Romancing the Tycoon

by Debra Webb

  “Either one would be great.”

  “Do you ride?” This question came from the man at her side.

  “Ride?” She stared up at John, scared to death that he meant horses. Not that she had anything against the beautiful animals, but she’d never climbed on one and didn’t have any intention of doing so. Images of rearing, bucking horses immediately flashed through her mind.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he said, reading her mind and clearly finding her anxiety amusing. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

  And just like that the decision was made. She would ride a raging bull if it meant John Calhoun was going to teach her how.

  JOHN SADDLED UP the old bay mare since she was the gentlest in the stable. She wouldn’t give Gina any trouble. His lips stretched into a little smile as he considered his father’s showing up the way he had this morning. The old man hadn’t been able to wait to get a look at his prospective daughter-in-law. He’d given John the nod of approval…a nod punctuated by a broad grin. J.R. Calhoun liked her.

  Speaking of his bridal candidate, John noted that as he tightened the cinch and went through the final checks of her riding gear, Gina nervously paced the barn behind him.

  “I’m really not sure this is a good idea,” she said eventually, offering a magnanimous wave of her arms. “I’m certain I’ll be terrible at it and—”

  “You’ll be fine. Trust me.” He offered her another of those wide, enchanting smiles, but it didn’t seem to help. Unable to resist, he took another moment to admire her. The slacks and blouse were quite flattering. The colors looked good on her, but it was the fit that twisted his insides into knots of relentless desire. The little sandals weren’t exactly riding shoes, but they’d have to do. He would keep an eye on her footing as she mounted and dismounted. His gaze moved hungrily back up to her face where she chewed nervously on her lower lip. He liked that little habit, it made him want to use his tongue, his lips to soothe the flesh she tortured.

  Who would have thought that a business merger would send him exactly what he would have ordered were he to mail-order a bride?

  Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail today, giving him full visual access to the soft lines of her cheek, the arrogant little tilt of her chin and the small but pert profile of her nose. God, she was pretty. He hadn’t seen the first indication of anything wicked about her. Was she really all that he’d read she was? Selfish, self-indulgent and with a sexual appetite that didn’t appear quenchable? Somehow that Regina Winterborne just didn’t jibe with the one standing before him. There had to be a mistake.

  Either that or he was the biggest fool in Texas.

  “Come on over here and let me give you a lift,” he urged. “You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t give horseback riding a try.”

  She still looked hesitant but curiosity had peeked through the worry lines. He could almost see her weighing the concept in her mind, considering the pros and cons. How could she be the impetuous girl who had been described to him?

  “Okay,” she said on a mighty breath. “If you’re sure I’m not going to do myself bodily injury.”

  He laughed. “I can promise you that you’re completely safe on old Bessy here. She doesn’t even bother swishing her tail at flies anymore.”

  Darting a skeptical look at the horse’s tail, Gina moved cautiously toward him. “All I have to do is pull back on the reins and she’ll stop, right?”

  Those wide brown eyes peered up at him, a world of fear laced with anticipation shimmering there. “Just don’t pull too hard.”

  Her breath caught. “What’s too hard?”

  “Come on, honey, you’ll be fine.”

  Their eyes met and a blast of heat exploded between them. He hadn’t meant to call her honey, but the reaction was definitely worth it. Mercy, there was some serious chemistry going on here.

  She reached for the saddle horn and he reached for her waist. She froze, her backside now resting intimately against his front. Though he couldn’t say for sure, he felt reasonably positive that neither of them breathed for one endless moment. The subtle aroma of roses filled his nostrils as he took a necessary breath and his eyes closed while his senses reveled in the scent and feel of her.

  Forcing his eyes open and his mind on the task at hand, his entire body tightened with need as his lips brushed the soft skin of her cheek when he murmured, “I’ll give you a lift, all you have to do is swing your right leg over.”

  She nodded, the movement scarcely perceptible.

  Not wanting to release her and end the moment, he gritted his teeth and did just what he’d said he would. She settled into the saddle and smiled tremulously down at him.

  His hands fisted at his sides, his fingers already missing the feel of her sleek body. “You look good in a saddle,” he said softly, his mind instantly conjuring images of her sitting astride him like that…of him nestled deep between her thighs.

  AMY SAT perfectly still until he snapped out of the coma he’d appeared to have fallen into and mounted his horse. She wasn’t sure she wanted to analyze what she thought she saw in his eyes. Not good for keeping her head on straight, she decided as he moved up beside her. The last smile she’d managed to give him was still frozen on her face. She didn’t dare move a muscle for fear the animal would bolt. Unblinking, she mentally uttered a desperate prayer that God would get her through this day. This day? She hoped He could get her through the weekend.

  She’d searched the files in John’s office, paper as well as electronic, had surveyed his private e-mails. Unless the man was hiding something at his business office, he was squeaky clean. There had to be some sort of mistake. But the Colby Agency didn’t make mistakes.

