California Royale

by Deborah Smith

  When they both had a full hand, she nodded to him. “You first.”

  He laid his hand down. “Two pair.”

  Shea’s eyes gleamed as she put her own cards on the table. “Three of a kind. Fork over the shirt.”

  Duke took a deep swallow from the wine glass beside his cards, then quickly unbuttoned his short-sleeved print shirt and pulled it off.

  “I like this,” Shea told him as he handed it across the coffee table. “The tiny black stripe in it is the color of your hair and eyes. I’ll always think of you when I wear it. Gracias.”

  “De nada. Your shirt against my pants.”

  “Brave man.” Shea gloated until she put down a miserable pair in the next hand and he slapped down a straight.

  “Your shirt, if you please,” he ordered.

  Shea was suddenly very glad she’d worn a bra under the light T-shirt with its colorful, hand-painted design. Grimacing because the shirt was a favorite of hers, she pulled it over her head and tossed it to him. He held it to his nose and inhaled deeply.

  “Ah, roses and cream,” he murmured gleefully. “I’ll always think of you when I wipe my underarms with this.”

  “How wonderful.”

  They faced each other for an awkward moment, her eyes roving over his thickly haired chest, his taking in her rather demure white bra. “You shouldn’t be wearing that,” he complained solemnly. “It’s bad for your lungs—makes it harder for your chest to expand when you breathe. Why don’t you take if off?”

  “Your theory about underwear is interesting but unproven,” she told him in a wry tone.

  “Let’s prove it, then. Your bra against my jeans.”

  She shook her head. “My jeans against your jeans. I think my lungs are doing just fine for the time being.”

  “So be it. I’m a patient man.”

  When she laid down four of a kind in the next hand, Duke simply threw his cards on the table and groaned. “It’s your lucky night,” he grumbled, and began undoing his jeans.

  Shea swallowed with difficulty and sat in rigid silence, wondering just what brand of insanity she’d created. Duke kicked off his loafers, shoved his jeans to his ankles, then held up each bare foot as he finished the duty. He folded the jeans carefully and presented them to her. The coffee table hid his lower half.

  “Have you got anything left to bet?” she asked with more courage than she felt.

  He arched one brow at her. “Just my briefs.” He nodded toward her bra. “My briefs for your bra. You owe me one chance to win back my dignity. Come on, one more hand.”

  “I wasn’t aware that a bra equaled dignity.”

  Duke smiled languorously. “It’ll do.”

  Her heart pounding, she murmured a word of agreement. One more hand. He dealt the cards, and when Shea had all hers, she bent her forehead to the table and tossed them down. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “I don’t have anything.” She heard his low chuckle.

  “And I have three of a kind.”

  Shea raised her chin slightly and peered up at him. “What will you do with it? My bra?”

  “Put it under my pillow for good luck. Or hang it from the antenna of the Ferrari.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Give it here, querida. We’re both honorable people, and a bet’s a bet.”

  His eyes were too gentle for her to feel very embarrassed. Besides, Shea reminded herself, he’d seen her breasts before. She sat stiffly erect, trying to ignore the thudding of her pulse and the languid heat inside her. She had never before behaved this way. He seemed to sense her amazement.

  “It’s only a game,” he said softly. “You don’t have to go on. I don’t want you to resent me or feel awkward.”

  Shea absorbed his concern, and all her resistance went slack. Her maverick rancher was the dearest kind of man. “I want to do it,” she whispered. With one swift, quick movement. Shea reached behind her and undid the garment. Her chin up, she slipped the bra off and handed it to Duke with a formal little gesture of her hand.

  He grasped her hand and his prize, then bent his head and nibbled her fingers. “You lose with grace,” he said in a low, husky voice. “It’s a sign of great character.”

  Shea withdrew her hand and sat very still, looking straight at his dark eyes. They flickered down to her exposed breasts, and he smiled in such a tender way that she smiled back.

