One Night in Texas

by Charlene Sands

  “It’s a limited edition.” He unbuttoned his jacket as he reached the wet bar, then picked up the decanter to pour a second glass, his diamond cuff-link winking in the overhead lights as he poured. “Twenty-five years old. Single barrel. But I meant what I said. You’re welcome to my hospitality. Including my bourbon.”

  Pivoting on his heel, he took two steps in her direction, then paused in front of his desk to lean against it. For a moment, she panicked that he would be able to feel that the computer was still warm. Or that the internal fan of the machine still spun after she’d shut it off.

  But he merely sipped his drink while he observed her. He watched her so intently that she almost wondered if he recognized her from a long-ago past. In the few times they’d met socially, Miles had never made the connection between Chiara Campagna, social media star, and Kara Marsh, the teenager who’d been in love with Miles’s roommate at school, Zach Eldridge. The old sense of loss flared inside her, spurring her to turn the conversation in a safer direction.

  “I noticed you neatly sidestepped the matter of my profession.” She set her tumbler on a granite-topped cabinet beside a heavy wire sculpture of a horse with a golden-yellow eye.

  He paused, taking his time to answer. The sounds of the party filtered through to the dim home office. One dance tune blended seamlessly into another thanks to the famous DJ of the moment, and voices were raised to be heard over the music. When Miles met her gaze again, there was something calculating in his expression.

  “Maybe I envy you a job that allows you to travel the globe and spend your nights at one party after another.” He lifted his glass in a mock salute. “Clearly, you’re doing something right.”

  Irritation flared.

  “You wouldn’t be the first person to assume I lead a charmed life of leisure, full of yachts and champagne, because of what I choose to show the world on social media.” She bristled at his easy dismissal of all the hard work it had taken to carve herself a place in a crowded market.

  “And yet, here you are.” He gestured expansively, as if to indicate his second home on the exclusive Mesa Falls property. “Spending another evening with Hollywood celebrities, world-class athletes and a few heavyweights from the music industry. Life can’t be all bad, can it?”

  In her agitation, she took another drink of the bourbon, though she still hadn’t learned her lesson to sip carefully. The fire down her throat should have warned her that she was letting this arrogant man get under her skin.

  Considering her earlier fears about being caught spying, maybe she should have just laughed off his assumption that she had a shallow lifestyle and excused herself from the room. But resentment burned fast and hot.

  “And yet, you’re at the same party as me.” She took a step closer to him before realizing it. Before acknowledging her own desire to confront him. To somehow douse the smug look in his blue eyes. “Don’t you consider attendance part of your job, not just something you do for fun?”

  “I’m the host representing Mesa Falls.” His broad shoulders straightened at her approach, though he didn’t move from his position leaning his hip against the desk. “Of course it’s a work obligation. If I didn’t have to take a turn being the face of Mesa Falls tonight, I would be back at my own place, Rivera Ranch.”

  His voice had a raspy quality to it that teased along her nerve endings in a way that wasn’t at all unpleasant. He was nothing like the men who normally populated her world—men who understood the beauty and entertainment industries. There was something earthy and real about Miles Rivera underneath the tailored garments, something that compelled her to get closer to all those masculine, rough edges.

  “And I’m representing my brand as well. It’s no less a work obligation for me.”

  “Right.” He shook his head, an amused smile playing at his lips, his blue eyes darkening a few shades. “More power to you for creating a brand that revolves around long-wearing lipstick and international fashion shows.”

  This view of her work seemed so unnecessarily dismissive that she had to wonder if he took potshots as a way to pay her back for invading his office. She couldn’t imagine how he could rationalize his behavior any other way, but she forced herself to keep her cool in spite of his obvious desire to get a rise from her.

  “I’m surprised a man of your business acumen would hold views so narrow-minded and superficial.” She shrugged with deliberate carelessness, though she couldn’t stop herself from glaring daggers at him. Or taking another step closer to hammer home her point. “Especially since I’m sure you recognize that work like mine requires me to be a one-woman content creator, marketing manager, finance director and admin. Not to mention committing endless hours to build a brand you write off as fluff.”