  John made a clicking sound with his tongue and his horse moved forward, Bessy did the same. All thoughts of mob connections and investigations flew right out of her head. The only thing on Amy’s mind at that moment was clinging to the saddle. She locked her thighs in place and grabbed for the saddle horn. If this horse bucked, she planned to stay in place as if she’d been Velcroed there.

  They rode for what felt like hours. John spoke from time to time, pointing out some landmark. Amy had relaxed a bit. Her thighs quivered from the tension. She’d discovered thankfully that her horse appeared happy moving along at a nice slow pace. She hadn’t bucked or reared. And, truth be told, Amy was beginning to enjoy the ride.

  The scenery was amazing. Lush green pastures, a clump of trees here and there. But the real stunner came when they reached the river. The view took her breath away.

  The water flowed slowly, trickling over the occasional rock jutting above its surface. From where she sat it looked crystal-clear. She was suddenly desperately thirsty.

  “Let me help you down.”

  John was standing right beside her and she hadn’t even realized he’d dismounted.

  Allowing him to grasp her waist once more as she swung her leg over the horse’s rear, she lost her breath all over again. The moment his fingers closed around her something warm and exciting licked through her, like flames on a cold winter’s night. He held on a second or two longer than necessary once she was safely on the ground.

  “This is my favorite place,” he said, those startling blue eyes holding hers when she turned to face him.

  “I can see why.” Actually the only thing she saw at the moment was him. She just couldn’t stop staring up at him. But she’d gotten a good look at the view while atop the horse. “It’s beautiful.”

  He was the first to avert his gaze. “My mother and I used to picnic here when I was just a boy.”

  She could hear how much he’d loved his mother. “What about your father?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She seemed to always go for the most personal ones first.

  His gaze grew distant and he considered her question for a time before he answered. “Times were tough for a few years during my childhood and Dad was away a lot.” He looked down at her, his gaze slowly c
oming back into focus. “But he made up for it later.”

  Somehow that relieved her. Amy didn’t want to hear anything bad about the man she’d met that morning. She wanted him to be the loving father—and husband—he appeared to be when he spoke of his family. Not to mention the master chef. She wasn’t sure who was the best, J.R. or Liam. The two men had a regular contest going over who could make the best flat cakes. It would have been such a shame for any of that to be a lie.

  Like you, a little voice taunted.

  Amy turned away from John to stride determinedly toward the water’s edge. As much as she couldn’t bear to look into his eyes anymore, the first step she took almost stopped her dead in her tracks. She was stiff from riding. Her butt actually felt numb, as did her thighs from clutching at the saddle for so long before she relaxed. She had an almost overwhelming urge to reach back and pluck at the thong that had crawled well beyond where it was meant to be. It would definitely take a long hot soak in the tub to undo this kind of damage.

  “Tell me about your childhood,” he said softly as he came up beside her after having seen to the horses.

  Panic burgeoned in her throat. What did she do now? She knew nothing about Regina Winterborne’s childhood. But she had to think of something otherwise he’d become suspicious.

  “I don’t want to talk about me right now,” she said, adopting a smile and fluttering her eyes flirtatiously at him. “I want to hear more about you.”

  “Tell you what,” he countered, something primal flaring to life in those deep baby blues. The primitive invitation jerked on some thread connected to her feminine core that seemed to be coiling more tightly inside her with each passing second in his presence. “How about we have a little afternoon snack and we’ll play truth or dare. You up for it?”

  Renewed panic broadsided her. “Are we going back already?” she asked, her voice undeniably strangled.

  He nodded toward the scattering of trees a few yards away. “Liam dropped off a snack for us. Riding the range can build up an appetite.”

  She only nodded, too dumbfounded or worried—no, too scared—to speak. It wasn’t until John moved toward the trees that she allowed herself to look. Sure enough, beneath one big old oak tree was a blanket and a picnic basket. Liam had clearly taken a short cut since she hadn’t seen him and he appeared to be long gone.

  “We took the long way around,” John said, confirming her conclusion, as he waited for her to join him. “The scenic route so to speak.”

  She managed another jerky nod.

  “Relax, Gina.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, sending another round of fiery sensations through her. “I was only kidding about the truth or dare. Let’s just enjoy the day.”

  She sat down on the blanket, mostly because her knees had given way with relief.

  Liam had outdone himself. Wine, cheese and crackers, fruit. He’d even packed the stemmed crystal. She couldn’t help but shake her head. Crystal wasn’t exactly what she’d expected on a Texas picnic.

  “I think Liam and my dad are working overtime to make us comfortable.”

  Amy smiled, the first real one since they started out on this journey. “I think you’re right.”

  “There are things we need to talk about, Gina,” he said on a more serious note. “Important things. I don’t want us to pretend our way through this. It’s too important.” He settled an urgent gaze on hers. “The truth is all that matters.”

  Amy felt her heart drop into the vicinity of her stomach. The truth was the last thing she could talk about.

