by Joss Wood
There was being independent and then there was being stupid. Was she being stupid or was she just allowing her new feelings—love and lust and hope and giddiness—to sway her?
She didn’t know. But what she did know was that she was in love with Cam, that she probably had been since that night three years ago. He made her temper flare, her heart jump, her libido squeal. He frustrated her and turned her on, made her laugh and made her sigh. He certainly kept her on her toes.
And maybe that was a better reason than her independent streak to keep her from accepting his offer to fund the renovations. How she was feeling, how she thought he was feeling, was a good reason to keep their financial and work interests separate. Why add pressure they didn’t need to such a fragile situation?
Everything had its season and maybe The Rollin’ Smoke’s had passed. And if she let go of her dream of renovating his restaurant, Joe could retire in peace and she could open her own place at some point down the line, when she’d cemented her reputation. Maybe then, she would feel comfortable asking Cam to invest. She’d have more experience, Clem would be older and their relationship would be better able to withstand the rigors of combining business with pleasure.
It was a plan she could live with. But she still needed a job. So Vivi opened the laptop and clicked on the message containing the first proposal.
Ten
Attending the Texas Cattleman’s Club meeting was the last thing she wanted to do today but her father was insistent. Annoyed, Angela walked across the massive Perry Holdings boardroom, a room built to intimidate and impose, and glanced at the vast display of refreshments and the full bar. It was more than was needed for a late-afternoon meeting, but Sterling wanted to impress. And as usual, he had.
Ryder would be here, somewhere. They hadn’t spoken since their lava-hot kiss last week and she was a nervous cat walking on a hot tin roof. How would he treat her? What would he say?
Too edgy to eat—thank God she rarely saw Ryder Currin or she’d waste away—she saw his dark blond head and, ignoring the swoosh in her stomach, decided to confront the sexy beast. She headed in his general direction, wondering how she could casually insert herself into the conversation he was engaged in. She looked at the man he was talking to and wrinkled her nose. She recognized Cam McNeal but she’d never met him. Oh, well, she’d just have to hold out her hand, smile graciously and welcome them to Perry Holdings. It would all be very civil...
If she could stop thinking about Ryder’s big hand on her hip, his sexy mouth covering hers.
“Nice spread,” Cam commented, his voice drifting over to her.
Ryder scowled at the food. “Perry always goes overboard.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Cam replied, reaching for a plate and a small, elegant fish taco. After popping the delectable bite into his mouth, he nudged Ryder with his elbow. “God, Ry, lighten up. You look like you want to set someone on fire.”
“Preferably Sterling Perry. Jesus, who does he think he is, calling a meeting of the TCC in his boardroom, in the headquarters of Perry Holdings? And especially given everything else that’s happened.”
He had to be talking about the discovery of the unidentified murder victim at the construction site. Angela, partially blocked by a screen just behind Ryder, stiffened.
“Look, this is a PR move by Perry, it has to be. He’s just trying to curry favor with the powerful members of the TCC,” Cam suggested.
“The still-under-construction TCC,” Ryder snapped back before continuing. “Or maybe he’s trying to distract and evade. Keep our attention on something else while he deals with the fallout of finding that body on his construction site. He might have something to hide.”
Okay, she’d heard enough. Angela, her blood now pumping with fury and not with lust—okay, a little lust but she’d ignore it—stepped into their space. They both winced and shame flashed in their eyes. Good. “Don’t you think it’s rude to malign my father while eating his food?”
Ryder looked like he was about to point out that he hadn’t touched anything, but Angela narrowed her eyes at him and he got the message. Cam McNeal cleared his throat and she turned to look at him. He was even better looking up close. Tall (like Ryder), built (like Ryder), rough and ready and so very masculine, he exuded that bad-boy vibe. A woman would need a strong backbone to handle a man like him.
As one needed with Ryder. Right now hers was feeling a little jellylike.
“Ms. Perry, you are completely correct,” Cam told her. “I sincerely apologize.”
Angela nodded her appreciation and watched Camden walk away. When he disappeared into the crowd, she turned back to Ryder.
“Yeah, apologies,” he murmured.
Half-assed, but it was better than nothing. Angela whipped a glass of wine off the tray carried by a waiter. Being this close to Ryder Currin, she either needed wine or a fire extinguisher. God, he was unfairly good looking. She’d always had a weakness for blue-eyed blonds. Because he made her feel off balance and fluttery, she channeled her inner ice goddess.
“May I remind you that Perry Construction has had to do major cleanup at the site due to the flood and we haven’t been allowed access to certain parts of the site because it was designated a crime scene? Has everybody forgotten that a man lost his life? That he was shot? We don’t know who he is, how he got there...”
“Have the police not asked anyone from your organization to help identify him?”
Angela shuddered. “Apparently his face came into contact with a slab of concrete and crushed his features.”
Ryder’s intelligent eyes sharpened. “Before or after the flood?”
Oh, he was quick. “They won’t say. But if it was before, it would have to be a pretty strong and cold person to pick up and drop a concrete slab on his face.”
