by Debra Webb
John tensed as those lovely brown eyes swept down the length of him, then bounced back up to meet his. He’d have to have been blind to miss the startled amazement and undeniable approval reflected there. Miss Winterborne liked what she saw. Unexpectedly a flick of heat slid through him, making him tingle. Maybe this could work after all. It had been a long time since a woman, one he’d only just met, made him tingle. Were his father here, he’d insist that it wouldn’t be that way if John didn’t keep himself busy all the time with those danged horses.
His father was of the mindset that running one of the country’s largest oil businesses was enough stress for any man. He didn’t believe his son needed to take on the added pressure of single-handedly attempting to save the wild equines that roamed the few un-populated territories of the West. But John knew what he had to do…recognized his calling. Nothing his father said was going to change that.
Neither was the woman standing in front of him right now. His gaze raked her lean but feminine body once more. The low-riding slacks, funky belt and sweater that offered a little glimpse of flat belly appealed to him, that was for sure. But nothing would change his mind. She’d either accept his world for what it was or she could go back to Chicago and find herself another of those city slickers she appeared to prefer. Well, if all he’d heard was true anyway.
“Perhaps we could all have a drink,” Nate suggested, cutting into the thick tension.
John started at the sound of the other man’s voice and quickly shook off the irritation welling inside him. He had to get hold of himself here. It was only fair that he give Regina Winterborne the benefit of the doubt. And this weekend was far too important for him to go jumping the gun. There were assessments to make, and concessions too, most likely. He glanced at his wife-to-be once more. If her self-serving reputation proved true, which he suspected it would, since her own daddy had bemoaned her impetuousness as well as her petulance, she would want her own way on some things. Most things probably. Only time would tell if her way and John’s would mesh.
“That’s a mighty fine idea, Nate,” John said. A good, stiff drink was something he imagined both he and Miss Winterborne could use right about now. If memory served she preferred some sissy wine that Liam had special-ordered for this visit.
“What’s your pleasure, Miss Winterborne?” Nate asked their guest.
She blinked a couple of times. “I’ll have whatever you gentlemen are having,” she replied, her voice a little too high, her expression flustered.
John tamped down the need to frown. Liam had ordered that fancy white wine just for her. Maybe he should tell her that her preferred drink was available. Her daddy had said she drank nothing else. The frown nudged its way onto his brow. Then again, daddies didn’t always know what their little girls liked best. Deciding the idea merited no further contemplation, he gestured to the couch and suggested, “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Winterborne.”
“You have a beautiful home, Mr. Calhoun,” she said a little breathlessly as she turned around slowly to admire the room once more before taking a seat.
He tried to see the place as she would. He’d grown up in this house. Had personally overseen the latest remodeling three years ago. Somehow he’d managed to keep the scheme of things the way his mother had intended. He definitely hadn’t wanted to change that. It made him feel close to her. Damn. Even after a dozen years he still missed her.
“Call me John,” he said to the lady now perched stiffly on one end of his leather couch. He settled into one of the matching wing chairs. The soft, supple brown leather furnishings had replaced the old plaid jobs that had served his family in this room for as long as he could remember. But time and the rambunctious kid he’d been had long ago worn out the comfortable old pieces. Even the frames had been beyond repair leaving him no alternative but to replace everything. He’d picked out the new furniture himself. He wondered briefly if his guest liked his taste. This would be her home as well, after all.
She smiled and something shifted in his chest at the sweetness, the utter genuineness of the expression. “If we’re going to be on a first-name basis,” she ventured timidly, “I suppose you should call me…” She swallowed, looking suddenly ill at ease once more.
“Do you prefer Regina or Gina?” he asked when she clamped down on her lower lip in uncertainty.
“Gina,” she said in a rush, relief flooding her expression.
This was one nervous little filly, he decided. “Gina it is then.”
Nate returned with three tumblers of Scotch. “Gina,” he said as he offered a glass to her. He’d obviously heard her response to John’s question, which wasn’t surprising since the man missed nothing. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you.” She took the glass and held it gingerly.
Frowning, John took his own tumbler. “Thanks, Nate.”
Nate flashed one of his famous smiles and John considered for the thousandth time that the man had missed his calling. He should be running for political office.
“To the future,” Nate offered as he held up his glass.
“The future,” John echoed, his gaze landing on his guest as she glanced uneasily at the drink in her hand. He watched her over the rim of his glass as he drank deeply of the amber liquor. She grimaced at the first touch of liquor to her lips.
“If you’d prefer wine,” Nate hastened to say, obviously noting her reaction as well.
“No. This is fine,” she squeaked, then cleared her throat and took another tiny swallow.
To her credit she didn’t grimace this time but the shine in her eyes told John she’d paid dearly for holding it back. That annoying frown nagged at his forehead again. Something wasn’t right here, but he couldn’t say just what yet. Only one thing was certain, she needed rescuing at the moment.
John set his glass aside and stood. “Why don’t I show you to your room?” He smiled as warmly as he could manage with her looking scared half to death. “I’m sure you’d like some time to catch your breath before dinner.”
She nodded jerkily and scrambled to her feet. “That would be really nice.”
