The Tycoon and the Texan

by Phyliss Miranda

  Maybe he should just confess his inadequacies and quit acting like he was sixteen and trying to impress the prom queen.

  Three dozen long-stemmed yellow roses had arrived at McCall’s bungalow shortly after breakfast, with a note. Angel Eyes, please let me show you how sorry I am for being so insensitive to your feelings. She knew the flowers and card were meant to disarm, but not until the chauffeur knocked did she realize it had done the job.

  She had made her decision. Go boating. It was an outing, not a date, and certainly not a vow.

  McCall had spent much of the night reliving the events of the prior evening. Although intrigued with Nick, not to mention her body’s refusal to stop reminding her of his powerful physique and that chest of dark curly hair to die for, being alone with him was dangerous . . . very dangerous, indeed.

  For hours, she had rolled and tumbled in bed formulating plan after plan, only to come to one conclusion. She had to get Nick to break his promise and kiss her. Then she would have a reason to challenge him about keeping his word. His obligation for the date would be over and they would both save face. A very simple plan had formed. If only it worked.

  Madeline’s chauffeur lowered the glass between him and McCall, jarring her back to the moment. “Miss Johnson, there’s a call for you.”

  “Thank you.” She searched the multitude of icons on the screen until she found the one indicating it was for the phone. Touching the screen, she answered.

  “McCall, this is Josie!”

  “Josie, your name came up on the screen, so I know who you are, but what’s wrong?” McCall said with a tad of urgency.

  “O-oh, I just wanted to, uh, to check on you.”

  “You know I’m in the Dartmouths’ limo, so what’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Uh, Mrs. Dartmouth is giving you a . . . vacation.”

  McCall fought for a plausible explanation, but the nagging in the back of her mind jumped to conclusions. “She’s firing me, isn’t she?”

  “She just wants you to take a few days off.”

  “And without pay, I presume.” McCall laid her head back on the kid-glove leather and let the mellow music calm her jumbled thoughts.

  After last night, she wouldn’t have been surprised to lose her job. Although her finances would be tight, she’d live. It was Josie’s flimflamming that irritated McCall much like a cocklebur rubbing against a bull’s butt.

  “No. She distinctly said vacation. You know she isn’t going to fire you, but just do as she says, okay?”

  Letting Josie babble on, McCall’s mind wandered.

  She shuddered at the thought of what she had done. Madeline had every reason to fire her. After all, McCall had became insubordinate to both founders, not to mention her direct superior, Josie. As if McCall hadn’t done enough damage, she’d ended up pulling on a concrete overcoat by slapping the living daylights out of Nick.

  It sounded like Josie and Madeline had forgiven her and she would have a job when she returned.

  McCall stared out the window as Josie droned on. “Now that this is all settled, have fun. Don’t worry. Be happy and don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

  The telephone went dead.

  Oh sure, Josie was only relaying information about the sudden decision for time off, but what was she not telling her?

  McCall’s thoughts returned to her original position with the Dartmouths. To another time when decisions were made on her behalf without her input.

  After working as Nick’s secretary at the construction firm for years and at the first sign of a budding friendship, without warning he had transferred her to the foundation as an administrative assistant. In desperate need of money for her dwindling bank account due to her mother’s lengthy illness, and certainly too proud to let anyone know she needed financial help, McCall had been thankful for any job and didn’t ask questions. She enjoyed her work at the foundation and presumed Nick had his reasons for the transfer. To her surprise, her relationship with him improved once he was no longer her direct superior.

  But even today, she still had no idea what she had done wrong to be so abruptly transferred without any explanations. It had taken Nick weeks to replace her.

  A glimpse of the distant harbor drew McCall’s attention back to the sun-laden morning. Wondering which boat belonged to Nick, she spied an ornate silhouette with three lofty masts that looked like a pirate’s ship direct from a movie. Exactly like the one she had imagined a man with Nick’s means would own.

  “Okay, so this is the deal, McCall,” she said under her breath, thankful for the glass divider between her and the driver. “It’s a simple day of boating with no emotional involvement. Except you have to get him to kiss you. The sooner the better, understand?” She half expected to hear herself answer, You can make all the deals you want with the devil, but I still don’t trust you, McCall Elise Johnson.