  Maybe what she’d said resonated for him, because the condescension in his expression gave way to something else. Something hotter and more complex. At the same moment, she realized that she’d arrived a foot away from him. Closer than she’d meant to come.

  She couldn’t have said which was more unnerving: the sudden lifting of a mental barrier between them that made Miles Rivera seem more human, or her physical proximity to a man who...stirred something inside her. Good or bad, she couldn’t say, but she most definitely didn’t want to deal with magnified emotions right now. Let alone the sudden burst of heat she felt just being near him.

  Telling herself the jittery feelings were a combination of justified anger and residual anxiety from her snooping mission, Chiara reached for her silver purse on the desk. Her hand came close to his thigh for an instant before she snatched up the handbag.

  She didn’t look back as she stalked out the office door.

  * * *

  Still shaken by his unexpected encounter with Chiara Campagna, Miles made a dismal effort to mingle with his guests despite the loud music, the crowd that struck him as too young and entitled, and the text messages from the other Mesa Falls Ranch owners that kept distracting him. Trapped in his oversize great room that took “open concept” to a new level of monstrosity, he leaned against the curved granite-topped cabinetry that provided a low boundary between the dining area and seating around a stone fireplace that took up one entire wall. Open trusswork in the cathedral ceilings added to the sense of space, while the hardwood floor made for easy dancing as the crowd enjoyed the selections of the DJ set up near the open staircase.

  Miles nodded absently at whatever the blonde pop singer standing next to him was saying about her reluctance to go back on tour, his thoughts preoccupied by another woman.

  A certain raven-haired social media star who seemed to captivate every man in the room.

  Miles’s gaze followed Chiara as she posed for a photo with two members of a boy band in front of a wall of red flowers brought into the great room for the party. He couldn’t take his eyes off her feminine curves draped in that outrageous liquid silver dress she wore. Hugged between the two young men, her gown reflected the flashes of multiple camera phones as several other guests took surreptitious photos. And while the guys around her only touched her in polite and socially acceptable ways, Miles still fought an urge to wrest her away from them. A ludicrous reaction, and totally out of character for him.

  Then again, everything about his reaction to the wildly sexy Chiara was out of character. Since when was he the kind of guy to disparage what someone else did for a living? He’d regretted his flippant dismissal of her work as soon as he’d said the words, recognizing them as a defense mechanism he had no business articulating. There was something about her blatant appeal that slid past his reserve. The woman was like fingernails down his back, inciting response. Desire, yes. But there was more to it than that. He didn’t trust the femme fatale face she presented to the world, or the way she used her femininity in an almost mercenary way to build her name. She reminded him of a woman from his past that he’d rather forget. But that wasn’t fair, since Chiara wasn’t Brian
na. Without a doubt, he owed Chiara an apology before she left tonight.

  Even though she’d definitely been on his computer when he’d entered his office earlier. He’d seen the blue glow of the screen reflected on her face before she’d scrambled to shut it down.

  “How do you know Chiara Campagna?” the woman beside him asked, inclining her head so he could hear her over the music.

  He hadn’t been following the conversation, but Chiara’s name snagged his focus, and he tore his gaze away from the beauty influencer who’d become a household name to stare down at the earnest young pop singer beside him.

  He was only on site at Mesa Falls Ranch to oversee things for the owners for a few weeks. His real life back at Rivera Ranch in central California never brought him into contact with the kind of people on the guest list tonight, but the purpose of this party—to promote the green ranching mission of Mesa Falls by spreading the word among celebrities who could use their platforms to highlight the environmental effort—was a far cry from the routine cattle raising and grain production he was used to. Just like his modern marvel of a home in Mesa Falls bore little resemblance to the historic Spanish-style main house on Rivera Ranch.

