by Anna Jeffrey
He also set me up as the female showpiece at this event or that. I had done car shows, boat shows, RV shows, garden shows and multiple others. I had been a hostess at a few gun shows and museum openings, even a few airplane manufacturer’s events. I had a listing in the Yellow Pages. “Have cocktail dress, will travel” was my motto. I didn’t intend to jeopardize any of those opportunities by gaining weight.
“The chocolate fountain isn’t for me, silly,” I told Gabe. “Guests love it. But I did eat one tiny strawberry dipped in chocolate. I couldn’t resist.”
Before Gabe and I could take our conversation further, Drake Lockhart appeared in the wide plate-glass entry and we went on alert. With him was a man who caused me to stand and stare. Drake himself was handsome enough, but his companion was utterly stunning even from a distance.
The two of them sauntered toward the back of the lobby. From Drake’s hand gestures and body language, I could tell he was showing off the building. I had already seen as much of the building as I needed to, so I let my eyes feast on the stranger’s long lean body and the way his butt flexed in tight-fitting jeans. Yum. So hot.
He was roughly the same height as Drake, say six-one or two. Taller than I in my high heels. His loose-hipped walk, the set of his wide shoulders, the relaxed way he spoke to Drake, a man who intimidated many, all revealed that imitable male confidence that made good sense disengage from my brain.
Knowing they would eventually come to our table, I waited expectantly, hyperaware of my posture, my clothing, even the placement of my feet.
Heel touching instep, an inner voice reminded me. The pageant pose that was the most flattering,
They turned our way and I saw the stranger more clearly. His dress was similar to Drake’s, who, thanks to a personal shopper, was always well put together. Starched and creased denim hugged his thighs. The hems of his jeans gathered just right over the shafts of cowboy boots. He wore a silver Western-style belt buckle and a long-sleeve button-down shirt the color of sunlight. It fit him so perfectly it could only be custom-made.
That package was more apt to catch my attention than a Brooks Brothers suit. Growing up around cowboys, I recognized a real one when I saw him. If this stranger wasn’t one, he certainly knew how to dress like one.
Gabe’s voice projected across the lobby as he strode toward them. “Drake. My man.”
I watched as Drake introduced Gabe and the stranger, then they shook hands. The three of them talked. All that clearly came into my hearing range were deep huh-huh-huhs as they laughed together. Man-talk, fueled by testosterone. No women allowed. Typical alpha Type-As, all three of them.
I knew the type from first-hand experience. Not only was I unmercifully attracted to it, I’d had an on and off relationship with it for two years. I had even thought I wanted a permanent attachment until I made a stark discovery: I was committed, but my intended was still dating. I called that period of my life the second time I was lost in an asylum.
The trio broke apart and came to our table continuing their conversation about the Dallas Cowboys’ loss last Sunday. Their absorption with football gave me a chance to study the Adonis who had tripped most of my triggers. He had classic facial features—chiseled nose, lean cheeks and square jaws. A sculptor’s dream. The irises of his eyes were so brown they were almost black and they were framed by lashes so thick and black they looked as if he were wearing mascara.
His dark brown hair touched his collar. It was thick with a bit of a curl that appeared to be controlled by a good cut. Slightly sun-streaked, it looked clean and natural and un-saturated with hair product. You could run your fingers through it without worrying about damaging it. He was sooo good-looking.
Greek god, my inner voice said.
I couldn’t stop staring, though I tried to be subtle.
All at once, he looked directly at me with a gaze so penetrating I felt as if he could see all the way through my clothing and the world tilted. An arcane force I couldn’t identify, much less describe, captured me. Drake Lockhart had a presence that commanded a room, but this stranger exuded even more powerful vibes. Though I had never seen him before, I knew him. Lead, follow or get out of my way. That trope scrolled through my mind and stuck. I was a total sucker for men like him.
As if all of that wasn’t enough to set off pandemonium within me, some instinct ingrained in my very core recognized a pure sexual energy rolling off him. A tingle darted through my sex and I shifted my feet to combat it. I had never been so carnally attracted to a man so instantly.