“I’ll be on my way then,” Nate said as he stood. “Since Mr. Winterborne was unable to make it, I’m serving as your father’s card-playing partner,” he said to John.
John only nodded, but Gina looked stricken.
“When will you be back?” she asked faintly.
“I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” He smiled. “Good evening.” Then he disappeared, leaving the two of them standing there in awkward silence.
“This way,” John finally said.
She followed him up the stairs without saying a word, as if he were leading her to the gallows. He got the distinct impression that Miss Winterborne liked this whole situation about as much as he did. Or maybe less, he decided when he paused at the door of the guest room to which her bag had already been delivered.
She looked absolutely mortified. As if he’d just told her to jump out of a plane with no chute.
“You’ll find your bag inside.” He indicated the closed door. “Dinner is at six.”
Amy managed a stiff nod then almost passed out with relief when he turned and walked away.
When he’d disappeared down the stairs, she faced the door of her room. She grasped the knob but closed her eyes and said a little prayer before turning it. Please don’t let this be his room.
She had no idea how he’d planned to kick off this weekend of getting to know each other before the wedding, but she hoped it wasn’t with sex. As amazing as she felt certain it would be, she just couldn’t go there…or could she?
Amy stilled as warmth spread through her in spite of her best intentions. He was gorgeous. There was no denying that. But she was here to look into his shady business dealings, not to wind up in his bed.
She imagined, however, that he had altogether different intentions. He, after all, was getting to know his future wife.
Shivering from equal parts of dread and desire, Amy open
ed the door and entered the room.
Her breath departed her lungs in one long whoosh. The room was large and airy. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined a northern wall allowing in the beautiful light of the Texas sun without permitting the heat a western exposure would have generated. A massive four-poster bed stood against the wall to the left while matching pieces, an armoire, dresser and mirror, dominated the right side of the room. An open door led to a lovely en suite bath and a nearby door opened to a wide inviting closet.
An empty closet, she noted thankfully.
Judging by the empty closet and the well-appointed bathroom that included numerous amenities not unlike those in a luxurious hotel, this was a guest room. Relief flooded her so swiftly that she had to hang on to a bed post to keep her legs under her. The bag Regina Winterborne had packed sat in the middle of the enormous bed.
Amy dragged in a deep breath and gathered her wits. She had to pull herself together here or she’d never be able to accomplish her mission. For the weekend, at least until Sunday, she was Regina Winterborne. She had to do whatever was necessary to keep John Calhoun preoccupied while she uncovered the truth about him and his business dealings. It was a simple matter really, she told herself. Clearly he liked her, would want to learn all he could since she was supposed to be his future wife. That would prove to Amy’s advantage. That he called her Gina made her feel a tad better about the whole farce. It felt like less of a lie.
Propelling her weak-kneed legs into action, she climbed onto the bed and opened the criminally expensive bag that held her only wardrobe for the weekend.
A little black dress. Amy checked the size, it would do. But the dress looked entirely too short. She found taupe slacks and a matching sleeveless sweater next. Then she dragged out summery green slacks and a striped blouse. A sound of approval rumbled in her throat. The blouse, tank top in style and with narrow stripes of the same pale green as the pants, white and creamy cantaloupe, looked soft and feminine. Very nice. A peach-colored skirt and matching sleeveless pullover. Another short, form-fitting dress, this one in deep jade. One last slacks outfit and then the coup de grace: a semi-formal-length gown with a halter-style top that plunged low in the back. It was a frosty white with a pencil skirt. Walking would be no easy feat in this dress. Much less in the two pairs of high-spike-heeled shoes that accompanied the wardrobe, one pair in black, the other in white.
Thankfully she saw that a pair of tan-and-white sandals with comfortable flat heels and lovely beading had been packed as well.
Amy’s breath caught when she opened the accompanying lingerie bag she’d found next to the shoes. Several thongs with matching barely there bras along with spaghetti-strapped negligées that Amy would never in a million years have been caught in. She held up one lacy white thong and wondered how in the world she would survive wearing something so skimpy, so uncomfortable looking. She tossed it aside and checked out the small cosmetics bag. Lord, the woman carried enough makeup and body scents to start her own line.
She exhaled a heavy sigh. No wonder Amy hadn’t had any luck snagging a man. She obviously had no clue how to arm herself. Maybe that magazine was right, maybe she needed lessons on manhunting as well.
For now, if she was going to pretend to be Regina Winterborne she had to dress the part. Amy considered the little black dress and then the jade one. She decided the jade garment was the lesser of the two evils. The neckline was more conservative and the material not quite so clingy as the black. She eyed the shoes skeptically. The sandals wouldn’t do, even she had to admit that. That left her no choice but to wear the mile-high black heels. She’d have to practice walking in those things before she went downstairs.
At the moment though, a hot bath was calling her name.
Amy quickly put away her wardrobe for the weekend and ran herself a deep, hot bath. The tub was equipped with whirlpool jets and she couldn’t wait to sink into it. Whoever had updated the house last had done an outstanding job from the decorating and furnishings all the way down to the functional elements.
