California Royale

by Deborah Smith

  “I could eat you up,” he whispered, his breath tickling her. “I knew that the minute we met. And I think you’d like for me to try.”

  Shea realized abruptly that she was trembling and that her whole body felt flushed and limp. “What I’d like,” she whispered back, “and what would be right, are two different things. You and I are at odds over the estate. And you’re my employer.”

  He trailed slow kisses down her spine and spoke in between them. “What happens … to Estate Mendocino … has nothing to do … with what fate has planned for you and … me.”

  Shea rolled over onto her back, intending to say that he was wrong, that the estate was her pride and joy—no, more than that, it was her sanctuary, the embodiment of the daydreams that had seen her through so many rough years as a youngster. But she gazed up at him and forgot every word. She had seen passion in men’s eyes before but never anything as compelling and tender as the look in his. Shea dimly heard herself make a small, encouraging sound.

  He shivered visibly and slipped his arms under her. Cradling her, he never stopped looking into her eyes, and the look tore her reserve apart. Shea cupped her hands around his face and pulled him to her. This time need mingled with sweetness, and his mouth was open and intimate when she lifted hers to it. Their tongues touched and explored. His arms tightened around her, and her fingers sank deeply into his thick black hair.

  “We’re not going to make love,” he whispered. “Not tonight, anyway.”

  Breathing hard, Shea murmured in a puzzled tone, “You are the most confusing man.”

  He dropped kisses across her face and down one side of her neck. “I just want you to stop wondering how far you can let yourself go. I just want you to relax and enjoy being touched by me. Lord, Shea, I love kissing you and touching you. That’s harmless enough, isn’t it, querida?”

  “Harmless,” she murmured as his mouth seared a trail of kisses across her throat. Oh, this sweet, stubborn man made her want to cry for all the pleasure she’d never known until this moment. Was all the joy in the world, all the joy she’d waited for, embodied in Duke Araiza? He made it so easy to be wild, and he understood her need for caution even better than she understood it herself.

  He slipped his hands up her back and hooked his fingers into the bodice of her strapless sundress. For one long moment he searched her eyes, seeing the uncertainty there but also the desire. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he assured her. “I swear. You’re in control.”

  “Harmless,” she murmured again. She was out of control and enjoying every minute of it. “A little more would be … harmless.”

  Smiling tenderly, he pulled her bodice down below her breasts. Shea watched, mesmerized by the exquisitely happy look that came over his face as he studied her nakedness.

  “I believe in quality, not quantity,” she noted in a droll tone.

  Duke heard the tentative, vulnerable undercurrent she tried to hide. His gaze rose to hers. “Querida, your quality will never go unnoticed by me.”

  Then he ducked his head and began kissing her breasts fervently, growling as he did. His actions were so comical and yet so sensual that Shea laughed even as her body arched upward in response. This man was a connoisseur who made her feel precious.

  “Sometime soon I’m going to kiss the rest of your body this way,” he told her huskily. “You’re going to want me the way I want you,” he added just before his lips closed over one pink nipple.

  “I want you,” she said, “but there’s so much to consider.”

  He continued to drive her delightfully frantic with his skillful attention. His hands stroked her hips and thighs over the sundress, then dipped under her to raise her torso to his mouth once more.

  “I’ll give you time, querida,” he promised. “But never forget that sometimes a man and a woman look at each other and see the future. That’s what we see.”

  He sat up and pulled her with him, holding her tight in his arms as he whispered her name and kissed her forehead. After a moment of indecision she pushed him away gently.

  “No more,” Shea begged. “The future frightens me. You’re only going to be here a few days.…”

  “And those things don’t matter. What matters is that we’ve got a pull between us, a need to connect, like the sky and the ground during a thunderstorm.”

  “Any relationship we’d have would be about that calm.”

  “Who needs calm? Why should everything be calm?”

  “I like calm.”

  “Then let’s try it.” He let go of her with a slowness that showed how reluctant he was. Duke carefully pulled her bodice back into place. “Lay back on the pillows. Close your eyes.”