I had always thought it weird how one guy caused your hormones to riot and others didn’t. Gabe, for instance. Good-looking and smart. I was sure he had a brilliant future. By any girl’s standards, he was a good catch, but nothing about him roused my hormones or made a deep place low in my belly tighten as it was doing now.
The stranger was touched by me, too. I saw a flicker in those obsidian eyes. It had lasted for no more than a millisecond, but I was sure I wasn’t mistaken. The very thought that he might be attracted to me caused heat to radiate through my system and warm even my cheeks.
Stop it! I was not ready for this hormonal assault. I had simplified my life. I had given up men and sex. At least until I got my feet back under me after Donald Sloan. The man had used me, tried to change me and in the end, cheated on me.
I quickly looked down at the fliers stacked on the table.
Chapter 2
If Drake noticed the sizzle between his friend and me, I couldn’t tell. “Great party last night,” he said to me. “My wife wants me to tell you she envied your dress.”
I snapped out of the daze this stranger had put me in. My dress was enviable. Strategically adorned with crystal beads, it was a sleek black little number any fashion-conscious woman would adore. I had modeled it last year in Saks’ Christmas show. After I gushed over it, the department store had given it to me instead of money.
I gave a silly titter. “Be sure to tell her I said thanks.”
Drake turned to the stranger. “Tack, I need to talk to the concierge for a minute. This is Miranda March. She’s assisting in the open house today. She’ll escort you upstairs and show you around.” He turned back to me. “Miranda, this is Harvey Tackett. He lives in Midland, but he needs a small pad to use when he’s in the Metroplex on business.”
Midland, Texas. Oil. And money.
“Ah, Midland,” I managed to say with a smile, although my mouth had gone so dry my tongue felt thick. Willing my right hand not to tremble, I offered it.
Mr. Tackett’s clearly defined lips eased into a hint of a smile that showed the edges of straight white teeth. His larger hand swallowed mine and a jolt vibrated my entire system.
“Tack Tackett,” he said, with emphasis on “Tack,” those dark chocolate eyes locked on my face. “My friends call me Tack.”
His voice was deep, soft and raspy with only a hint of a Texas twang. The husky sound flowed through me like warm honey and again I thought of sex. I even felt a dampness in my panties. Good Grief! This was crazy.
Our gazes held and that sexual energy emanating from him grabbed me again. My thoughts scattered into a jumble that made my head swim for a few seconds. I mentally shook off the light-headedness. He doesn’t like his first name. That was my first coherent thought after I recovered. Now I was disgusted with myself for reacting as if I were a teenybopper meeting Elvis.
“Be sure to show him the model on seventeen,” Drake was saying. “Then go on up to the larger units on nineteen and twenty, okay?”
Being one of Drake’s smaller developments, Skyline had only twenty floors. The smaller, more affordable units were below the sixteenth floor, “affordable” being a relative term. The “affordable” price in Skyline started at around two million. The units above the sixteenth floor, on the other hand, were all priced well past that. Just how far past was determined by the square footage and if a buyer requested “extras” beyond the ones that were already there. Obviously, Mr. Tack Tack
ett was no bargain shopper.
“Of course,” I answered.
Drake had said “small” pad, but none of the units he suggested were small. I knew he had a big ego and I suspected he just wanted to show off his latest project to his friend. All I had to do was not let myself become distracted by a pretty face. After all, Mr. Tackett was just another guy, right? Better looking than most, but still, just another guy. Though he punched my hot buttons, he was probably no better than any man I knew or had known and he might be even worse.
Exactly, my inner voice agreed. Good-looking men are never all they’re cracked up to be.
“Take notes, Tack. We’ll talk later.” Drake then turned to me. “Tack’s a good friend of mine, Miranda, so take good care of him.”
Ooh, yeah. With pleasure, that pesky inner voice chimed in.
Leaving Mr. Tackett in my care, Drake walked toward the concierge’s office. I plucked a flier off the stack and passed it to my charge with a smile. “Ready?”
