The Tycoon

by Anna Jeffrey

  He pushed the door open and stood back for her to pass through. He smiled, too. “And here we are.”

  She stepped into a small entry with high ceilings and the scent of lemon oil. A few more steps away was a living and dining room and beyond that, a wide wall of glass. The windows looked black tonight, but she had seen pictures of the view in magazines.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked, lifting his overcoat from her shoulders. He turned away and hung it in a nearby closet.

  “No, thanks. I still have to drive home.”

  She laid her clutch on a massive entry table. Carved horses galloped around the tabletop’s thick edge. She unbuttoned her jacket. As he helped her out of it, a shiver passed over her shoulders.

  “If you’re still cold, I can find something warm for you to wear,” he said.

  “Really, I’m fine, now. Thanks for the use of your coat.”

  “What kind of a jerk would I be if I let a lady stand out in the cold and shiver?”

  She watched as he hung her jacket in the coat closet next to his overcoat. He removed his own jacket and hung it in the closet, allowing her to admire the ripple of his muscled shoulders beneath a shirt of soft-looking fabric.

  “How about some hot coffee?” His hand grazed her shoulder as he walked behind her. She almost jumped. Somehow, being twenty-eight floors off the ground, secured inside walls and doors accessible only by multiple key pads with codes, his touch seemed even more personal than his hand on the inside of her thigh in the car.

  Dummy, her cranky alter ego said inside her head. In the car, at least you could open the door and jump out, It was determined to try to make her walk the straight and narrow.

  “Coffee sounds good,” she told him.

  “Coming up.” He tilted his head toward a dark hallway and switched on a light. “The guest facility is up the hall.”

  “Thanks.”

  She picked up her clutch from the entry table and found the cleanest bathroom she had ever seen and the cleanest scent she had ever smelled. She closed the door and leaned back against it for a few seconds, trying to calm her nerves.

  Minutes later, after washing her hands, she stood at the sink in front of the vanity mirror adjusting her dress to re-hide her tattoo, retouching her makeup and checking the security of her grandmother’s earrings. Grammy Evelyn’s words from a few hours earlier came to her: Oh, my dear, I’ve never seen you look so lovely. I know you’re going to have such a wonderful evening. I’m so happy you’re going.

  Grammy Evelyn, who Shannon suspected had been a social butterfly in her day, now lived vicariously through Shannon. When the elderly pixie had spoken those words, she had been standing in Shannon’s bathroom in Camden, watching her flatiron her hair. A visual of her bird-like hands, her fingers interlocked under her chin, rushed into Shannon’s mind and a powerful emotion overtook her.

  Her grandmother had shown her respect when Shannon’s own self-respect was lower than low. She’d had faith in her that Shannon hadn’t had in herself. She owed both Grammy Evelyn and herself better behavior than to be picked up for a one-night stand with a man she didn’t know.

  Worse yet, a playboy who’s looking for a good time, the cranky alter ego said.

  Biting down on her lower lip, she stared at the image in the mirror for a few seconds. Then, on a deep breath, she picked up her clutch and returned her lipstick and compact to it. Her hands were shaking and she clenched them to stop it.

  But she had to stop more than her trembling hands. She had to end this whole sham. But how? He had already ordered dinner.

  But that doesn’t mean you have to eat it, her alter ego said.

  As she made one more adjustment to her hairdo, she began to work out an exit speech.

  Chapter 9

  Drake heard his guest’s footsteps on the hallway’s hardwood floor. He had lit the gas logs in the living room’s corner fireplace. The fire and a lamp at one end of his sofa gave low light. The aroma of a good Columbian roast floated on the air and the sound of some of Willie Nelson’s moodier music thrummed softly in the background.

  He looked up just as she came into the room. He had thought her pretty at the hotel, but here, with the firelight casting her classic features in shadow and bouncing tiny shards of light off the incredible dress that hugged her shape like a lover’s arms, she almost took his breath. The anticipation that had been harrying in his groin since he first saw her heightened.