  Shea did as he asked. The pillows were soft and textured under her head, and she could smell the pleasant musk of Duke’s skin as his fingertips began to stroke her forehead. He touched her lightly, drawing his fingers back and forth, the contact like the caress of a tantalizing breeze.

  “I think you have the prettiest face,” he said eventually. “Whoops. Close those eyes. Don’t stare at me like a rope-shy mare. There. That’s right. Close ’em. Yeah, smile a little. I like your smile. I’m gonna call you Sophia.”

  “Why?” Shea murmured languidly.

  “You’re got a mouth like Sophia Loren. Smooth. Ripe.”

  “Sounds like a piece of fruit.”

  “Sssh. You don’t know how to let a man enjoy you.”

  “I’ve been on my own a long time. Independent, self-sufficient, all that.”

  “Me too. You don’t have to give up those things to fall in love, do you? Hey! Close those eyes! Close ’em! I did it again. I said too much.”

  Her eyes shut but her thoughts racing, Shea asked, “Love?”

  “Love at first sight, as far as I’m concerned.”

  It was too much. She’d never felt loved in her entire life, and the idea that this remarkable man was sincere caused her to open her eyes wide. Duke cupped her chin in one hand, leaned forward, and kissed her mouth slowly, possessively, before he settled back and smiled at her. “I move fast, I know.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” The worst thing was that. Shea admitted silently, she was thrilled by what he’d said. She’d known Duke Araiza two days, he was here to look over with the estate and perhaps change it, he was a total outlaw, and yet she felt giddy because deep down she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone in her life. Everything was out of control, and her serenity was shot to hell.

  “Love is a dangerous word, amigo,” she said in a taut, sad voice. “And one that I’m not very comfortable with.”

  “You will be,” he promised.

  “Where are the tequila and the candy bars?” she demanded. “I have to go. I … where are they?”

  Frowning at her turbulent emotions Duke got up and went to a cabinet in the cottage’s minikitchen. He retrieved a brown paper bag and brought it to her. Shea got up and took it, giving him a formal little nod of thanks as she did.

  “I suppose it would do me no good to ask which member of my staff you’re bribing to bring you this stuff,” she told him.

  “That’s right. It’s wonderful being the owner. People let me have almost anything I want.”

  “I suppose you’re going to get a new supply tomorrow?”

  He gave her a challenging, teasing look. “Could be. Guess you’ll have to come back tomorrow night and check for it.”

  Shea squinted at him and spoke a few short words in Spanish.

  “You must have Latin blood in you,” he countered. “Someday I want to find out where you learned to sass people like that.”

  “Adios,” she muttered.

  He opened the door and Shea walked out without looking back. She felt as if she’d been dipped in hot gold and was only now being allowed to cool.

  “Oh, querida, by the way,” he called, “I’ll be here for more than a few days. I’ve decided to stay for two weeks.” He’d just made that decision, but he wasn’t going to tell her so.
She was beginning to relax, and all he needed was time.

  Four

  “This dining room gives me heartburn,” Chip Greeson said to Duke as he shuttled a spoonful of whole-grain cereal and soy milk from a china bowl to his mouth. “Doesn’t it remind you of Marie Antoinette’s damned boudoir or something?”

  Duke eyed the portly, white-haired game-show host affectionately. “Can’t say,” Duke told him drolly. “Never made acquaintance with that lady’s boudoir.”

  “Well, hell, me neither,” Chip answered with a grunt. “But you know what I mean. Satin drapes on the walls, prissy little chairs with bowed legs, lots of flowers. Always feels damned funny to sit here in my jogging suit.”

  Duke glanced down at his own outfit, well-worn gray sweatpants and a blue T-shirt with Santa Anita—Race Track of Champions printed on the chest. He grinned at Chip. “Pal, at least your suit matches,” he noted. “And it’s purple, which seems to be the ‘in’ color around here.”

  “Mauve, friend, not purple. You’ve got to use Beverly Hills lingo in this joint. Mauve. Yeah, all the designers are pushing mauve this spring, my wife says. She bought this for me. Told me not to come home until it’s baggy.” He laughed. “Good thing she was kidding.”