  “All my life,” he said softly, “I’ve been waiting for you. Rich girl, poor girl, debutante, waitress’s daughter—whatever you are or were doesn’t matter. I don’t care about those things. I love the way you talk back to me. I love your gracefulness. I love the way you care about this silly place and its guests. And I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Shea exhaled a long, trembling breath. “Oh, Alejandro, you make it very easy to forget. Today in the mud bath, it was so easy. And now.” She pulled a pillow from the couch behind her and, turning toward him again, lightly hugged it to her breasts. It made her feel less vulnerable.

  “Forget what?” he asked, puzzled.

  Her voice held sorrow, not rebuke. “That you own this estate and might decide to change everything about it. This place is my life. To you it’s just something you won in a game. Can’t you leave it as is and be happy with the money it makes for you?”

  After a moment his eyes darkened with regret, and he shook his head slowly. “No, querida, I can’t leave it alone. No more than I can leave you alone.”

  “It’s not the elegance that bothers you,” she said in a low, even tone, “it’s the serenity. You can’t believe that life is supposed to be calm and pleasant. You’re only happy when life is difficult and chaotic, because that’s the way you grew up.”

  “Life should include both good and bad qualities. One makes you appreciate the other.”

  Shea’s expression was grim. “I know all about difficulty and chaos. I grew up with them, the same way you did. That’s precisely why I do appreciate the estate. I left the bad things behind when I came here.”

  “You’ve run too far,” he said in a worried tone. “You’ve cut yourself off from the real world too much.”

  “This is the real world.”

  They gazed at each other wistfully, both realizing that they had reached an impasse. “I don’t want this argument to ruin what’s happening between you and me,” he told her quietly. “Whatever I do with the estate, I’ll take care of you.”

  Shea could feel her face flame red. She handed him his jeans and shirt. “I don’t need for anyone to take care of me. I’ve taken care of myself almost all my life.”

  He nodded, looking a little angry. “That’s the problem, querida. I understand, because I used to feel the same way. But it’s not a good way to lead a life. You have to learn that. You have to learn to accept as much pleasure as you give.”

  When she didn’t answer, he knew that she agreed with him, but was too proud to admit it. Duke dressed quickly, aware as he did that she watched him sadly, and that her wide violet eyes glistened with tears. Lithe and flexible for such a tall man, he crossed to her side of the table and knelt down beside her. He pressed her bra back into her hand. Then he met her eyes and the sorrow in them tore him up inside. Someday he would ease her beyond the superficial details of her past and learn what traumas had given her such sorrow and such strength.

  “Sleep well, querida,” he whispered. “We’ll figure all this out. Don’t worry.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him, her mouth giving friendship and apology and farewell. Duke inhaled the scent of her perfume mingled with her own body. He nearly groaned with frustration that was both sexual and emotional. If he didn’t go back to his own cottage immediately, he’d succumb to a dangerous impulse to just give her the estate, thereby removing the obstacle that kept her out of his arms. But the estate was too important to his future plans.

  He had faith that Shea—compassionate, tenderhearted Shea—would trust him when she learned what he’d decided to do.


  Five

  Three days later one of the estate’s staff members found Glenda Farrar sobbing uncontrollably in the Japanese garden. Shea listened anxiously as the staffer described the situation from a telephone in Glenda’s room. Glenda was in bed. She wouldn’t elaborate on her problems; besides being near hysterics she’d broken out in hives.

  The estate kept two physicians on duty to advise guests on specific health problems, and Shea accompanied one of them to Glenda’s room. After the doctor left, Shea sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand. Glenda looked small and round under the satin coverlet, and her face was still swollen from crying.

  “Glenda, I have to know if anyone on the staff did something to upset you,” Shea asked in a soothing tone.

  “Oh, no, honey, that’s not it at all!” Glenda’s lower lip trembled. “It’s p-personal. So … embarrassing.”

  Shea squeezed her hand. “Then consider me a friend you can trust. If I can help, tell me the problem.”

  “You can’t h-help. It concerns Dan Steinberg.” Her face crinkled while she held back new tears.