“When you are.”
“Then follow me.” I pulled my tablet from my bag and started for the elevators.
Tack Tackett’s presence filled the small elevator car. Acute awareness of his size and masculinity had my heart tapping out a steady pitty-pat. When had I ever been in close quarters with a sexier guy?
Keep your cool and stay focused, my inner voice cautioned me.
Mr. Tackett’s scent teased my nose. Clean, like fresh air and sun-dried laundry. Too subtle for cologne. Whatever it was, I loved it. I hadn’t noticed it when he was standing with Drake and Gabe, both of whom wore exotic colognes.
The pricier units above the sixteenth floor were accessed only by a homeowner’s key in a key slot in the control panel inside the elevators. I fumbled with the keys on the key ring, finally identified the master and plugged it in.
As the elevator car stirred into motion, I stepped back and stood against the sidewall. Mr. Tackett leaned against the back wall, his arms spread, his hands braced on the handrails. My gaze landed on his short well-kept nails and a heavy college ring. Texas A&M. An Aggie. I should have known. He fit the stereotype.
While his clothing had caught my attention in the beginning, one of his assets that had me tongue-tied and my hands sweating was his lean, flat-bellied body. From the corner of my eye, I homed in on his torso. Not an ounce of flab anywhere.
I knew the hours and discipline physical fitness required. I jogged or fast-walked several days a week, did yoga and cross fit when I could and sometimes I went to the gym and worked out with weights. I was in good shape. I was naturally drawn to men who were as fit as I was.
I simply couldn’t keep from furtively ogling Mr. Tackett. My greedy eyes strayed from his midsection to his fly and that sexy little bump at the bottom of his zipper. From out of nowhere, curiosity sneaked up on me. Was he well-endowed?
Absolutely, that inner voice said inside my head.
I hadn’t seen a real live naked man since Donald Sloan and I parted. I hadn’t even seen pictures. I mentally undressed Mr. Tackett, imagined him with a rearing erection.
Careful. You’re losing focus, that inner voice cautioned me.
Redirecting my attention, I searched for words to make conversation. “In town for long?”
Lame, pathetic and unoriginal, the voice complained.
“Just overnight.”
“Great weather,” I said.
“Yep.”
Oh, my God. You’re getting worse, that inner voice grumbled.
Mentally, I rolled my eyes.
We landed on the seventeenth floor and I led the way toward the first unit Drake had asked me to show and called up my routine pitch. “Several different models are available. All of them provide incomparable views. All offer the utmost privacy and security.”
I omitted saying that all were finished out with what I considered to be obscene luxury. I was well aware that to the wealthy, no luxury seemed obscene.
I pointed up at a line of dark glass domes on the ceiling. “Security cameras. They work twenty-four-seven. Anything that happens in the hallway will be on film.”
Mr. Tackett looked up. “And? How long before the cops show up?”
I stalled. “Um, I hate to admit it, but I don’t have an answer to that question. But I’m sure the concierge does.”
The unit we entered was a stylish two-bedroom, two-bath with traditional décor that I would love to own myself. It was perfect for a single woman. Or a single man. I leased a two-bedroom condo on the West Side. It wasn’t a dump, but comparing it to the one I was showing Mr. Tackett at the moment was like comparing my small SUV to a Bentley.
He paged through the flier I had given him as I continued to point out the amenities—within walking distance of downtown and all that the dynamic Fort Worth downtown offered, walls of windows that overlooked the Trinity River and/or the City of Fort Worth, silk or bamboo wallpapers of the buyer’s choice, beautiful nut-colored cabinetry and moldings throughout the living areas, floors of exotic hardwood and Italian marble, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera….
Having promoted everything from automobiles to rifles in various unconventional environments, I was as good at puffery as the next person, even when distracted. Thankfully, Skyline needed little puffery. The building and the condos sold themselves.
Mr. Tackett said little other than “Hm” and “I see.”
