The Tycoon

by Anna Jeffrey

  Bill Junior turned her then and kissed her, his hands moving down to her bottom and pressing her against him with his strong arms. In spite of herself, she slid her arms around his middle and pushed closer, his starched shirt rasping her bare breasts. She could feel how hard he was, which only made her visualize him naked and want him more.

  His tongue thrust deeply into her mouth with a sexual rhythm. It was a devastating kiss. Tender, as he had always been, but firm and controlling. And arousing.

  When he lifted his mouth, he looked into her eyes. “I love you, Betty. I always have.”

  Then why do you cheat on me? a part of her wanted to ask, but a greedier part didn’t want to lose the moment. He hadn’t often said the words, “I love you,” but she believed he did have those feelings, which made up for many of his flaws.

  “I think you still love me,” he went on. “I don’t blame you for what’s happened. I know most of it’s been my fault.”

  He was right on both counts. She still loved him, perhaps in a different way, but loved him nonetheless.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he said huskily. He scooped her into his arms and she didn’t object. At this point, what harm would it do? After all, they were still married and they had explored nearly every corner of sex. And besides that, she loved making love with him.

  He carried her toward her bedroom. He knew the way to that part of the house, too, because he had been there as many times as he had been to the kitchen.

  And that was another problem, dammit. She had left him, tried to divorce him, but she still wanted him and she couldn’t deny him anything.

  Chapter 19

  Drake sat at the drafting table in the workroom that adjoined his office, trying to study a blueprint of Lone Star Commons. It had been giving him fits for weeks. Usually, architects and engineers resolved the types of problems that faced him, but they had been wrong on so many issues, he no longer trusted their suggestions. With Lockhart Tower and the old Sears building, he had established a reputation for cutting edge innovation and high quality. He refused to allow pedestrian ideas on one apartment complex in a bedroom community take away from that, so he had personally taken on the review of the plans for the apartment complex.

  He’d had so little sleep his eyes burned. He had even resorted to the glasses he was supposed to wear, but seldom did.

  But he couldn’t concentrate. The parking lot episode in Camden wouldn’t leave him alone, especially the end:

  …Why aren’t you on the damn pill…I don’t need to be. I haven’t had sex in two years…. No one goes two years without sex….I do….

  The front door opened. He checked his watch. Debra, his middle-aged assistant of several years, came into the workroom. He looked up and said, “Good morning.”

  “Same back. What time did you come in?”

  “Six.”

  Removing her coat, she gave him a cautious look. “You look a little peaked, bossman. Are you sick?”

  He braced his elbows on the drafting table and rubbed his eyes. “Stayed out too late with some friends.”

  “I can tell.” She carried her coat into the supply room. “Did you make the coffee?” she Called back to him.

  “Yeah. Drank a lot of it, too.”

  She came out and picked up his empty mug, carried it over to the coffeepot, refilled it, then put on another pot.

  His cell phone bleated. He yanked it off his belt and checked Caller ID. Instead of Shannon, he saw Pic’s name. Then he realized Shannon didn’t have his number. By design, the calls he made from his private cell left no callback number. He used his Blackberry for business, but only his family and good friends were able to reach him on his private cell phone.

  He keyed in to the call. “Hey, Little Brother. You’re up early.” He left his stool, walked into his office and plopped into the chair behind his desk, relieved to escape the tall backless stool at the drafting table.

  “When am I not up early?” Pic said. “I wanted to call you before I leave the house ’cause I won’t be back in ’til noon. I heard from Blake. They got some lab work back on Kate’s fire. The accelerant was charcoal lighter fluid.”

  Surprised, Drake frowned. “Barbecue stuff?”

  “That’s what they said. They figure it started in that little pile of hay flakes at the end of the stalls.”

  “Do they have a suspect?”

  “Nope. Nada. Dead end for now.”

  “Shit, they’ll never be able to trace lighter fluid to one person. It’s for sale everywhere.”

