by Judy Teel
"Did Dad pay for it?"
He gritted his teeth, irrationally offended that she would assume he couldn't do anything without Jamison's backing. "I sold the dress Richard made you. Got nearly three times what I paid for it." He made brackets with his hands in the air like he was framing a marquis. "'The Missing Heiress Dress As Seen in Headlines Across the World.' Made a big splash."
"Where are you going?" Dakota said when he turned right at the top of the stairs. Panic laced her voice.
He stopped and turned around, exasperation tightening his throat. "Am I really such a monster?"
She blinked at him. "What?"
"I thought I'd proven myself when I left to take care of dealing with Castella. But you're still acting like you expect me to attack you any minute."
"I..."
He leaned in. "I wasn't the one who came to your hotel room," he reminded her softly.
Her cheeks turned pink. Satisfied he'd made at least one of his points, Trey turned and went into his apartment.
"Why are you going into Miss Suzette's place?"
"She's loaning it to me while I get Castella's rooms fumigated."
"Trey." The distress in her voice made him turn around. She stood framed in the doorway of the apartment looking forlorn in her stained and flour-splattered T-shirt, her hair sticking up like she'd run her hands through it more than once that day. The strange ache he'd been feeling in the middle of his chest sprang to life and he frowned.
She shrank back a little, then her mouth pressed into a stubborn line and she squared her shoulders. Good for her. "You won't win. You can't. You should leave."
"I never lose, Dakota. Not when it counts."
Determination hardened her gaze. "Neither do I."
"Let me cook for you," he said, the excellent idea springing into his mind and out of his mouth, before he had time to analyze it.
Her eyebrows rose. "You cook?"
"Dare me to prove it."
Her speculative gaze traced over him making his blood pressure rise. "All right. When?"
"Come over as soon as you've cleaned up."
"I'm not good enough for you the way I am?" She lifted her chin.
"You are one prickly woman, you know that?" He took a step toward her and was pleased when she held her ground. Glancing over her shirt, he took in every detail. "Looks like vegetable soup, today, and a cream soup...mushroom. Cornbread, probably muffins, and white bread, probably French."
"Farmhouse," she said, swallowing.
"And your signature cinnamon buns." He leaned in and inhaled her scent. "Judging by the sexy smell of cinnamon."
Dakota cleared her throat and drew back from him. "Anything else?" she asked, her voice gratifyingly shaky.
"No." He decided to keep his observation of the way her T-shirt clung to her breasts to himself.
"I'm...um, I'll just go and clean up." Dakota slid away from him. Turning on her heel, she scurried next door to her apartment.
He heard the lock turn and shook his head. She was a tough case. Why did he keep trying?
Because he had to get her to a place where she'd consider going back to work for Jamison. She didn't have to trust him, necessarily, but she did need to be receptive enough to listen to him.
In his experience, a good meal was a perfect way to soften up a client.
So what the hell did a poor boy from Virginia make an heiress for dinner with less than two hours notice?
* * *
With her heart jumping around in her chest like a trapped mouse, Dakota raised her hand to knock at Miss Suzette...Trey's door. She turned away, turned back, turned away again, and cursed.
She had no reason to be so emotional about this. Her period had ended, Trey meant nothing to her personally, and she'd passed the AENC audit with flying colors. Even her secret was still safe.
She plucked at a button on her blouse. She was being ridiculous. There was no reason to feel this scared.
"Crap," she muttered, facing the door. Taking a deep breath, she pounded on the white-painted wood. There, couldn't chicken out, now. She had to face this--had to face him. It was crucial that she convince him to--
"Come on in," Trey called from inside the apartment.
With her heart now lodged in her throat, Dakota pushed open the door and peeked into the apartment. No Trey. Emboldened, she stepped all the way in and closed the door. The lovely smell of garlic, vegetables and meat wafted over her. And biscuits. Her stomach gurgled and she headed for the kitchen.
Trey stood at the stove lifting a spoon to his mouth. A frilly blue and white apron attempted to cover his chest and hung down loosely over hips.
Dakota nearly choked. "Is that Miss Suzette's?"
Trey blew on the carrot resting in the spoon before he cautiously ate it. "It was the best I could do. Pink isn't my color."
"Oh. That makes all the difference." Actually the feminine apron did make him seem less threatening. Her confidence grew and Dakota ambled over to the stove. "What are we having?"
"Stew and biscuits." Trey glanced at her, and the flash of his green eyes made a shiver curl through her stomach. Whoops. Not so unthreatening after all.
She tried to subtly put some space between them.
He dropped his spoon into the sink and put the lid on the pot. "You look unhappy. Don't you like stew?"
"My mom was a quarter Cherokee. Any stew after hers pales by comparison." All true and a convenient excuse for her reticence.
"I promise you won't be disappointed. We backwoods Virginia boys know something about stew." He untied his apron and tossed it onto one of the white flower-painted chairs gracing the little table by the window. A table that had been set for two, she noticed.
As he made a quick check on the biscuits, she tried not to stare at the way his perfectly tailored shirt set off his broad back, or how his dress slacks cupped his butt just right. She really needed to get out more.