As we took in the living and dining room areas, he glanced up at the hardwood beams in the coffered ceiling, then down at the matching hardwood floors.
“Drake doesn’t like carpet,” I explained, hoping my voice wasn’t coming out shaky. “He installs it only in the bedrooms or by special request. You can choose carpet if you like, but it would be a crime to cover these beautiful floors.”
“I’ve got no objection to wood floors,” Mr. Tackett said.
Finally. A statement longer than three or four words.
“All of the units have artisan-type fireplaces with unique stone facades,” I continued and demonstrated how each could be ignited with the push of a button.
You are babbling like a loon, my inner voice said.
I know. I’m a nervous wreck, I replied. “Would you, um, like to see the kitchen?” I asked.
“Lead me to it.”
We walked through a gourmet cook’s kitchen. “This is every cook’s dream. Top line appliances. No lack of built-in conveniences.”
Mr. Tackett looked around, ran his long fingers along a glossy quartz countertop, “Nice. I cook sometimes.”
The voice in my head perked up. Ah-ha. No wife?
The thought brought a smile to my lips.
“You won’t have to unless you just want to. Once people start to move in, this will be a full-service building. A chef will be present downstairs twenty-four hours. You’ll be able to have food delivered any time. It’s part of the homeowners’ package.”
“Sweet. Housekeeping services?”
Find out if he has a wife, that ornery voice in my head persisted.
Why she was so demanding, I didn’t know. I wasn’t shopping for a husband or even a boyfriend. Well… Not diligently anyway.
“Laundry and dry cleaning if you want,” I answered. “But on housekeeping, you’re on your own. Or we can put you in touch with an agency.”
We reached the master bedroom with ceilings as lofty as the living room’s. Everything was off-white with splashes of pale beige and light blue. Earth and sky. Rustic oak furniture the color of driftwood blended with the color scheme. The air around us was redolent with a clean herbal scent. I barely resisted removing my shoes before walking onto the thick off-white carpet.
I had been in this room previously and a fantasy had already formed in my head—me moving around the room in a sexy white negligee, opening the blinds with the remote control and greeting the morning, gazing out over the river while I sipped at a cup of tea from a china cup that had been delivered by a personal maid. What would life be without a few fantasies?
; “I love this room,” I said. “It’s so…”—I scrunched my shoulders and gave him a smile—“so comfortable.”
Mr. Tackett looked over at the king-size bed that was covered by a pale blue and white duvet. He then swung his gaze to me and settled a look on me that was so dark and wicked it couldn’t be anything other than an invitation. A case of nerves attacked me more aggressively. This was becoming ridiculous. I scrabbled for words that sounded professional. “Um, the furniture is from a local retailer. It can be purchased with the unit if you like.”
One corner of his perfect mouth tipped up into a smile. Or was it a smirk? Could he read my mind? Did he know what he was doing to me? I quickly ducked my chin and made for the master bath, forcing him to follow me to keep up. “Every bedroom has en suite facilities,” I said. “And as you’ll see, the master is to die for.”
“En suite? That must be a real estate term.”
I had heard it from Gabe. “It means a bathroom connected to the bedroom.”
I walked around the huge room, yakking like a magpie. “The bathrooms in Drake’s developments look like something from a magazine. Furniture-like vanities, the most up-to-date fixtures. Large walk-in closets and dressing rooms.”
I gestured toward the closet area that adjoined one end of the bathroom and we walked into a space larger than my bedroom at my own condo. “As you can see, it has built-ins that match the other wood throughout the unit.”
“I see.” He spent several minutes studying the finely crafted cabinetry. I stood by, shifting from one foot to the other to relieve the ache that had begun in my feet and ankles. Designer platform shoes with four-inch heels might look fantastic, but they were not ideal footwear for standing and walking all day.
Soon, he finished his inspection of the closet and dressing room and returned his attention to me. “What’s next?”
I led him out to the bathing area at the opposite end of the room where a marble jet tub filled a corner. “Here, you have a jet tub large enough for two people to loll.”