  “Common as a loaf of bread. You heard anything from the insurance company?”

  “I don’t expect to until they finish their investigation. You know how it goes during the

  holidays. Nothing has any urgency. But I’m expecting to see results after Christmas. They won’t have any excuses.”

  “Kate told me she thought she had the barn and equipment insured for a million dollars,” Pic said, “but I know she doesn’t have a good head for stuff like that. Is that the amount the insurance company told you?”

  “It’s a million-dollar policy all right. But they’re balking on the value of those horses.”

  “Fuckers. Didn’t I tell you that’s the way it was gonna be. How would they feel if it was their horses?”

  “It’s the way the game’s played,” Drake said.

  “When you coming down?”

  “Next Wednesday.”

  “How long you planning on staying?”

  “About a week. I’ll need to get back up here before the thirty-first.”

  “I thought I’d bring Mandy out for Christmas dinner,” Pic said. “Since her dad passed on, you know, she doesn’t have anybody in town anymore.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything. Just bring her on out. Listen, Pic, I was planning on asking Kate for any written records she might have related to those horses. You know, bloodlines, registration docs, receipts for breeding fees. That kind of stuff. We need to try to establish the value of Proud Mary. If we can do that, we can put a value on her colt and maybe the other two, too.”

  “I’ll tell her,” Pic said. “Well, I gotta get going. Got a lot to do. See you next Wednesday.”

  The minute he disconnected from his brother’s call, his thoughts swung back to Shannon and the fact that she didn’t have his phone number. He walked out to his assistant’s desk. Debra was his trusted right hand. She kept up with his bank accounts and credit cards, paid his bills, knew most of the ins and outs of his business and quite a bit about his personal life.

  “What’s a good present to give to someone you just met and things went a little off the rails?” he asked her. “If you want to make her like you?” he added.

  She looked at him across the rim of her half-glasses, blinking. He didn’t doubt she was surprised. He could count on his fingers the number of times he had bought presents for women, other than the obligatory ones, like birthdays and Christmas, and she knew it.

  “Flowers are always good,” she said. “And they’re fairly harmless.”

  “Roses?”

  “Sure. Why not? Maybe not red ones, though. Red ones might, you know, send the wrong message. But peach or pink, maybe. Sweet, but noncommittal.”

  He couldn’t keep from giving her a low laugh. “Well, I’m not sweet, but maybe it’s time I got committal.”

  “Lordy me, I can’t believe I just heard that. She must be some chick.”

  He laughed again. Debra knew him better than most of the women he had dated. And she knew his screwed-up history in the social part of his life.

  He chewed on his lower lip a moment, trying to decide, then returned to the workroom for his coat. As he passed Debra’s desk, he said, “I’m going to that flower shop up the block. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  As he walked through the doorway, he heard her mutter, “Will wonders never cease?”

  ****

  Slow to pull herself together, Shannon arrived at her office midmorning. She knew she lo
oked as if she had been hit by a truck. She had barely gotten through her grandmother’s questioning and fussing over her and now her team members and Chelsea looked at her with curious expressions. She offered no explanation.

  What had been a dull headache had turned into a bass drum behind her eyes. Her stomach burned from the citrus in last night’s margaritas. She survived the rest of the morning on doughnuts Kelly had brought in, ibuprophen and TUMS.

  Several tasks awaited her, so she had little time to consider what to do about Drake. She suspected that just because she had told him she didn’t want to get involved with him didn’t mean she wouldn’t hear from him again. She had seen how determined he was.

  At noon, she went home for lunch with Grammy Evelyn. They sat at the small round table in the dining room and munched on non-spicy chicken salad sandwiches and sipped soothing hot tea. Her grandmother was an expert at chicken salad.

  When she arrived back in her office, she no sooner stepped into the reception room than Chelsea was in front of her, her eyes alive with excitement. “Shannon. Look on your desk.”