  The driver pulled alongside the pier, whisked open the door, and escorted her toward the boat that looked as bold as its owner.

  McCall pushed a strand of wayward hair behind her ear, tucked it under the red grosgrain headband, and smoothed the front of her cherry-red tank top with her hands. She tugged at the hem of her khaki shorts, and glanced down at a black scuff mark on one of her white Keds before spying Nick.

  One glimpse of him and suddenly she wanted to turn skirt and run to escape his disturbing presence. But she couldn’t lose sight of her goal. Get him to break his promise, so she’d have a reason to cancel their date. If all worked in her favor, she’d be home in time to catch the midday weather report.

  Nick stood at the end of the pier, khaki Dockers turned up to his calves, boat shoes with no socks, a baby-blue shirt opened to his waist, and a smile that closed the distance between them. The mid-morning sun, coupled with the reflection from the water, made every ounce of his muscular frame look crisp and refreshing.

  Increasingly uneasy with his perusal, she looked away.

  It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.

  “Mac, this way,” Nick hailed. “I’m glad you came. Let me have that.” He reached for her bag and tugged it off her shoulder. Slipping one hand on the small of her back, he led her toward the stairs. “Watch your step.”

  After a quick tour of the lavish boat, he settled her on a barstool in the galley and poured two goblets of wine.

  Knowing the kitchen was called a galley exhausted her knowledge of boating.

  “I have lunch about ready, and afterward we can do whatever you want. We can swim, do some exploring, or just relax and enjoy a beautiful day. It’s your call, McCall.”

  “An adventurer, a cook, and a poet. What more could a woman want?” She smiled with an air of pleasure. “Better than what I had to offer.” She took a sip of the familiar tasting wine. Peering over the rim of her glass, she eased into a deliberate shy schoolgirlish smile.

  “Not to insult you, but vinegar would be better.” Nick whacked on the greens laid out on a chopping board like he was trying to cut down an oak tree with a Bush Hog.

  “Can I help?” She watched his intensity as he chased a sprig of chickweed, trying to behead it. “I mean, since you worked all morning preparing such a lovely lunch. Can I help by making some iced tea?”

  “Sure. That would be refreshing.”

  McCall filled the kettle and turned on the heat. She slid against the counter, watching Nick as he scraped together a sampling of leaves and twice tried to transfer them on the flat edge of his knife.

  “I’m just about finished.” Nick made a final stab at gathering the greens.

  Thud! The knife hit the cutting board.

  Vegetables splattered on the counter.

  A string of profanity slipped through Nick’s lips. He clamped his mouth over a bloody hand.

  McCall rushed to his side, led him to the sink, and held the wound under the faucet. Cold water blended with the red, making it look as though a pint of blood whirled toward the drain. In reality, if she used a magnifying glass maybe—just m
aybe—she could detect the actual wound.

  “Hold still,” she directed.

  “But I’m gushing blood.”

  “You’re not going to die. Nick, I’ve seen you come off a job site with blood all over you like you’d had a run-in with a pit bull and never complain. It’s just a little cut.” She lifted his hand. “See, it’s almost stopped. A clean cut will make you bleed like a stuffed pig, but it isn’t serious.” She wrapped a paper towel around his hand and looked up into his pallid face. “Nick, you look peaked.”

  “I just don’t like blood.”

  “Sit down a minute.” She slid a chair under him and patted his hand like a school nurse.

  Seeing that his color returned and the bleeding had subsided, she turned to the stove and lifted the lid on a pot of soup. “Smells good. What’s in it?”

  “Well, it’s a family recipe, but it has”—he shot her a confident smile and tossed the bloody towel in the trashcan—“Uh, lily pads in it.”

  “Lily pads?” McCall wasn’t a wiz at gourmet foods, but she was no slouch in the kitchen. She’d heard of using lily buds in Chinese cooking, but never lily pads. Oh well, the rich enjoyed exotic spices. “May I taste it?”