  Shea ached as she watched the matronly little woman. “You’ve had an argument with him?”

  “Oh, no! I never have arguments. They give me headaches. I … I’ve never been very assertive, you see. Not with my first husband, rest his soul, or my children, or even with the customers in my boutique. I have a manager who handles customer complaints.”

  “Then what …”

  “Oh, this is so humiliating.” She began to cry softly. “I attempted to seduce Dan last night, and he rejected me.”

  “Ah,” Shea said, trying in vain to picture Glenda trying to seduce someone.

  “I put on a negligee and my best robe, and I went to his room. I told him that a w-woman has to be frank about these things. He said that a man has to be f-frank too. He was so awfully polite. So kind.” She covered her face with both hands and sobbed. “I’ll never look him in the eyes again!”

  Shea tried to think of some positive aspect to the situation. “Glenda, for a nonassertive person you certainly did a very assertive thing by going to Dan’s room.”

  “I would never have had the courage if Duke hadn’t coached me.” Glenda wiped her face with a pink tissue embossed with the estate’s emblem, then sank back on her bed pillows and smiled wanly. “Duke advised me at length on the proper way to get a man’s attention.” She looked at Shea wretchedly. “I don’t think I can ever come back here. I might run into Dan again.”

  Shea felt slow fury begin to boil in her stomach. How could Duke have the callousness to send this delicate soul on such a traumatic mission?

  Shea struggled to keep her voice low and soothing. “Glenda, everyone on the staff adores you. You’re one of our favorite guests. Please promise me that you’ll wait until you feel better before you make any decisions about not returning here.”

  “I promise,” Glenda murmured. And then she began to cry again.

  Shea found Duke in his cottage. When he came to the door, he held a portable telephone in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. His black hair was ruffled, making him appear more like a maverick and less like a businessman. He wore loose khaki shorts and a white undershirt that was snug on his broad chest. The white of the shirt accented the honeyed bronze of his skin and seemed to match his teeth when he smiled at her. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses were perched just above the fine white scar on his nose.

  Shea stared at his glasses and Duke grinned. “I’m farsighted. Blind as a mole when it comes to reading.”

  Shea recaptured her composure. “I’d say the term is shortsighted,” she told him grimly, thinking of Glenda Farrar. “May I come in?”

  “Anytime, querida.” Frowning at her tone of voice, he stepped aside and let her enter. He went to the desk and deposited his papers, then removed his glasses. “Running a horse-racing operation is a helluva complicated thing these days,” he noted, gesturing toward the desk. “I feel like a corporate honcho sometimes. Good Lord, my attorneys have attorneys. That’s how complex things are. Shea, you really can’t blame me for missing another yoga class when I have so much work to do. I’m not here on vacation, you know.” He eyed her green silk skirt and matching blouse. “Exquisita.”

  “This has nothing to do with missed classes,” she told him tautly, crossing her arms over her chest. “This has to do with Glenda Farrar.” Shea briefly explained about Glenda’s misery. “How could you?” she finished angrily. “Couldn’t you see that she’s painfully shy? You can’t tell someone like that to march into a man’s bedroom and offer an invitation. The rejection has devastated her! She may never come back to the estate!”

  Shea noted that Duke’s expression had grown dark while she spoke. Now his eyes were cold with reproach. “She asked for my advice. I gave it. She can’t live in her fantasy world the rest of her life. No more than you can.”

  Shea clenched her fists together in frustration. “Her fantasy world is a safe place! Can’t you understand that some people don’t belong in your world? That it’s too harsh for them?”

  “For you?”

  Shea shut her eyes and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” She looked up at him again. “At least you could use more delicacy and diplomacy. Did you actually tell Glenda to seduce Steinberg?”

  Duke sighed, his face still tense and his eyes smoldering. “I told her to give it a shot, yes. And if Steinberg were worth a damn, he’d have taken her up on the offer. I suspect that the guy’s not straight.”

  “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

  “Intuition. And he has a lousy handshake. Like a balloon with all the air let out.”

