene had
quickened Laura’s pulse. The pace of the game was swift, almost
nonstop. The only pauses came when the shooters shook the dice,
sometimes muttering under their breath and sometimes calling for
the needed point. Almost the instant the dice came to rest, the
losing bets were raked in and the winners paid out amidst a mix of
groans, the occasional curse, and a rare few triumphant
outcries.
Through sheer good fortune, Laura
managed to double her stack of chips, but Boone was on a hot
streak, the stacks growing in front of him with each roll of the
dice.
“You’re bringing me luck,” he said when
the winnings from another bet were pushed his way.
“Of course.” Laura flashed him a smile
of absolute certainty.
“Let’s keep it that way,” he signaled
to the dealer his intention to cash in.
She glanced at him in surprise. “I
didn’t expect you to quit while you were ahead.”
He grinned. “That’s how you walk away a
winner.”
“True.” Laughing she gathered up her
own chips, counted out the stake he’d given her, and gave them back
to him. “This is yours, I believe.” The rest she collected and
dropped inside her black silk evening bag. As they moved away from
the table, she released a long breath, conscious of her heart rate
slowing to something closer to normal. “What an adrenaline rush,”
she declared. “It could so easily become addictive.”
“And it does for some people.” He ran
his gaze over her upturned face, noting the lingering flush of
excitement and finding something addictive in its look. “Want to
try your luck at the blackjack tables.”
She glanced in their direction and
shook her head. “No, it looks much too tame. But I could go for
something tall and cold. How about—” The rest of her question was
never finished as she was sideswiped by a casino patron, the impact
knocking her off balance and sending her stumbling against
Boone.
“So sorry, miss,” the man declared,
instantly contrite, his voice slurring and his hands catching at
her in an effort to steady her. “I wasn’t watching where I was
going. My wife’s always warning me about that.”
“I’m fine. Really,” Laura insisted as
he continued to hover over her, close enough that the sourness of
his whiskey breath fanned her.
“Are you sure now?” he
persisted.
“Positive.” She wanted nothing more
than for the man to leave, but he didn’t seem to get the message.
She suddenly sensed Boone moving away from her. Temper flaring that
he would abandon her, Laura turned after him.
“No, you don’t, buster.” Boone growled
directly behind her.
At almost the same instant, Laura felt
a pull on the shoulder strap of her evening bag. When she glanced
down she was stunned to see a man’s hand inside it and Boone’s
clasping the man’s wrist in a viselike grip.
“Stop that man!” Boone barked the
order.
With a start, Laura realized he was
referring to the man who had bumped into her. Turning, she saw the
culprit scurrying away, moving with a haste that included no signs
of drunkenness. She understood in an instant that the two had been
working as a team, the first to distract her while the second
pilfered her purse.
Action erupted behind her as the second
man took a swing at Boone and jerked his hand out of her purse. The
man struggled frantically to break free. From the outset it was
obvious that he was no match for the younger and much stronger
Boone.
An actual fight was something Laura had
never witnessed. On rare occasions at the ranch she’d seen the
aftermath of scraped knuckles, cut lips, bruises, and even a black
eye a time or two, but she’d never been present when a fight
occurred until now.
Within seconds, it seemed, Boone had
subdued the man, holding him in a paralyzing headlock, his arm
twisted high behind his back as the casino’s security staff
converged on the scene.
As brief as the incident had been,
Laura had felt all of its heat and heart-pounding fury. She was
conscious of the blood rushing through her system in a kind of
savage high that simultaneously frightened and thrilled
her.
Casino security were quick to take
custody of the would-be thief from Boone, and Laura watched the
violence ebb from him. Its passing was accompanied by a series of
actions, beginning with a big shrug of his shoulders to correct the
lay of his suit jacket, followed by a stretch of the neck and a
quick adjusting of his tie to center it once again. Then his glance
made a sweep of the gathering of onlookers, more as if to challenge
any other takers than to search for danger.
When his glance finally stopped on her,
his dark eyes still had a trace of battle glitter in them. It was
that element of the primitive that Laura found
fascinating.
But neither was given an opportunity to
converse as security escorted them off the gaming floor to an inner
office. There questions were asked, and events described. It was
all repeated again when the police arrived and took their
statements.
Nearly an hour later Boone and Laura
climbed into the rear of the waiting limousine, apologies from
casino management still echoing in their ears.
“At last that’s over,” Boone declared
on a heavy sigh and settled back in the cushioned seat. “I had
hoped to show you an evening to remember, but that wasn’t what I
had in mind.”
The limousine passed by a streetlight,
the streaming flood of light briefly revealing a tiny smear of
blood at the corner of his lips. Laura removed the precisely folded
handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and used a corner
of it to dab away the touch of blood.
“My hero,” she murmured with a lightly
teasing smile. Boone smiled back, but she noticed the secretly
pleased look he wore that she had called him that even in jest.
“Have I said ‘thank you’ yet for preventing that man from
absconding with my winnings?”
“I don’t think you have.” His eyes had
an expectant gleam.
“Thank you,” she murmured and leaned
into him, covering his mouth in a nuzzling but brief
kiss.
Before she could draw back, Boone
hooked an arm around her waist to keep her against his chest.
“You’re more than welcome.” His voice was husky.
His hand came up and cupped the back of
her head, pulling her lips back to him. His mouth came down in a
driving, delving kiss full of male aggression that made no attempt
to conceal his desire behind finesse. A part of her gloried in its
primitive heat, but her head warned her against letting it
continue.
With a degree of regret, she flattened
a hand against his chest and pushed back, dipping her head to pull
in a breath that his kiss had denied her. His hands tightened on
her in an attempt to draw her back, but Laura managed to maintain a
small distance.
Peering at him through the top of her
lashes, she murmured between deep breaths, “You do know the quick
way to start a fire, don’t you?”
“I had help,” he reminded
her.
Sensing his advantage, Boone again
attempted to eliminate the space that separated. This time Laura
laid two fingers on his lips.
“I think we both know where another
kiss would lead,” she told him without any trace of false primness.
“And I don’t know you that well—yet.”
He hesitated, gauging the firmness of
her refusal, then loosened his hold on her. “That’s the most
promising ‘no’ I’ve ever heard from a woman.”
Laura moved out of his arms and sat
back in the seat. “I’m surprised any woman has told you ‘no’
before.” She removed a small mirror and a tube of lipstick from her
purse and set about applying a fresh coat to her lips.
“There haven’t been many,” Boone
admitted, aware that he’d seen only a rare few of them a second or
third time, and lately, none at all.
“That’s what I thought.” Her sideways
glance was bright with amusement. With her lips a shiny peach color
once again, she capped the tube and returned both mirror and
lipstick to her purse. “Quick, torrid affairs can be fun. But
sometimes a person can get burned by them. And it isn’t going to be
me. You need to know that.” She paused to meet his gaze. “So if you
want to change your mind and forget about taking me to the country
this weekend, there’ll be no hard feelings at all.”
He believed her. That knowledge made
him all the more determined to possess her, even though there was a
part of him that realized he was taking the risk of being possessed
by her. Something told him that wouldn’t be a bad
thing.
“I’ll pick you up at two—as we agreed
earlier.”
The slow and obviously pleased smile
she gave him seemed to assure him that anything he gave up would be
worth it.