  “Sure.” Nick crossed the room, slid next to her, and handed her a spoon.

  Standing so close that she felt the heat from his thigh pressed against hers, he boxed her in as he reached for a clean paper towel and dabbed away some blood seeping from the wound.

  She spooned out a little of the soup. The salty liquid burned her lip and reminded her of Nick’s kiss. But if she wanted to make her point, she had to forget and pretend the kiss had never happened. In reality, she silently prayed for another one.

  “Very good.” She kept a steamy gaze locked on his face, while suggestively flickering her tongue over the warm stainless steel. “Want a taste?”

  “Sure.”

  She took a clean utensil, dipped up some broth, and blew to cool the liquid. Leaning forward, his fingers closed over hers to steady the spoon and he accepted a taste. “Ummm, it’s, well, uh good. Really good.”

  “You sound surprised. Aren’t you confident with your own cooking?” She smiled, lifted a questioning eyebrow, and sensually ran her tongue along the back of the spoon then tossed it in the sink.

  His expression changed. Seriousness clouded his brow. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Nick tossed the second towel in the trash basket.

  Carrying two plates of salad, she swaggered to the table, surrounded by Cocobolo rosewood captain’s chairs. “Shucks, Nick, there’s nothing that can’t wait until we’ve eaten.”

  Nick’s surprise at the success of his soup, along with his sudden need for confession, sealed his fate. An experienced chef could never prepare such a scrumptious soup without tasting. Then along came the vaudeville act in preparing the salad, definitely orchestrated by an inexperienced man’s hand.

  McCall watched him fumble with a box of tea until he succeeded in unwrapping and depositing several bags into a crockery teapot. Maybe she should let up on the pressure. Make way for him to admit he wasn’t the chef. But she had become intrigued with the idea of him groveling.

  Damn. No way was she that intrigued with the man. Maybe a bit inquisitive, a little captivated with a touch of charm, but never, never intrigued.

  Come to think of it, she was so not into Nick that a little bit of flirting couldn’t hurt. Besides, she had to fill her time while she waited for him to kiss her. She might even hasten the kiss to break their deal. And all for the right reasons; certainly not for pleasure.

  She couldn’t help but watch Nick. God, did he ever exude masculinity. Simply sexy and steamy hot.

  The teakettle whistled. A bellow of mist hovered overhead.

  Hot and steamy like Brad Pit in Troy.

  Hot and steamy like a hot tub at a spa.

  Hot and steamy like the visions traipsing around in McCall’s head.

  Purely business, girlfriend, she reminded herself. Purely business.

  Chapter Six

  As the harbor disappeared behind the Belle Poule Princess, McCall stretched out in the lounge chair. “Nick, the lunch was really nice. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I enjoyed doing it for you,” he basically lied. Well, he had done some of the preparation.

  Nick settled back on his chaise lounge across from her and nursed a bottle of Penta. He took a deep breath as she lifted a leg, squirted suntan lotion in her hands, and ran them up and down her calf. His gaze slipped slowly up her body, while his mouth felt like he’d taken a drink of sand.

  The boat eased to a stop. Waves lapped against the hull.

  Nick redirected his attention toward the sky and imagined which bathing suit would glove her body best. It would definitely be animal print, one of the requirements he had made when he called the boutique and placed his order for bathing suits, all two-piece or bikinis. He swallowed hard and drew his attention back to her face. Turning toward the ocean, he shut out the smoldering flame in her eyes.

  McCall was definitely an animal print type woman. Just as dangerous, agile, and exciting as a wild lioness in a jungle. Anson had pegged one part of her body correctly. Strong, sexy legs that went all the way up to her . . . at least as far up as Nick could see beneath the flimsy zebra striped coverall.

  McCall broke the silence. “Thank you for a lovely day.”

  “You’re welcome, but you didn’t eat much.” He watched a seagull dip, tilt, and soar upward toward a bank of clouds.

  “It was wonderfully delicious, but I wasn’t all that hungry . . . for lunch,” she said in a low, silky-smooth voice.

  “Next time, I’ll see that it’s more to your liking.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d gone totally vegetarian.”