Then again, when one had money one could have almost anything else one desired. Another of those delicious shivers raced through her at the thought of her host. So this was what it was like to have it all….
As Amy sank into the enveloping warmth of the lightly scented water she decided that she would give John Calhoun the benefit of the doubt and assume that he was innocent until she’d proven otherwise. Any court of law would give him that.
She inhaled deeply of the sweet but subtle scent of roses and sighed contentedly. Regina Winterborne’s taste in perfumes was not so great in Amy’s opinion, but her selection of bath oils was splendid. The lightly scented water would provide all the fragrance she needed. She’d never been one to wear the heavier colognes. This would be just enough.
Closing her eyes, Amy allowed the image of John Calhoun, IV, to invade her weary mind. She was very nearly certain that the magazine designation of the perfect man had been based solely on him. He was absolutely perfect. And those eyes. She smiled and her heart did a breath-stealing little hip-hop. The man had great eyes. His blond hair was thick and she would bet it always had that windblown look about it. Some guys just had naturally great hair and John was one of them. His voice was nice, too. Deep, intoxicating. She shivered again as she recalled the incredibly sexy sound.
Then she wondered if this was what it was like to be a Colby agent. Glamorous, sexy and so very exciting.
If so, this was definitely the career for her.
JOHN HAD TALKED his father out of coming by tonight. Just barely. The man was like a dog with a bone. He just wouldn’t let go until he knew the job was done. He intended to see that John and Gina got off to a good start. Insisting any such visit would make him late for his card game had convinced the stubborn old man in the end. John had a plan of his own. Since Edgar Winterborne wasn’t around, he didn’t need J. R. Calhoun running interference either.
What John needed was a clear picture of Gina Winterborne. He would only get that if they were alone. Nate had happily agreed to disappear for the entire weekend with only the occasional call to check in. As far as John could see, he was clear until Sunday afternoon when Edgar arrived.
He had close to forty-eight hours to get to know this woman. To decide if he could actually live with this merger.
Knocking back the last of the Scotch in his glass, he set it aside and paced the room once more, as he had for the past hour. There was a definite physical attraction, he admitted. She was a good-looking woman, soft and feminine. That part hadn’t surprised him. What had caught him completely off guard was the sweetness that seemed so out of character with what he’d read about her past.
He wondered vaguely if her wild past had been exaggerated. But that didn’t make sense since her own father had admitted to her unabashed behavior. Regina Winterborne, Gina, had a reputation for being bad and loving it. The woman—John glanced toward the stairs—currently taking up space in his guest room didn’t seem like the type at all.
But looks could be deceiving, which made him wonder all over again if he could trust anything she said. What if all this sweetness and vulnerability were just an act? What if she won him over in the next forty-eight hours only to make him sorry during the next forty-eight years?
Just then she descended the stairs. The sound of her steps on the treads drew his attention. The oxygen evaporated in his lungs and his jaw dropped to his chest.
She wore a dress the color of emeralds and it hugged the swells and curves of her body like a tailored glove. Long, toned legs went on forever. All that silky brown hair had been arranged into some sort of lush twist or bun on her head, leaving that lovely face and that long slender neck fully exposed for his visual pleasure.
Every muscle in his body went rock-hard. One thing was a certainty right then and there. He could, without reservation, look at this woman for the rest of his life.
“I hope I’m not late,” she said softly with a quick glance at the antiq
ue clock that rested on the mantle of his stacked stone fireplace.
She was…late that is. But he couldn’t care less. He just wanted to keep looking at her. Dinner be damned.
“No problem,” he managed to mumble. “You look…”
For three long beats John wasn’t sure how to adequately describe her beauty. And then he realized he was making an utter fool of himself. Whether it was his own rationale that kicked in or the distressed look on her face, he couldn’t say for sure. But she looked vastly uncomfortable, stupefying him all over again.
“Great,” he croaked as the flush of embarrassment climbed up his neck.
She smiled, her lips trembling just the slightest bit. “Thank you. You look…great…yourself.”
Now he knew exactly how idiotic he’d sounded. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the dining room.
She nodded stiffly and preceded him when she ascertained that he was waiting for her to go first. Before he could mull over her awkwardness when it came to formality, her gently swaying hips captured his full attention. That softly rounded derriere moving so alluringly from side to side sent a flood of red-hot desire straight to his loins. He wondered if her slow, almost deliberate steps were a calculated seduction. If so, she had it down to a science.
He blinked then forced one foot in front of the other. God help him. He was doomed and the woman had scarcely spoken to him. How on earth would he ever get to know her better if he couldn’t keep his mind off her physical attributes? Off taking her to bed…now?
Dinner conversation consisted of nothing more than silver clinking against china and the sound of wine spilling into crystal. The food smelled heavenly and tasted so good Amy could scarcely think of anything else. Each morsel she lifted to her mouth caused an explosion of the taste buds on her tongue. She’d never, ever had steak like this. The potatoes were sliced, sautéed and spiced in such a way that made them all but melt in her mouth. And the green beans were just shy of crisp with a hint of butter for glazing. The perfect contrast of scents, textures and tastes.