  Shannon gave the receptionist a curious look, then walked to her office and peeked in. In the middle of the desk blotter, framed by the vivid green of fern fronds and dainty white baby’s breath, stood a bouquet of yellow, not-quite-open rosebuds.

  Ker-plunk! A rock dropped in her stomach. Instantly, a memory of the evening in Drake’s bed in Fort Worth flew into her mind….A real redhead….With a yellow rose of Texas tattoo.

  “Wow,” she said, schooling herself to react normally and not reveal that an erotic memory had thrown her off track for a second. She walked into the office, bent over the bouquet and sniffed a rosebud.

  “A florist from Fort Worth delivered them,” Chelsea said, her heightened energy almost stirring the drapes. “There’s a card.”

  Kelly and Terry rushed in and skidded to a halt in front of her desk. “Open the card, open the card,” Kelly said.

  “We started to peek at it ourselves,” Terry chimed in, laughing, “but it’s sealed. You must have made some client extremely happy.”

  “Or maybe you’ve got an admirer you’re not telling us about?” Kelly said.

  Hoping she was succeeding in hiding her own excitement, Shannon found the small sealed envelope pinned to a stem and opened it.

  Can we start over? Pick up where we left off in Fort Worth? Before I went to sleep. Call me….D.

  A phone number followed. Shannon stared at it. Was this the Unknown Number from which he had called her before daylight? That phone call now seemed as if it had occurred days ago. Now her heart was tapping in a full-fledged pitty-pat. She quickly slid the small note back into its envelope and dropped it into her purse.

  “Well?” Kelly demanded. “Who sent them?”

  Kelly was just naturally nosy. “Oh, they’re from the guy I showed property to yesterday. No big deal. He’s just saying he appreciates my making the effort this close to the holiday.”

  It was only a partial fib of convenience.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Terry said. “Yellow roses this time of year? That had to cost him extra. And that vase looks like real cut crystal, too. A hundred bucks easy.”

  “Yeah,” Kelly agreed. “I should pick up such a customer.”

  Shannon hid a smile as she gingerly touched a bud. To Drake, a hundred dollars was coffee

  money. “Well, he must have more money than sense.” She ran a finger along the vase’s smooth edge. To steer her associates off the trail, she added, “Let’s just hope he’s got enough to buy Jim King’s house.”

  The chatter and jokes continued, but Shannon tuned them out. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her sudden new romance with her sales team.

  All of them left early, leaving her alone. She pulled the note out of her purse and studied Drake’s handwriting—bold, forward-slanted strokes, more like printing than writing. She would love to be a handwriting analyst, able to learn his hidden traits from the note she held in her hand.

  She placed the bouquet on an end table beside a small wicker sofa, where she could see it from her desk, then sat looking at it, her chin propped on her palm. An invitation for another meeting and flowers from Texas Monthly’s Most Eligible Bachelor. How many women would like to be her at this moment? Legions, she would bet.

  She had never seen more beautiful roses. And Kelly was right about the quality of the vase. Neither of those items had been picked up at a discount store. She should call him. Not to thank him would be rude. But once she said thank you, then what? He would want to get together again and she had already proved she wasn’t strong enough to resist him.

  Finally, the person she called was Christa. “Want to go somewhere quiet for a drink?”

  “Uh-oh. This sounds serious. Red Rover’s Lounge in the Traveler’s Hotel is quiet. I’m wrapping up here. Meet you there in half an hour.”

  Happy hour was underway at Red Rover’s with Christmas carols serenading in the background. The buffet offered a plentiful assortment of treats, including hot Armadillo Eggs and cold shrimp. Shannon and Christa filled small plates and carried them to a secluded table. With her stomach still queasy, Shannon didn’t know why she had chosen something made of jalapeno peppers. She took it as another indication she had gone off the deep end.

  Over cold beer, she confessed to Christa her erotic parking lot encounter with the Lockhart heir and this afternoon’s gift of roses.