  “I don’t know her at all,” Miles returned after a moment. He tried to remember the pop singer’s name. She had a powerful voice despite her petite size, her latest single landing in the top ten according to the notes the ranch’s publicist had given him about the guests. “But I assume she cares about Mesa Falls’s environmental mission. No doubt she has a powerful social media platform that could help our outreach.”

  The singer laughed as she lifted her phone to take a picture of her own, framing Chiara and the two boy band members in her view screen. “Is that why we’re all here tonight? Because of the environment?”

  Frowning, he remembered the real reason for this particular party. While the green ranching practices they used were touted every time they hosted an event, tonight’s party had a more important agenda. Public interest in Mesa Falls had spiked since the revelations that the owners’ high school teacher and friend, Alonzo Salazar, had been the author behind the career-ending tell-all Hollywood Newlyweds. In fact, the news story broke at a gala here over Christmas. It had also been revealed that Alonzo had spent a lot of time at Mesa Falls before his death, his association with the ranch owners drawing speculation about his involvement with the business.

  Tonight, the partners hoped to put an end to the rumors and tabloid interest by revealing the profits from Hollywood Newlyweds had gone toward Alonzo Salazar’s humanitarian work around the globe. They’d hoped the announcement would put an end to the media interest in the Mesa Falls owners and discourage newshounds from showing up at the ranch. There’d been a coordinated press release of the news at the start of the party, a toast to the clearing of Alonzo’s good name early in the evening, and a media room had been set up off the foyer with information about Alonzo’s charitable efforts for reporters.

  But there was something the owners weren’t saying. While it was true a share of the book profits had benefited a lot of well-deserving people, a larger portion had gone to a secret beneficiary, and no one could figure out why.

  “So the threat of global warming didn’t bring you here tonight,” Miles responded with a self-deprecating smile, trying to get back on track in his host duties. He watched as Chiara left behind the band members for one of the Mesa Falls partners—game developer Alec Jacobsen—who wanted a photo with her. “What did? A need to escape to Montana for a long weekend?”

  He ground his teeth together at the friendly way Alec placed his hand on the small of Chiara’s back. Miles remembered the generous cutout in her dress that left her completely bare in that spot. Her hair shimmered in the overhead lights as she brushed the long waves over one shoulder.

  “Honestly? I hoped to meet Chiara,” the singer gushed enthusiastically. “Will you excuse me? Maybe I can get a photo with her, too.”

  Miles gladly released her from the conversation, chagrined to learn that his companion had been as preoccupied with Chiara as he was. What must life be like for the influencer, who’d achieved a different level of fame from the rest of the crowd—all people who were highly accomplished in their own right?

  Pulling out his phone, Miles checked to see if his friend and fellow ranch owner, Gage Striker, had responded to a text he’d sent an hour ago. Gage should have been at the party long ago.

  Miles had sent him a text earlier:

  How well do you know Chiara Campagna? Found her in my study and I would swear she was riffling through my notes. Looking for something.

  Gage had finally answered:

  Astrid and Jonah have known her forever. She’s cool.

  Miles knew fellow partner Jonah Norlander had made an early exit from the party with his wife, Astrid, so Miles would have to wait to check with him. Shoving the phone back in the pocket of his tuxedo, Miles bided his time until he could speak to Chiara again. He would apologize, first and foremost. But then, he needed to learn more about her.

  Because she hadn’t just been snooping around his computer in his office earlier. She’d been there on a mission. And she hadn’t covered her trail when she’d rushed to close down his screen.

  Somehow, Chiara Campagna knew about Zach. And Miles wasn’t letting her leave Mesa Falls until he figured out how.

  Copyright © 2021 by Joanne Rock

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  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given

  to Charlene Sands for her contribution to the

  Texas Cattleman’s Club: Rags to Riches miniseries.

  ISBN-13: 9781488070341

  One Night in Texas

  Copyright © 2021 by Harlequin Books S.A.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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