The Royal Wager

by Kristi Gold

  “Nice house,” Tori commented when he pushed open the pine door. “And very large.”

  “I had the Austin stone shipped from Texas, but basically it’s pretty simple.”

  When they entered the great room, Tori looked around, her eyes wide as she honed in on the massive rock fireplace. “This is simple? The ceilings are what, twenty feet?”

  “Twenty-four, and that makes the room look bigger.”

  She ran her hand over the brushed suede sofa. “This feels really nice.”

  “Kind of like the velvet last night, huh?” Mitch just couldn’t help himself when he thought about her running her hand over him in the same way. He imagined taking her to that sofa and getting inside her again. He hadn’t initiated that couch yet, but he just might real soon.

  Or maybe not, he decided when he noticed the acid look Tori sent him over one shoulder. She turned and faced him with a strained smile. “Where’s your grandfather?”

  Truth be known, Mitch had no clue where Buck had gone. His ‘56 Chevy truck was nowhere in sight. “Guess he stepped out for a minute. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Not many places for a seventy-six-year-old widower to go in town.”

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Did you know he had left before you brought me up here?”

  “I didn’t notice his truck was gone until we got on the porch.”

  She sent him a skeptical look. “Are you sure?”

  Man, this mutual mistrust thing wasn’t going to bode well for the interview, or Mitch’s plans to make love to her again. “Look, let’s just get this out on the table right now. I won’t question your motives, if you won’t question mine.”

  He offered his hand again and this time she actually accepted it for a shake. “Deal.”

  But in that moment, neither one of them made a move to part. Mitch couldn’t resist running his thumb along the smooth skin on her palm, couldn’t resist hanging on a little bit longer. Obviously Tori could. She tugged away and slipped both hands into the back pockets of her jeans. He’d give a month’s wages to be her hands about now.

  “Anything else you want to show me?” she asked.

  His grin made an appearance in spite of his effort to stop it. “You know, you might want to quit asking those kinds of questions. That would make it a lot easier for me to behave.”

  Her sultry smile nearly knocked the wind out of him. “My questions are innocent. I can’t help it if your thoughts aren’t.”

  “Your questions contain a lot of double entendre.”

  “Entendre? Now there’s a word you rarely hear coming out of a cowboy’s mouth.”

  If she only knew what other words were running around in his brain, she’d be out the door in a matter of seconds. “I know a few more. Want to hear them?”

  “Would that be ranch lingo or the articulation of a Harvard grad?”

  “Just simple words for a simple man.” He saw more than mild curiosity in her eyes. He also saw his chance and moved a little closer. “Take sexy, for instance. That would describe you in that sweater.”

  A trace of self-consciousness flickered in her brown eyes. “It’s blue, basic, just like me.”

  “How about beautiful? There’s nothing basic about your beauty, Tori. It’s real. Appealing. Do you want more words?”

  “Why not? You’re obviously on a roll.”

  Another kind of roll came to mind. He reached out and snagged her belt loop to pull her against him. “Tempting. That’s another I don’t toss around that often, but that also describes you.”

  “Mitch—”

  He stopped her protests with a fingertip against her lips. “Dangerous. You’re dangerous, Tori, in the worst kind of way, because you don’t realize your power. You’re deadly to a man’s control.”

  She pulled his hand from her mouth and held it against his chest. “I could say the same thing about you and your power over women.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not that strong, at least not around you. And you know something? I don’t even begin to understand it.” With his left palm, he reached down and nudged her hip until not even a scrap of air separated them. “No woman has ever done this to me so easily.”

  Her breath caught and her pupils flared. “Mitch, we said we wouldn’t.”

  He ran his hand over her bottom before traveling up to the small of her back. “You said it, not me.”

  She wet her lips, a subtle sign of encouragement in Mitch’s opinion. “What do you really want from me, Mitch Warner?”

  “I want to kiss you, but only if you say yes.”

  He saw the hesitation in her eyes, the questions, immedi ately before he saw her give in and heard her whisper, “Yes.”

  He bent his head and brushed a kiss over one cheek, then the other, savoring the moment before he reached his ultimate goal….

  “Why, looky what my grandson brung me for my birthday.”

  Mitch dropped his hands and hissed out an angry breath.

  He’d be damned if Buck Littleton didn’t have timing as bad as Bobby Lehman.

  Five

  Mitch’s grandfather had good timing, or at least Tori assumed the pencil-thin man with the shaggy silver hair, handlebar moustache and battered straw hat was his grandfather. A long time had passed since she’d seen him and even back then, she hadn’t seen him too often. He had definitely aged, but then so had they all.

  Mitch stepped to her side and said, “Buck, this is Tori Barnett. She used to live in Quail Run.”

  Buck snatched his hat from his head and nodded. “Your mama was Cindy Barnett, Calvin Barnett’s daughter, right?”

  Tori managed a smile in light of her discomfort. “That’s right. My granddad used to run the gas station.” She wondered if Mitch had caught the fact that she had the same name as her maternal grandfather, a sure indication that her mother had never married her father.