  She glanced at the fire.

  “To take the chill off,” he said.

  “Country music?” She interlocked her fingers in front of her stomach, an pose that pushed her breasts into ivory mounds.

  He wanted to smooth his lips over that cushion of flesh, but like a gentleman should, he made himself avert his gaze. He opened his hands. “What can I say? I’m a country boy.”

  The corners of her lips curved up in a faint smile. “Ah.”

  “I’m naturally partial to country music. Until I left home for college, I’d heard little else.”

  “I see.”

  When telling her something personal resulted in so little response, he turned back to the entertainment center and opened one of the doors, exposing his music system. “But if you don’t like it, I’ll change it.”

  She put out a hand and stopped him. No plastic fingernails, he noticed. Not even nail polish. “No, please leave it on,” she said. “It’s fine. I’m just surprised is all. You don’t seem like the country music type.”

  And in Texas, what’s the country music type? All of his family and more than half the people he knew were country music fans. He closed the entertainment center’s door. “I’m a little corny, but I’m tame. Cultured even. I sometimes go to plays. Or concerts. I’ve got season tickets to the symphony. Even give them money. You don’t have to worry.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “I grew up on a ranch in a rural part of the state,” he said, unsure why he continued to recite an autobiography. Something was keeping him blabbing. “I believe it’s a mistake for a man to stray too far from his roots. If he tries, people come to think he’s a phony.”

  A wry expression played over her face. “Among the many thoughts I have about you, Mr. Lockhart, that isn’t one of them.”

  And what were her thoughts? was his question. Then it dawned on him. She was teasing him. He smiled. “You know what? I can’t think of a time when someone standing in my living room at midnight called me Mister Lockhart.”

  She shrugged. “It’s just something to say.”

  “Please. Call me Drake.”

  She shrugged again. “It’s just that we don’t know each other and…well, you know.”

  Indeed they didn’t know each other, which reminded him of a question that had nagged him back at the hotel. And that was how involved was she with his kid sister’s former fiancé? Sometimes the world was just too small. “Tell me something. How well do you know Jordan Palmer?...And why did he leave a woman like you alone at that party?”

  “You keep mentioning him. Do you know him?”

  Drake more than knew Palmer. The bastard had caused plenty of strife in the Lockhart family. Several years ago, after his little sister had handed him his hat, he had stalked her, made her life miserable and kept her in tears for months. Drake had personally kicked his ass out of Kate’s house and told him never to return.

  “I’ve run across him here and there,” he answered.

  “He didn’t leave me alone. I said before, we weren’t really together.”

  Ping! The coffeemaker sounded from the kitchen. “There’s that coffee.” Drake started toward the kitchen. He had no objection to saving a conversation about Jordan Palmer for later.

  She followed him, her high heels making a soft clack on the hardwood floor. “Will the food be long?”

  “Shouldn’t be. Hungry?”

  “It’s getting late. I need to get home.”

  Well, shit. Was she really here only to eat? He hadn’t thought so bac
k at the hotel. She had raised no objection when he invited her to come home with him. In the car, he’d had his hand almost to her crotch and she hadn’t pushed it away. Had he misread her? She did seem more buttoned-up, more distant compared to the way she had been earlier. Could she be nervous? Maybe so. Hell, he was nervous, too, and a little unsteady, an uncharacteristic state for him in this situation. Weird.

  In the kitchen, she turned in a circle, looking around. “Wow. This is some kitchen.”

  He, too, looked around at the state-of-the-art room with its high tray ceiling, abundant cherrywood cabinetry, tan natural slab granite counters he had personally selected and top brand stainless steel appliances. Everyone who had seen it was impressed, but to him, it looked like every kitchen his company had ever constructed.

  “Thanks. I try to dress up the kitchens and baths. I want the homeowners of Lockhart Tower to feel they’re getting their money’s worth.”