“Not necessarily. You have forklifts on the site, don’t you? It’s not rocket science.”
Angela grimaced and closed her eyes. Who could do that? And why? Man, people were sick. Her eyes flew open when she felt Ryder’s big hand on her arm. And when he linked her fingers in his and pulled her behind the screen, she didn’t protest. She needed his warmth, his strength, just for a moment.
Ryder rubbed her bare skin, from elbow to shoulder. Angela knew that he meant it to be a reassuring gesture but it had the unfortunate side effect of heating her panties. She wanted his mouth on hers, to feel her breast mashed against his hard chest, have his fingers mess up her hair.
“Let me try that again. I apologize if I was insensitive, Angela, and I do respect your views.” Ryder sent her a wry smile. “It’s no secret that your father and I have a history and that he rubs me wrong. And it annoys me that he won’t accept that there was nothing between your mom and me but friendship.”
She didn’t want to think about any of that, not now. All she wanted was his mouth on hers.
He looked like he wanted the same thing. Ryder dipped his head and she could smell his sweet breath. She lifted her heels to bring her mouth to his a fraction sooner. She genuinely could not wait for his kiss—touching him was that important.
Ryder’s lips skimmed hers as a booming voice cut across the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you can take your seats, please.”
Ryder pulled back and they exchanged a long look containing enough energy to generate a nuclear power plant. She didn’t want to talk about the Texas Cattleman’s Club. She wanted to leave with Ryder and then not talk at all.
Ryder linked his fingers in hers and placed a gentle kiss on her temple. “This isn’t over, darlin’.”
God, she hoped not.
* * *
Across town, Vivi frowned when she heard the strident chime of the front door. She opened the front door to a woman in her midthirties, who looked perfectly cool despite the humid temperatures outside.
“Can I help you?”
The...what? Vivi shook her head and lifted her hands in confusion. “I’m sorry, what are you talking about?”
“Mr. McNeal contacted my agency first thing this morning and my supervisor set up this appointment. My current family is moving back to England, and as I’m one of the agency’s longest and most experienced nannies, they immediately thought of me when Mr. McNeal said that he was looking to interview nannies for his daughter.”
Vivi took a moment to process her statement. When the woman started to speak again, she held up her hand for silence. So, shortly after leaving her this morning, after a night of mind-blowing, soul-touching sex, Camden’s first impulse was to arrange for a nanny for Clem. What did that mean? What could it mean?
Vivi had no idea, but there was one thing she was sure of: she had no intention of taking Clem away from Charlie, and she most certainly didn’t need a nanny. After sending the woman on her way, telling her that there had been a miscommunication, Vivi shut the front door and pulled out her phone. She tapped it against her thigh, debating whether she should call Cam and blast him for making decisions without talking to her first.
But maybe that was what he was expecting her to do and a good reason why she should bide her time and wait and see what else he’d had planned for her day.
Because she was pretty sure there was more to come.
* * *
Sterling Perry knew that Ryder Currin was mentally giving him the middle finger and he wished he could walk over to him and put him on his ass. He’d wanted to punch Currin’s jaw for years now. Twenty-five years was a long time to keep his hatred under lock and key.
Ten minutes. Ten minutes was all he needed to show Currin who was boss.
Sterling stared down at the hands clutching the edges of the podium, ignoring the thought that his fists were no longer as big, his arms no longer as powerful as they had been a quarter century ago. But man, how he regretted not taking Ryder behind the barn and whipping the crap into him. Just seeing his insolent face, hearing his name hurtled him back to the past, to when he wasn’t Sterling Perry the power broker but Harrington’s lackey, the foreman of his ranch. Ryder reminded him of a time when his father-in-law’s word was law, when he had no say in anything to do with his future or the ranch. He took orders back then, he didn’t give them.
And he’d been the ranch cuckold, as useless as a steer. He’d never had a happy marriage to Tamara—they’d married to consolidate power and wealth—but he’d been proud of his beautiful wife. She was an exquisite woman but they’d never clicked, mentally or physically. He hadn’t loved her but he couldn’t allow her to be in love with anyone else, either, especially not Ryder Currin, a damned ranch hand. How dare he think he could lay a hand on a Perry, on any piece of his property? He still woke up from nightmares depicting Ryder and his wife rutting, hearing their laughter as they disparaged him. And the fact that Ryder had blackmailed Harrington into handing him land—oil-rich land that had made him a freakin’ fortune—still burned like acid in his throat. He couldn’t stand it then and he couldn’t stand Ryder now. And if the rumors about Currin and Angela seeing each other turned out to be true, God help him...
Sterling heard a throat clear and came back to the present, looking out at the curious eyes trained on him. Dammit, the room would think he was a doddery old man, something he couldn’t afford to happen. Once a thought like that took hold, the members of the TCC would start thinking that Currin was a better, younger, more energetic leader and they’d vote for him as president of the Houston TCC. That couldn’t happen. He was Sterling Perry. Nobody would run this organization but him.