"I have some wine waiting for us in the living room," he said over his shoulder. "You want some?"
"Wine would be good." Maybe the whole bottle, she added mentally as she escaped into the living room ahead of him.
Claiming one of the wing-backed chairs, Dakota settled down and tried to focus on how odd it looked seeing big, broad, masculine Trey moving around the dainty, feminine environment that was Miss Suzette's world.
She couldn't believe he was now her neighbor. She thought resisting him had been hard before. Now it was going to be nearly impossible.
He handed her a glass of wine and she took a big, fortifying swallow. The tangy sweet liquid flowed over her tongue and warmed her throat as it slid down. "Why did you buy the building, Trey?"
He finished pouring his drink and then sat on the corner of the sofa closest to her. He was inches away, but her leg tingled like a force field had touched it. "Castella had ideas. Buying the building made him forget them"
"He was going to sue, wasn't he?"
"He was convinced Miss Suzette had money. He wanted it."
Her hand trembled as she brought her glass to her lips. "Wanting money drives people to do terrible things."
"When you're hungry and don't have a place to live, having money becomes pretty important."
"Castella wasn't hungry and he had a place to live."
"But I don't think that was always the case."
Is that what drove Trey, she wondered? Fear of being destitute? A stab of sympathy pricked her heart. "Were you ever hungry and without a place to live?"
He put his goblet down on the coffee table and got up. "Smells like the biscuits are nearly done."
She watched him stroll into the kitchen like he didn't have a care in the world, but she was beginning to suspect that was far from the truth. In a moment of clarity, she realized that whenever Trey found himself on the brink of opening up to her, he changed the subject or removed himself from the conversation entirely.
Interesting.
Dakota put down her wine and followed him into the kitche
n. "When, Trey?"
He closed the oven door and straightened up. "Almost ready. How's your wine?"
"You want me to trust you more? Then when will you open up to me?"
"Trust is a lot of responsibility," he said, picking up a small spice container and shaking a little of its contents into the stew. "I only want you to realize that you belong at Jamison Enterprises."
Dakota crossed her arms and leaned against the frame of the doorway. "And I want you to realize that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
"Looks like we're at an impasse."
"Why do you think I'm wrong to want to make it on my own? To live more simply?"
Turning around, Trey braced his hip on the counter. "I think you're underutilizing your abilities. You've romanticized what it means to be poor and when you run out of money and can't feed yourself it'll be too late. The window will have closed and your father won't take you back." He set the spice container down beside him, his gaze never leaving hers.
"I can take care of myself. With the money I'll get from the contest, I'll expand the restaurant. Once I can serve more people, I'll be able to support myself easily."
"Winning a contest is not what I would call a sound business plan."
Straightening away from the doorframe, Dakota eyed him up and down. "Since your objective is to get me back, you'll forgive me for not taking your concerns seriously. In fact, I might go so far as to assume that I have a very good chance of succeeding. Otherwise you wouldn't be trying so hard."
She gave him a smug look and turned back toward the living room. His warm hand closed on her upper arm and he pulled her gently around. She found herself staring up at him, the energy radiating off Trey pulsing into her as if he already held her. Arousal tingled to life low in her belly.
"What makes you think I've tried hard?" he said, his voice low and husky. Sexy.
"You bought a building. That's pretty over the top on the effort scale."
"It was a good investment and showed you that money can do good things, too. It can protect people."
"Too much money can hurt people."
He reached up and slid a lock of her hair through his fingers. "People hurt people. Money doesn't."
"There's more to life than things, Trey," she whispered, finding it increasingly difficult to breath. "Being rich or going hungry aren't the only options."
He cupped her face in his hand and she fought the urge to press her cheek into his palm.
"Being rich means you'll never have to worry about it." His other hand slipped around her waist slowly, as if he was afraid to spook her.
She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, reveling in his touch. "I don't really care, right now." And she realized it was true.
His hot, hungry mouth covered hers and fire shot through her veins, melting her. She wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from sinking to the floor as longing for him slid over her. When his tongue swept inside her mouth, she met him thrust for thrust. Her body gave a shout of joy from deep within and liquid heat flooded her core.
Trey pushed her against the wall, one hand tugging up the silky blouse she'd put on, the other cupping her bottom and pressing her firmly to his groin. Dakota moaned and ground herself against the hard, thick ridge of his erection, sending fissures of pleasure through her body.
He pushed his hand under her bra, kneading her breast, then shoved the thin barrier up. Thrusting his knee between her legs, he balanced her there and took her nipple in his mouth, suckling earnestly, making her head spin as he stoked her need for him. She pulled in a deep breath and the sharp smell of bread on the brink of being over-cooked broke through the haze of mindlessness he'd woven around her.
"Trey," she moaned as he ran his teeth lightly over her hardened nipple. "The biscuits."
He lifted his head and lightly bit her neck, his hand fumbling with the snap of her jeans.
"Trey," she said, doing her best to sound firm. "Your biscuits. Burning."
His head came up and he pulled in a quick breath of air. "Damn!"