  “You designed it yourself?”

  “A professional designer did it. But not without my input. I’m the marketer. I think I know what customers want to buy. And I’m the one with risk on the line. That makes me a hands-on guy. But if I get stumped on something, I call on my mom for her two-cents worth. She’s always known her way around a kitchen.”

  He opened cupboard doors and dragged two mugs off a shelf, poured the coffee and handed a mug to her. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black’s fine.” She carried her mug over to the floor-to-ceiling window wall that stretched all the way across the living room and the dining area.

  He hung back, letting his eyes feast on her hourglass shape. The vee in the back of her dress plunged past her small waist. Whatever the fabric was, it clung to her heart-shaped ass in a way that that enabled him to discern the sexy little indentation where her butt muscles joined her spine. Willing the dragon in his shorts to settle down, he joined her and they stood side by side.

  Phooey,” she said. “I wish I could see the view.”

  All they could see were their own hazy reflections and the rivulets of rain trailing down the thick glass. Mist and clouds and the blackest night Drake had seen in a while shrouded the outside. “It’s too bad we can’t. It’s spectacular. We’re facing east. On a clear day, you can see the Dallas Cowboys stadium, among other things.”

  “Ah, I see. Something tells me you’re a football fan.”

  “I wouldn’t be a Texan if I didn’t love football.”

  “Did you ever play?”

  “In high school. I gave it a shot for a couple of years in college. Mostly warmed the bench.” Now he wondered what had compelled him to say that. He never confessed his failings to someone who didn’t know him.

  She looked up at him, smiling. “I’m surprised. You look athletic.”

  He chuckled. “Thanks, but compared to SMU’s scholarship athletes, I’m a pipsqueak. I don’t know why they even let me on the team. To this day, I regret that I wasn’t a better football player. Do you like the game?”

  She returned her gaze to the nothingness outside. “Um, I don’t mind it. I’ve heard about the new stadium. Have you been in it?”

  “You, bet. It’s quite a showplace.”

  She sipped from her mug. “Next, you’re going to tell me you have one of those fancy skyboxes.”

  Was she clairvoyant? He did have a skybox, but no one ever asked him about it. “Do you have something against that?”

  “Not at all. But I remember hearing someone say that those boxes are the height of decadence.”

  When the stadium had first opened, the VIP boxes and their $100,000 to $500,000 annual cost had caused a weeklong flurry in the media. Even as far south as Houston, he supposed. Much had been made of their amenities and luxurious décor. He chuckled. “Height of decadence? That’s a new one.”

  “You aren’t upset over being put in the decadent category?”

  “I’m not. Not now, anyway. But years back, it was a different story. That comment would have bothered me.”

  “You’ve changed?

  “Had to. In the small town where I grew up, everybody scrutinized my family members. But the talk was small town gossip that was mostly harmless. Up here, it’s different. Up here, the criticism has fangs and sometimes it shows up in print. I used to spend hours coming up with schemes to counter the negative stuff people wrote about me.”

  “Big ego, huh?”

  He hesitated, studying her while he figured out a comeback to that remark. “I was too naïve to know that if you’re out there doing something groundbreaking, some faction is going to pass judgment no matter what.”

  She looked down at her mug. “I know what you mean. People can be nasty.”

  “I got past worrying about it. I finally decided that if I allow other people’s opinions to dictate my life, I’ll never get anything done. I still get a steady does of censure for this or that, but I mostly ignore it.”

  “People have said good things about you, too. You were Texas Monthly’s most eligible bachelor.”

  Her knowing about that charade caught him off guard. “That was over two years ago. You saw the article?”

  “Oh, just the pictures. I didn’t read it.”

  “What would you say if I told you that spread was an advertising campaign, bought and paid for by me?”

  She looked up at him again, humor glinting in her eyes. “I’d say, ‘wow, you really were worried about what people thought of you.’”