  “Oh, Alejandro!” she said in exasperation. “That’s not a fair assessment.”

  “Do you want me to tell Glenda what I suspect about him? Maybe it’d make her feel better. I wouldn’t deliberately do anything to hurt her …”

  “No! Please leave counseling duties to someone on the staff. We try to cultivate a relaxed, happy attitude here. I can’t have my guests upset.”

  “They’re my guests too,” he reminded her. “And I don’t need anyone’s permission to talk to them.”

  Shea absorbed his remark. As the blunt emotional impact hit, her energy drained away. “Least of all mine,” she said in a low, deflated voice. Her shoulders slumped and she looked at him grimly. “I apologize.” The angry set of his face softened and he took a step toward her, one hand reaching out. But she straightened her shoulders and shook her head. “I really do apologize,” she said formally. “I keep forgetting that I’m your employee.”

  He winced. “I don’t want you to feel that way, dammit.”

  “But I am, you see. And I’m not going to forget it again.” She started toward the door.

  “Don’t walk out of here like that,” he ordered in Spanish. Shea stopped as he came to her and grasped her shoulders. “We communicate more clearly when we don’t speak English,” he explained tersely. “Spanish is more emotional.”

  “Sí,” she murmured, and in that language said to him, “Are you ordering me to stay as your employee? All right. If you’re ordering me to stay as your woman, then I’m leaving.”

  “I don’t need to talk to my employee,” he said wearily, and let go of her.

  She opened the door and left without another word.

  Shea and several of the estate’s staff members were drinking espresso after dinner at Jennie Cadishio’s Mendocino home. Shea listened in gloomy silence as Alex, the weight-room manager, talked about an encounter he’d had with Duke.

  “And so Mr. Araiza whispered to me, ‘I’ll bet you five bucks the big redheaded guy can’t bench press more than two-fifty.’ And I said, ‘Mr. Araiza, Shea would kill me if I bet on a guest’s performance in the weight room.’ Mr. Araiza laughed and nodded. ‘She’s a dangerous woman,’ he said, ‘but that’s the best kind.’ ”

  Everyone at the table smiled at her, and Shea stared down into her cup,
frowning. She’d never heard herself described as dangerous before, and neither had the staff.

  “He’s going to change everything, I’m afraid,” she told them quietly. Shea glanced up and found that somber expressions had replaced their smiles. Jennie was looking at her in the wide-eyed way only Jennie could manage—stoical and scared at the same time. “I’m just trying to prepare you,” Shea added. “I wish I could tell you what he has in mind, but I don’t know yet myself.”

  “Will he close down the estate?” Jennie asked glumly.

  “Somehow I don’t think so. But who can predict? He might turn the chateau into a ranch house and put a herd of horses on the golf course.”

  “At least we wouldn’t need to fertilize the greens anymore,” someone noted.

  Shea managed a smile. “I can tell you, amigos, that the new owner only appreciates tequila, women, and burritos.”

  “And we have to teach him to appreciate mineral water, celibacy, and alfalfa sprouts,” Jennie noted wryly. “I think we should give up.”

  As everyone chuckled, Shea simply nodded.

  The day’s events had left her tired and in a bad mood, so she excused herself soon after dinner and headed back toward the estate. She eased her small, well-kept Honda along Highway 1, the winding coast road. From time to time she glimpsed the Pacific to her left. In the moonlight it churned and broke against craggy cliffs and beachless shores strewn with boulders.

  The northern California coast was wild and vibrant, sometimes frightening but always exciting. Shea felt drawn to these wind-torn edges of the continent. She rubbed her forehead wearily and cursed under her breath. She was drawn toward the combination of rugged beauty and peril—the same qualities embodied in Alejandro Araiza.

  The car slipped through the night, leaving the ocean view for a few minutes to delve into deep forest. Shea passed a roadside inn tucked into the apron of woodland, and a distracted part of her brain registered the fact that she’d glimpsed a red Ferrari in the crowded parking lot. The inn had a small bar and dance floor, making it a favorite hangout among the locals.