  “I haven’t. Just like to eat healthy. Have you ever seen what your aorta looks like clogged with grease?” Enough! He better steer away from anything having to do with food before she asked questions about his cooking that he couldn’t answer.

  “Look off to the north. That’s what I’ve been waiting to show you,” he said.

  Nick took a quick glimpse at McCall, strolled farther down the deck, and pointed toward an exquisitely manicured island hunching out of the ocean like the back of a beautiful tortoise. In the distance, beyond mesmerizing aquamarine waters, palm trees shaded a beach enveloped by mounds of ivory sand dunes. Red and violet vines laced the tree line.

  “Oh Nick, it’s beautiful.” She came up behind him and locked her arms around his waist. “Absolutely breathtaking.” Her sultry words lingered against his neck.

  Nick took in her smell of melon and citrus flowers, mixed with the crisp salty ocean breeze. Covering her hands with his, he tried to swallow the hot ache in his throat before it added to the already out-of-control throbbing way down south. He wished he hadn’t changed into his swimming suit. No doubt, if he turned around there’d be no hiding his interest.

  “The island belongs to my family. When I was young, my mother’s servants would take me out here to play pirates of the Caribbean, complete with swords, an eye-patch, skull-and-crossbones flag, and even a gangplank. Stanley would be the sea wolf, and I’d walk him down the plank. Then we’d change roles and he’d chase me around the deck until I jumped overboard to escape.” Nick took a deep breath. The heat from her hands and the rise and fall of her breast against his back became torture.

  Resisting the urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her luscious mouth was a lot harder than he first thought. He dug deep inside for control. Moving her hands away, he stepped aside. “It’s pretty lousy when your mother sends the hired help to play with you,” he said, hoping she didn’t detect the sadness that came with the memories.

  McCall leaned her hip against the railing. “Can we go over to the island and play?”

  “Auh, only if I can be the swashbuckling pirate and make you walk the gangplank.” He grinned, thinking how much more fun she’d be to play with than Stanley. Maybe he w
ould capture the wench, rip off her bodice, and torture her. Hell, it wouldn’t be much different than what she was doing to him!

  “What if I jump overboard to escape your evil, tortuous ways?” A mischievous look returned to her violet-blue eyes, and sparkled like gems in a treasure chest.

  “It’s a long swim, so I think you’d better wait until we’re closer to the island.”

  McCall pulled her cover-up over her head. Dropping the gauze tunic on the deck, she lowered her eyes in the direction of his black swimming trunks. “Still like to play pirates, Slugger?”

  She must have read his mind, or what was left of it. The prolonged anticipation from the time she lifted her arms above her head to remove her shirt to her standing before him barefoot, dark hair whipped by the wind, and a body as perfect as he had imagined in a zebra-print, two-piece bathing suit was almost unbearable. The idea of her lack of inhibitions and zest for life excited him. Why had he never noticed before?

  “Mutineer?” He exchanged a smile with her and shook his head in amusement.

  “You can torture me, but you’ll have to capture me first, Blackbeard !” She shimmied to the side of the boat, stepped over the rail, and twisted back in his direction. A sensual, daredevil gleam came to her eyes.

  Nick lunged forward, missing her by a breath.

  McCall dove overboard with the grace of a seasoned synchronized swimmer.

  “Dooon’t!” He screamed, ripped off his shirt, and dove in behind her.

  Surfacing, he shook water from his hair and hissed. “Son of a bitch, she’ll never make it to shore.”

  Chapter Seven

  McCall hit the water headfirst, fought her way to the top, and heard Nick plunge in after her. By the time he resurfaced, she had gained a respectable distance on him. He yelled something, but the roar of the surf drowned out his words. She swam like a damsel fleeing a ruthless buccaneer.

  Intending only to tantalize him, play a game, and provide a distraction from his obvious unsettling boyhood memories, she had jumped overboard, letting the water whirl around her before surfacing. She planned to swim around the boat, come back on board, and end the match. He would be happy that she was safe, offer a towel, and maybe help her dry off. Then they’d laugh about her antics, and he’d kiss her. That was the plan . . . a short-lived plan.