  Buck rubbed his stubbled chin. “Your mama used to do some sewing now and then for my Sally.” He winked at Mitch. “Your grandma was like a race car driver on a sewing machine. She couldn’t get the seams straight.”

  Tori was propelled back into her past by an old man’s recollections. A past that had included hand-to-mouth and hard times. But her only parent had done the best that she could under the circumstances. “My mother was a very good seamstress. The best in the county.”

  “Last I heard, you were off to college,” Buck said. “Are you back for good?”

  “No. I live and work in Dallas now.”

  “And your mama?” he asked. “How is she faring these days?”

  “She had a stroke and passed away a little over a year ago.”

  Buck crimped his hat in his fists. “I’m mighty sorry to hear that. She was a real good woman, as I recall.”

  “Yes, she was.”

  Mitch cleared his throat as if uncomfortable over the course of the conversation. “Tori’s here to do a story on me for a magazine, Buck.”

  Buck’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. “Well, I’ll be damned. I don’t know how you convinced him to do that, Tori, but it’s not for me to question.”

  “Good.” Mitch turned to Tori. “Come with me and we can get started.”

  Tori didn’t dare ask what he wanted to start, or possibly finish. She would just follow Mitch, remind him of the rules and then silently scold herself for being proverbial putty in his presence. If she didn’t grow a solid backbone soon, she’d be on her back in record time.

  “Well, it was nice talking to you again, Mr. Littleton. Maybe we can have a conversation about yours and Mitch’s relationship. Readers would love to know about your influence on his life.”

  Buck chuckled. “That’s easy. I taught him how to drink beer and rope a calf and romance a woman. And if he gets out of hand, you let me know. I’ll put him in his place.”

  Mitch took her by the elbow. “Let’s go, Tori, before he starts telling more wild tales.”

  “Oh, and happy birthday, Buck,” she tossed over one shoulder as
Mitch guided her toward the adjacent hallway.

  “His birthday is four months away,” Mitch said as the sound of Buck’s laughter followed them all the way down the corridor.

  Tori counted the number of rooms, three to be exact, on the way to an unknown destination. Two were sparsely furnished, one was a bath, and all were oversized. At the end of the hall, they entered a comfortable room containing a small fireplace, battered plaid furniture, a cluttered desk complete with a computer and rows of bookshelves.

  “I hang out here in the evenings,” Mitch said as he closed the door behind them. “Most everything in here I’ve had for a lot of years.”

  Although she had a bad case of the nerves from being alone with him, Tori felt as if she’d discovered a treasure trove. A person could tell a lot about a man by what he kept in his private domain.

  When he remained at the door, staring at her expectantly, she turned toward the shelves, grasping for something to focus on other than him. If not, she ran the risk of repeating what had almost happened before Buck’s interruption. Right now, she had to concentrate on the business at hand—his interview.

  “Very interesting assortment of books,” she said as she perused the collection.

  “I have eclectic taste.”

  Eclectic. Another glimpse of the Ivy League boy. Man, she corrected. Very much a man. “I can see that.”

  She tracked a visual path from the top shelf that held numerous Louis L’Amour books to the one below where she found several business digests. But the volume of poetry caught her immediate attention.

  Tori looked back to find Mitch had taken a seat on the sofa, his tanned arm thrown casually over the back, one leg crossed over the other as if he planned to stay a while. She held up the book. “Is this a leftover from college?”

  “Is there some reason why I wouldn’t like a little poetry?”

  Keeping her back to him, she flipped through the pages. “It just doesn’t fit your persona. I’m betting you’ve kept it to im press the girls.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  She turned and leaned back against the shelves, the book clutched to her chest. “Prove it. Name one poem—”

  “‘Twice or thrice I have loved thee, before I knew thy face or name. So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame. Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be.’ John Donne. From Air and Angels.”

  Tori couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t find the strength to look away from his intense gaze. For the first time in a long time, she’d been stricken speechless.

  He smiled, but only halfway. “Proof enough?”

  “You could say that.” She turned and replaced the book before facing him again. “You are certainly full of surprises, Mr. Warner. I’m very impressed.”

  “Haven’t you heard someone recite poetry before?”

  Not a to-die-for enigmatic man with a voice so strong, so resolute, so masculine that the verse had sounded like an invitation to seduction.

  “My mother was a sucker for The Itsy Bitsy Spider. Does that count?”

  He unfolded from the sofa and approached her slowly. “This was one of my mother’s favorites.”

  Tori did well not to gasp when he brushed her arm as he reached around her. She took the weathered book he offered, The Little Engine That Could, opening it to the first page, yellowed from time yet holding a message that would probably never fade.

  “My dear baby boy. Happy first birthday! Never let anyone tell you that you can’t.—Love, Mama.”

  “She read that to me every night until I turned eight and decided I was too grown up to hear it again,” he said, a trace of sadness in his tone. “She was a large part of my success.”