Sterling released his grip on the podium and cracked a joke. When he got the required laughs, he relaxed. These were his people, his tribe. He knew exactly how to handle them.
“Thank you for giving up your valuable time to attend this first meeting of the Houston Texas Cattleman’s Club.”
“Can’t be a meeting if there’s no board yet, Sterling.”
Shut up, Ryder. Sterling forced himself to smile at Currin’s quip but chose not to address the interruption. If he ignored Ryder, maybe others would, too. “We do have TCC business to discuss, but before that happens, I’d like to take this opportunity to make a personal statement.”
He saw the room come to attention, felt the tension increase. Good, he had them eating out of the palm of his hand. “I would like to make it clear to all—” he deliberately moved his eyes to look directly at Ryder “—potential board members and members of the soon-to-be-constituted TCC that neither myself nor any member of Perry Construction, or our holding company, had anything to do with the unfortunate murder at the construction site.”
Sterling held up his hand to quiet the room when murmurs resounded. When he had their full attention once more, he spoke again. “I have also, with the full support of my family, decided that Perry Holdings will bear the cost of restoring the construction site to its preflood condition. We estimate it will cost a few million but we’ll cover the bill.”
His words, when they sank in, raised a roar of approval and thunderous applause. There was nothing Texans liked more than not having to put their hands into their own pockets. Sterling couldn’t help his eyes drifting to Ryder Currin. He immediately noticed that Ryder’s arms were still crossed against his chest. His expression asked what his lips did not: “What the hell are you up to?”
The applause lasted for a minute, maybe two, but Ryder didn’t bother to put his hands together. The rat bastard.
* * *
Much later than he anticipated, Cam walked into his house, looked at his watch and winced. He’d missed Clem’s bath time and she would be fast asleep by now. Dropping his phone and laptop bag in the hallway, he pulled down his tie and walked toward the kitchen, frowning when he saw it was in darkness. Only the small informal sitting room that he and Vivi usually retreated to after they put Clem to bed had light.
After only a week they had a routine, a favorite room and spectacular, soul-moving sex. It scared the hell out of him.
Cam swallowed, stared down the hallway and knew he was walking into a minefield. He’d made certain arrangements today and he knew his decisions would have consequences. Those consequences were still to be determined, but he knew, deep in his soul, that he was playing with fire.
Cam stared at the artwork on the wall opposite him—an expensive piece he didn’t particularly like—and remembered the terror he’d felt when he left Vivi asleep in his bed earlier that day. She’d all but told him, through her actions and the way she’d made love to him, that she completely accepted him and that she might be in love with him. He hadn’t slept, consumed with the idea of testing that theory. Did she really mean that? Or would she bolt at the first obstacle? His family had never managed to stay the course, had always found a reason to disappoint him, and he wanted to see if Vivi stuck or ran.
He’d expected Vivi’s call by 9 a.m., shortly after the first nanny showed up at the front door. By noon—and after what should’ve been three appointments with three different nannies—there was still radio silence. He’d shrugged, thinking that she would definitely call when the local bank manager arrived, bearing papers already preapproving a massive loan to renovate The Rollin’ Smoke. He was providing the guarantee to secure the loan but the loan would be in her name, her responsibility. He had no idea how that meeting had gone because, again, radio silence.
It had taken every ounce of willpower he had to not call her, to see if she was still here, to judge her mood and her reaction.
Would she stick or run? There was only one way to find out.
Cam took a couple of deep breaths and walked down the hallway. He hesitated at the half-open door, conscious of his dry mouth and pounding heart before pushing open the door with his foot. He s
tood in the doorway and looked around the room. He found Vivi sitting on a chair, her forearms on her thighs, her hands clasped and her head bowed.
He cleared his throat but Vivi didn’t look up. Oh, God. She had to have heard him. Was she that upset? But good news, she was still here. That was a start.
He walked into the room and headed for the alcohol at the far end of the room. He dumped whiskey into two glasses, chased back the contents of one and refilled his glass before walking over to where she sat. He placed one glass on the coffee table in front of her and sat down on the sofa closest to her.
“Hi. Clem asleep?”
Vivi’s face, when she finally looked at him, was blank and cool. “I presume so.”
Cam felt a bolt of fear skitter along his skin. “She’s not here? Where is she?”
“Charlie has her,” Vivi answered him before picking up her glass and throwing the contents back. It seemed she needed the alcohol as much as he did. Not a good sign.
“Why is Clem staying the night at Charlie’s, Viv?”
“She’s not. I’m going to pick her up when I leave here tonight. Then we are going home, Cam. To our home, where we belong.”
She was running. Why had he expected something different from her? God, he really didn’t want her to leave.
“This is the point where you ask why we are going, Cam,” Vivi pointed out, sitting back and rolling the glass tumbler between her palms.
Cam rubbed his hand over his face, thinking that Vivi looked far too controlled, far too calm for what he’d expected to be a humdinger of a fight. Had he read her wrong? Had he read too much into what happened last night? Why wasn’t she railing at him, demanding to know what the hell he was thinking?
“What the hell were you thinking, Camden?”