  “Good morning. May Dan and I join you?”

  Glenda Farrar, wearing a mauve jogging suit with rhinestone butterflies appliquéd on the padded shoulders, beamed down at Duke. He stood up politely and Chip followed. “Why, certainly,” Duke said. He glanced at Chip, and they shared a secret look of amusement. More mauve. Dan Steinberg was a tall, sternly handsome man with gray wings in his hair. Duke noted that his jogging suit was white. Maybe Steinberg’s a renegade, he decided wryly.

  After Steinberg introduced himself, he grasped Duke’s outstretched hand. They shook, and Duke noted that the man had a limp, soft grip. Bad sign, Duke thought. Hope he’s worth Glenda’s efforts.

  Everyone sat down, and a waiter hurried over to take the newcomers’ breakfast orders. As he left, Duke caught Glenda Farrar looking at him. It’s working, the matronly brunet mouthed quickly, nudging her eyebrows in Steinberg’s direction. Thank you.

  Duke bit back a smile and winked at her. Sweet little doll, he thought for perhaps the hundreth time. He and she had struck up a conversation by the pool yesterday, and he’d given her some advice on how to catch Steinberg’s attention. She’d looked aghast at some of his suggestions, but she’d obviously geared up her courage and used them. Duke had promised to give her some more pointers today.

  “Quit stalling and eat your cereal, Mr. Araiza,” a jovial female voice ordered over his left shoulder. “It contains all the basic grains.”

  The scent of Shea’s perfume tantalized him even before he swiveled his head. She looked down at him and his uneaten cereal with a sly expression of satisfaction. She knows I hate this stuff, he noted as he said, “Grain is for horses.”

  “Hmmm. Don’t stand up,” she instructed as he and the other two men started to their feet. “I can’t stay very long.” For one instant her slender, strong hand rested on Duke’s shoulder, urging him to remain seated. He settled back in his chair and wondered how her touch could be so affecting on a neutral area like his shoulder. He’d stayed away from her the past two days, letting her mull over what had happened between them in his cottage. Staying away had done nothing but make him crave the sight of her, the scent, the sound of her voice.

  “So you don’t like the cereal,” Shea noted. “Can I tell the waiter to bring you some poached quail eggs instead?” Her eyes beamed with challenge meant only for him to see.

  “Nope. I like my eggs scrambled.”

  “I can arrange that.”

  Duke wanted to shoot back a risqué remark, but he squelched the urge. “Thanks,” he answered primly. He swept a gaze over her short linen dress and matching white jacket. Red costume jewelry accented the outfit, and her hair was smoothed back in a neat French braid with a red bow at the back. She looked fantastic, like an ad from Vogue.

  “You look too clean,” he told her with a mischievous smile. “Like a … yeah, like a palomino all fixed up to go in the show ring. How can you stay so perfect and get any work done, Palomino?”

  “You’ll be happy to know that I’ll be performing real work this afternoon,” she answered. “One of our regular massage therapists had to fly home because her mother’s sick, so I’m taking her clients.”

  “Which therapist?” Chip Greeson asked.

  “Marly.”

  “Damn,” Chip blurted. “She’s my favorite, and I had a two-thirty appointment. Whoops. Sorry, Shea, I’m sure you’re wonderful too.”

  Shea held up her hands. “Every finger full of poetry,” she deadpanned. She looked down at Duke again, and he met her self-assured violet eyes with a wink.

  “Well, have a good breakfast, everyone. Mr. Araiza, your cereal is getting soggy. Shall I have your waiter bring a fresh bowl?”

  “Nope. I like whole-grain mush.”

  Her mouth quirking in an involuntary smile, she glided away. Duke watched her as she moved among the tables in the large room, smiling, greeting other diners. His body hardened at the thought of the taut curves and fragrant skin concealed by her dress jacket. Hell, the outfit made her sexier; it added to a mystique that he couldn’t quite analyze. She carried herself regally, and Duke decided that the next palomino filly born on his ranch would be named Lady Shea in her honor. After she disappeared through a scalloped archway, he turned toward Chip.