  A mix of emotions ran through Tori. She was flattered he had shown her something so special, and somewhat confused as to why he had. Touched by the fact that he’d kept the book all these years, and saddened by the reminder of her own mother. “My mom contributed to my success, too. She was always there when I needed her.”

  “I still miss mine and it’s been almost fifteen years since her death.”

  Tori recognized that was his reason for sharing, to let her know that he could relate to her loss, her pain. A connection. Common ground. What a totally thoughtful thing to do. If not careful, she was going to take a plunge and land totally in love with this man.

  “What about your father?” he asked quietly.

  Tori shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “He’s not in my life. Good riddance, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. My mother handled both roles very well.” Tori handed him the book and sent him a shaky smile. “Life goes on, and so should this interview.”

  He slid the book back into place. “So when do we start the process?”

  “Actually, we already have.”

  He frowned. “Aren’t you going to take some notes?”

  She tapped one finger against her temple. “Right now, I’m relying on this. Later, I will use a recorder when we get into detailed specifics and quotes.”

  “About the ranching business?”

  “Yes, and that’s next. But it’s nice to know a little more about the man beneath the façade now that I’ve seen your choice in books.”

  He kept his gaze trained on her eyes. “You really think you know me by my taste in literature?”

  “I know that you like westerns and probably fantasized about being a cowboy from a very early age. I know that beneath the tough guy exterior you have a poet’s soul and a great love for your mother. I learned all of that in about ten minutes, tops.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Tori.” His tone sounded serious and edgy.

  “I’m sure there is. And when I leave here, I still won’t know everything about you. But I will know enough to do a fantastic story.” She would also know the incredible high of making love with him, if only one wonderful time.

  He propped one hand against the shelf above her head and leaned toward her. His expression went from solemn to seductive. “What about you, Tori? When are you going to tell me a little more about what you like?”

  Considering the grainy quality of his voice, Tori decided he might as well have added “in bed” to the end of the query. His blue eyes had enough power to light an entire metropolis, enough to make Tori forget once more why she was there.

  Ducking under his arm, she played nosy reporter and assessed the mess on his desk. “Let’s talk about your business now.”

  “You’re being evasive.”

  She turned and used the desk for support. “I’m being a journalist. Journalists interview subjects, and you are the subject, not me.”

  He moved in front of her, this time keeping a comfortable distance, but not far enough away to alleviate Tori’s discomfort. “One of these days, I’m going to make you talk more about yourself.”

  “Are you going to tie me up and threaten to brand me?”

  He rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. “Hadn’t thought about tying you up, but that might be interesting.”

  “Cut it out, Mitch, or I’ll go get your grandfather to put you in your place.”

  “Speaking of places, I have one special place I need to show you.”

  “That wouldn’t be down the hall, would it?”

  His grin made another showboat appearance. “If you want to see that particular place, I’ll be glad to show you any time. You just say the word.”

  Oh, but she wanted to say it. She wanted to find his bed and stay there with him the rest of the day and well into the night. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think so. Now exactly where are we going?”

  “Somewhere that involves both business and sex.”

  * * *

  “We call this the Happy Place. It’s where we collect semen from the bulls.”

  Mitch expected Tori to be somewhat shocked, as Mary Alice had been when he’d shown her the sterile room situated in the main barn. He figured the reporter might as well become acc
ustomed to every aspect of his business, even the less than pleasant ones. But she didn’t seem at all bothered by this particular setting.

  Instead, she turned to him and asked, “Do you practice artificial insemination on your own herd or do you ship frozen semen? My guess is that you do both.”

  Mitch was more than a little bowled over by her query. “How do you know about livestock AI?”

  She shrugged. “I worked part-time for a horse breeder during college. He taught me how to collect from his stallion. I can’t say that it thrilled me exactly, but I learned a lot, the most important lesson being to hang on to the lead rope when you’ve got a stud who’s hot after a teasing mare.”

  If Mitch had less presence of mind, his mouth would’ve hit the ground. “He got away?”

  “Almost, but I caught him before he mounted the mare instead of the dummy. That would have been a disaster, since she was a Welsh pony and he was a seventeen-hand thoroughbred. He might have hurt her.”

  Even though Mitch was used to the breeding terminology, even though he’d seen both horses and bulls collected for the process of artificial insemination, it seemed kind of odd coming out of Tori’s mouth, a woman with a face as innocent as they come. And considering his recent questionable state of mind, he didn’t need to hear her say words like “mount” and “hot” and “teasing” either.

  He swiped a hand over the back of his neck. “Guess I don’t need to go into great detail about what happens then.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Okay, then come with me back here.”

  He showed her to his business office, the oak paneled walls containing only his framed diploma, his desk clear of any signs of chaos, the way that he liked his life. He suspected Tori was somewhat surprised by his organization considering the demolition mess in the den.

  “This is quite different from your home office,” she said, confirming his suspicions.

  “That’s my private study I showed you earlier,” he said. “Buck’s in there a lot and he’s not real neat. He likes to use that computer to play games and wander into a chat room now and then.”