  Christa shrieked and nearly choked on an Armadillo Egg. She gulped quick drinks of beer to recover. “Oh my God!” she said, giggling with glee. “I can’t believe you did it in a parking lot! In December! You bitch!”

  “Christa, cut it out. People are staring.”

  “He’s hot for you. Oh, my God. He’s so hot for you. Don’t you see? He wanted you to show an interest in him and he got upset when you weren’t glad to see him.”

  “Holy cow, how could I be glad? I was in shock.”

  “Did you ever think he might be in love with you?”

  Shannon shook her head, her brow tugging into a deep frown. “No, Christa, no. He was mad. He isn’t in love with me. I’ve only seen him twice. And he’s had a different personality both times. I’m wondering if he’s got a screw loose.”

  “It wasn’t you he was mad at, Shannon. Who he was really mad at was himself. That was classic. I’m telling you, the guy could be in love with you. And he doesn’t know what to do about it. Or maybe he hasn’t even figured it out yet. So he acts like a dumb jerk.”

  “That’s impossible. I don’t believe in love at first sight. And I doubt if he does either.”

  “How old did you say he is? Thirty-five? A thirty-five-year-old single guy like Drake Lockhart has been around the block. He’s had a chance at any and every single woman in Texas. And probably some married ones. And obviously he hasn’t found one. Trust me, girlfriend. He knows what he wants. But that doesn’t mean he knows how to handle it when he finds it.”

  Shannon finally laughed and shook her head. “I just can’t believe that, Christa. What could he possibly see in me that he hasn’t seen in all of those others he’s had a chance at?”

  Christa studied her plate for a few seconds. “Okay, consider this. I’ll tell you what I saw in you before we got to be friends again. I saw a woman who’s a survivor. Someone with a brain. Street smart, with a boatload of common sense. Someone not judgmental, who’s good company and easy to be around. I saw someone who doesn’t ask for handouts, either emotionally or otherwise.

  “You’ve always taken your lumps and risen above the fray. But most of all, Shannon, you’re someone who’s capable of being a friend. Someone I could share a secret with. I know you’d split your last dollar with me. You can’t have a friend if you can’t be a friend. Just a lot of people don’t know that. It’s my guess that most of that is what he sees in you.”

  Tears welled in Shannon’s eyes. “My Lord, Christa. I didn’t know you thought all of that about me.” />
  “Oh, hell, let’s don’t get mushy. We’re not talking about me and what I think. We’re talking about this Texas prince.” She took a bite from an Armadillo egg and chewed thoughtfully. “These are so good. Why aren’t you eating yours?”

  “My stomach’s been unsettled all day. Too many margaritas last night.”

  “And what happened last night brings us to the next question related to this guy. What about you, dear friend? What do you want? Other than the obvious.”

  “What’s obvious?”

  Christa’s blue eyes grew round. “Money and sex. What else? The money speaks for itself, but the sex is another matter. It has to be good sex. Having a lot of money doesn’t make up for bad sex. After a while, it would be hard to fake it. Nights would get real long. And let’s face it. You can get just as pregnant from bad sex as good.”

  Shannon felt a flush crawling up her neck just thinking about the time she had spent with Drake. “I don’t have to fake it.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Very good. Because you know how men are. The sex comes before anything else. My second ex? He told me men think about sex their every waking minute and even dream about it at night.”

  Shannon had no trouble believing that about Drake. From what she had seen of him, he was a highly sexed being. Since meeting him, she had spent a good deal of time thinking about sex herself. “I don’t want to deal with any of it, Christa. I’m trying to make a living and build my business. Getting involved with him, or anyone, would cause me all sorts of problems.”

  Closing her eyes, Christa shook her head. “Shannon, Shannon, Shannon. You are fibbing to your friend. What’s your definition of involvement? You’ve done it with him twice when you don’t even know him. You’ve even done it without protection and risked getting pregnant or catching something really bad. How much more involved could you get? So tell me the truth. What’s really bothering you? Why are we having this meeting?”