  “I’ll trade you five candy bars for your massage appointment this afternoon,” Duke told him.

  A huge smile spread over Chip’s face. “It’s a deal.”

  The afternoon schedule for mud baths and massages was light; many of the guests were attending a Neiman Marcus fashion show in the estate’s main ballroom. Shea finished a massage on Dame Lydia McCall, an aging British character actress. Dame Lydia, her stately and rather large body swaddled in a white guest robe, her high-pitched voice breaking into yawns even as she tried to tell Shea one more old show-girl story, padded into a small solarium and lay down on a lounge chair for a nap.

  The other two massage therapists were busy with their clients, so Shea sat down in the reception area and idly waited for Chip Greeson to arrive. She was thumbing through a magazine and thinking about Duke Araiza when Duke’s deep, melodic voice interrupted her.

  “Massage me. Cover me in mud. I surrender.” He stood in the doorway, arms outstretched, a martyred expression on his face.

  Shea inhaled in soft, silent appreciation. Would the mere sight of him always make her feel as if she were floating? “Pardon me,” she said after a moment, “but I take no prisoners without appointments.”

  “I have one. I bartered for it. Chip Greeson’s.”

  She stood, eyeing him ruefully. Somehow she wasn’t the least bit surprised at this turn of events. “And what did you—”

  “Gold. Emeralds. Candy bars. Chip couldn’t resist.” Duke lowered his arms and hooked his thumbs over the elastic top of his sweatpants. He ambled toward her, his stride relaxed, the clingy pants revealing a universe of masculine delights. His eyes held a challenge. “I’ve been letting you simmer for the past two days. I had to force myself to leave you alone, and it’s made me tense. I need a mud bath and massage. So what do I do first?”

  Shea silently admitted that she was glad to see him, but she was through letting him have the upper hand. Duke Araiza would get very special treatment today. A little mild revenge would make her feel more in control.

  “First you go into the men’s locker room and take off all your clothes,” she told him in a polite, serious tone. Shea handed him a key to one of the lockers. “You’ll find a pair of one-size-fits-all shorts in your locker. You can wear those until I get you covered with mud, then pull them off. Follow the signs to mud room D. I’ll be waiting there.”

  “Nice,” he said, tipping his head toward her. She wore white sneakers, tailored white shorts, and a green golf shirt wit
h a small emblem of the estate’s coat of arms on the breast pocket. His eyes wandered over her. “I haven’t really seen your legs all the way up before. I thought running only produced such wonderful results in horses.”

  “Thanks. I like being compared to a horse.”

  “Great fetlocks. Great knees. Great—”

  “Your mud bath is waiting, sir.”

  Smiling, he strode off to the men’s locker room. Shea ran to mud room D, where everything had been made ready for Chip Greeson. The room was soothingly warm, and brass wall sconces provided low, relaxed lighting, A white claw-footed tub, half-filled with creamy, mineral-rich mud, sat in the middle of the tiled floor. Six copper pails packed with mud sat beside the tub.

  Shea stood there, waiting, hoping that she looked calmer than she felt. A minute later Duke appeared in the doorway. Her heart crept up under her collarbones and stayed there. Where were his shorts?

  He had wrapped a small white towel around his hips, and it barely covered him. The ends didn’t really meet; Duke held them together with one hand over his hip. The towel parted over his outstretched leg, revealing his thigh all the way to the hipbone.

  “There weren’t any shorts in my locker,” he said solemnly. “I’m not lying. Really.”

  Shea didn’t know how she managed to remain still and look undisturbed, but she credited the discipline to years of athletic pursuits. If she could push herself to run a fast mile, then she could deal calmly with Duke Araiza even though he was only wearing a hand towel.

  “Get in the tub, please,” she instructed.

  He walked across the room slowly, with the kind of confident bearing that told her he’d never been shy about his body. Shea looked straight at him, but refused to let her eyes wander into the towel’s vicinity. If anything moved underneath it and she saw it move, and Duke saw her see it move … the mood would definitely become more dangerous. She’d already gotten more danger than she’d bargained for.