Trey let her go and she almost fell, just catching herself against the side of the refrigerator. He yanked open the door of the oven and grabbed a towel off the sink. Using the cloth like a pot holder, he pulled the tray out and dropped it onto the stove. The biscuits were still golden brown, but in another two minutes they would have been ruined.
In another two minutes, she'd have been making love to Trey Peters in the middle of Miss Suzette's kitchen and wouldn't have given a hoot about it.
Dakota pressed her hand to her face. She was in so much trouble.
"They're okay," Trey said, tossing the towel back onto the sink and turning off the burner. "The stew, too."
Gathering her wits as best she could, Dakota busied herself with putting her clothing to rights. "That's good. I'm..." She cleared her throat to stop the tremble in her voice. "Hungry."
"Starving." Something in the tone of his voice made her glance up. He watched her, desire gleaming in the smoky green depths of his eyes.
Her heart rate jumped back into overdrive. "That's not what I meant," she said, taking firm hold of her libido. "We need to get a handle on this."
"We need to eat." The piercing alertness in his eyes intensified.
"No, we don't," she said, realizing he was not exactly referring to food.
"It's the only way to get it out of our systems."
"We need to ignore it." Her thoughts shot back to that fateful morning in his hotel room. "I have no interest in being humiliated a second time."
The lust in his eyes dimmed a little. Grabbing a serving spoon, he lifted the pot of stew off the stove. "It won't be like that, again."
"You're right. Because we're going to ignore this...this..." She waved her hand through the air between them. "This insanity between us. We don't even like each other, Trey. How can we possibly.... Why do we ignite like crazed teenagers when we get near each other?"
"Ignite. Yeah." He went to the table and ladled stew into the bowls waiting there. "You sound frustrated."
"You bet I am." She stomped over to the little table and plopped down in front of one of the place settings. "But not for the reason you think."
"Why, then?"
"Because--" She picked up her fork and stared at it for a moment, dissatisfaction, yearning, and anxiety churning through her stomach. "Because I don't know why I feel this way. It's stupid."
He set the plate of biscuits on the table and she stared at them, thinking how close she'd come to making a fool of herself with him. Again.
"We're only stupid if we don't try and find out what's really going on between us," he said as he sat down.
Dakota met his gaze squarely. "Okay. You want the truth about what's going on? Here it is. I'm attracted to you. I can't help it. But I don't trust you not to use it against me, so I'm not going to do anything about it."
He watched her steadily for a moment. "Is that why you came to my hotel room?"
She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage. "I wanted to see what all the fuss was about." Under the circumstances, she forgave herself for that little lie. "Don't read more into it than there is."
His brows rose. "There was a fuss?"
"Oh, come on. You had to know you were something of a legend in the office. The other executives called you The Magician."
"Why?" he asked, his gaze puzzled.
"Something about a magic touch," she mumbled, her face growing warm.
Trey grinned at her, the sudden flash of teeth and dimples full of male pride. "Really?"
"Don't get all cocky about it," she said, frowning at him.
"Are you kidding?" He picked up his fork and dug into the stew with a gusto. "I had no idea."
"That's hard to believe."
"I've never lied to you, Dakota."
"That's hard to believe, too."
He paused, his eyes getting that solid, intense look she was coming to recognize. "I know what it's like to be lied to. I've done a
lot of things, but not that."
Intuitively, she knew it was true and the reality of that explained why a part of her had always sensed a certain authenticity under the façade he wore. Her self-preservation flared up. Down that path of realization lay danger.
"You don't need to lie, you have avoidance down to an art," she retorted.
"A perfectly legitimate strategy. One you're using right now." He shoved a chunk of meat into his mouth. "Try your stew," he said around the food.
"I'm not avoiding anything." She stabbed at her meal. "I'm saying flat out that we won't pursue our attraction for each other." She bit into a potato. The burst of flavor, a savory blend of beef, vegetables, garlic, and herbs flowed over her tongue.
"This is good," she mumbled, scooping up another bite.
"We would be good, too."
"For a little while. Then you'd try to talk me into working for Dad and spoil it. Why can't you understand that I don't want to live that life, anymore?"
Trey reached for a biscuit. He broke it in half and contemplated the fluffy bread inside. "Because it's naive."
She hitched her shoulders against the frustration riding her. What would it take to get through to this man? If not for this one major philosophical difference, they might have a chance at creating something worthwhile between them. They'd certainly have a good time trying.
If he could ever bend enough to see that life here could be good, maybe she'd be willing to throw caution to the wind and give a relationship with him a try. What he needed was to experience a simpler life first hand.
Bracing her forearms on the table, Dakota leaned toward him. "Get a job in Harts Creek and live only on that income for one month and I'll agree to see Dad."
His head came up and his gaze pinned her.
"Not work for him, but see him," she clarified, knowing that would be a risky enough proposition. A whisper of foreboding trailed across her neck, but she dismissed it, holding on to the hope that this would bring Trey to her side of the issue.
"Two weeks," he said.
Was that enough? She studied his face, now set in determined lines. "Done."
Trey held out his hand to close the deal, but Dakota shook her head. "I think we better keep a polite distance from each other. At least for a while." She grabbed a biscuit and stood up. "Thanks for dinner, though. It was great."