  “A Dallas PR firm was responsible for it. They thought it would improve my image.”

  She laughed, an easy good-natured laugh. “And did it?”

  He still didn’t know. But it had brought marriage-minded women out of the woodwork. “I’m not sure it accomplished what it was supposed to. It had some unintended consequences.”

  “Well that title got my attention.” Her eyes still sparkled with mirth. “I thought it was a real contest.”

  Other than his little brother and sister, few people teased him. He liked her. He hadn’t figured her out yet, but he liked her. And what could be better than hot sex with a smokin’ hot woman he liked? “Ma’am, something tells me you’re yanking my chain.”

  “Well…maybe a little. You seem so serious. But I really am impressed that you have one of those boxes at the football stadium. I’ve never met anyone who has one.”

  Typically, he didn’t talk about what he had just told her. Nor did he discuss how he spent his money with a woman he had known only a couple of hours. But he couldn’t seem to steer the conversation off that path. She had a genuineness about her that loosened his tongue.

  “It’s an investment. My company owns it. I and my associates use it to entertain customers and clients. My friends and family use it if they want to. But besides that, the Cowboys’ owner is a friend of mine. A mentor even. I naturally support him as well as the team.”

  “Naturally. Birds of a feather, right?”

  “Jerry Jones and I are hardly birds of a feather. He’s a whole lot smarter than I am.”

  Just then, a blast of wind slapped sheets of rain against the windows. She caught a quick breath and stepped back, her palm flattened against her chest. Then she laughed. “Oh, wow, I’ve never been this high off the ground during a storm.”

  A powerful urge to protect her passed through him. She was driving him crazy. He placed a reassuring hand at the base of her neck, found warm soft skin. “You okay? Afraid?”

  “I don’t know if it’s fear. I feel like I’m suspended in space. In my mind, I have this struggle going on, like I need my feet to touch the ground. I get the same anxiety from flying. I’m not sure I could live up high like this.”

  “You’d get used to it. On a clear day, you’d feel more anchored. Want to know one of the best parts of living here?”

  “Besides luxury and privacy, what?”

  “On wintery days, I get the sunshine on my breakfast table.”

  “Oh,” she said, blinking. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  He gentl
y squeezed her neck. “And I enjoy it even more if somebody shares it with me.”

  She stiffened and sidled away from his hand. “Yes, well, if you recall, I came for supper, not breakfast. And you’re making me nervous.”

  Disappointment softened his burgeoning erection. And embarrassment. He quickly dropped his hand and shoved it into his pocket. They stood in an uncomfortable silence, sipping coffee, staring out into the blackness for what seemed like forever. He had never felt so ill-at-ease.

  She broke the awkwardness. “You know something? I knew your place would be at the top of the building. Even if it’s only on the twenty-eighth floor.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “The Discovery channel. I watch it all the time with my grandmother. I forget the name of the show. To live on the highest pinnacle is a survival instinct that goes back to primitive humans. In most modern-day people, it’s deeply buried. But in some people, it’s still strong and there’s no holding it back. It subconsciously affects everything someone does. Having a big ego is part of the same instinct.” She looked up at him again. “You know what I mean, I’m sure. It’s the confidence to believe you can do anything, no matter how hard it might be.”

  Drake was a private man, kept most of his thoughts and emotions to himself. He had no friends with whom he shared secrets. No stranger had ever delved quite so deeply into him. She was no empty-headed twit he now realized, and she was making him as tense as she said he was making her. “And you think all of that applies to me?”

  “I’m just saying. You live on a high pinnacle and you have a big ego.”

  He chuckled, trying to relieve the tension. “God almighty, ma’am. I hope that doesn’t mean I’m coming across as a Neanderthal. I’m trying like hell not to.”

  Her head tilted to the side and she gave him another one of those narrow-lidded looks. He had a dumb urge to squirm, which made him even more uptight. In a one-on-one, he wasn’t usually the one who squirmed.