  Chapter Six

  By the time they arrived back at the ranch house later that afternoon Amy was sure she would never walk again. Her thighs and buttocks were so stiff, and soreness was already setting in, that she was sure she must have permanent damage. John suggested a hot soak in the tub and apologized again for taking her on such a long tour of his property. He should have known it would be too much for her, he had offered with sincere regret.

  She’d smiled and pretended it was nothing, just a touch of stiffness.

  Yeah, right.

  She groaned as she shifted in the tub, the deep, hot water sloshing around her. If she never rode a horse again it would be too soon. How did these cowboys and cowgirls do it? Being able to sit through dinner tonight might just be physically impossible.

  The sound of John’s husky laughter echoed in her mind, reminding her of the time they’d spent together under that big old oak tree. She relaxed more deeply into the welcoming depths of the heat surrounding her and replayed their time together on her first romantic picnic.

  John Calhoun, IV, was not only a devastatingly handsome man, he was kind, with a sparkling sense of humor. Amy smiled. She had never met a man like him. His wealth had not gone to his head, far from it. He appeared to use his vast financial means for good. Of course he took care of himself and those he considered family, they all drove the latest and most coveted vehicles on the local market. The family home was large and quite grand. His wardrobe, at least what she’d seen thus far, was impeccable and on the expensive side. But none of it made him act in a superior manner. Or if it did, he darn sure hid it well.

  No. Amy was certain the man did not possess a single condescending bone. His father appeared to be the one who worried about the money. She remembered something being said about hard times when John had been a child. Probably his father recalled all too well those hard times and focused a bit more on financial security. Amy recognized that same trait in her own parents. Anyone who had gone without didn’t soon forget how it felt.

  She grew very still, focusing inward for a time before she allowed the rest of the conversation beneath that big tree to filter through her mind.

  John wanted a real wife, not a mere partner on paper. He made very clear that his expectations were that the woman he married would share his life and his bed, that they would have children. He’d seemed almost frantic to get that point across to her, as if he feared she might not get it or fully understand it to the extent he meant.

  Instantly the image of the real Regina Winterborne unfurled in her mind. Oh God. She was the reason why. Everyone at the agency knew about Regina’s exploits. There was something in the society pages about her at least twice a month. The woman went through more boyfriends in a year than most women did in a lifetime. She was reported to be snobbish and, according to Mildred at the office, she was quite selfish and hateful. As much as she hated to admit it, Amy could see that. Only a few minutes in the woman’s presence and her obnoxiousness was more than apparent. John or his father had likely done a little investigating of their own and knew of her reputation. No wonder Liam had eyed her so skeptically. He probably thought she was some big-city harlot.

  The idea that John might be saddled with that woman for the rest of his life made Amy want to scream at the injustice of it. There had to be a way to warn him…to stop it.

  If she found anything negative about him…that could break the deal. She doubted Edgar Winterborne would want to begin a partnership with anyone who had less than a stellar business reputation. Certainly he wouldn’t want to thrust his daughter into a life of crime. Mr. Winterborne appeared to be a good deal more scrupulous than his daughter. Maybe that was the key.

  But then she’d been all through John’s home office and hadn’t found a thing.

  What if there was nothing to find?

  Determined to check one last place at the house, Amy climbed out of the tub and grabbed a large, fluffy towel. Maybe John Calhoun kept his secrets in his private room, his bedroom. She shivered, chalked it up to the cool climate-controlled air in the room, and hurriedly dried her skin and then her long hair. She had at least to check it out. Any good agent would. Drumming up the opportunity to take a look at his business office would be a good deal more complicated.

  As quickly as she could, she shimmied into the little black dress, since John had mentioned they would be going out for dinner, then applied a little blush and eye shado
w. When she’d arranged her still slightly damp hair into an upswept fashion she stood back and studied her reflection.

  Not bad. One thing she could give Regina Winterborne, she had great taste in clothes. Even if the shoes were murder on Amy’s insteps.

  She listened at the door of her room for several seconds and heard nothing but silence. Liam had the evening off and John was probably still outside. He’d had chores to see to, he’d said. Tamping down the little stir of desire at recalling the way he’d looked at her when they parted ways, she sneaked into the hall and headed in the direction of his room. She’d passed the room once before and noticed the door open. Judging by the jeans on the floor and the shirt thrown across the foot of the bed she’d been relatively certain it was John’s.

  She glanced covertly left and right one last time before stepping into his private sanctuary.

  And it was definitely his room.

  One whiff of the aftershave lingering in the air and her body started to throb with need. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The man smelled like heaven on earth. Good enough to eat. She licked her lips. Heat slowly swirled beneath her belly button, spreading outward, making her too warm in the skimpy black dress.

  Her eyes snapped open and she mentally scolded herself for the luxury. She had a job to do. Quickly, before she lapsed into another lust-induced trance, she methodically moved about his room, scouring every square inch of his personal space. Quietly, ever so quietly, she checked each drawer, not making so much as a sound. By the time she’d gone through the massive dresser and the highboy armoire, she was quite proud of her stealth.

  The framed photographs on his bedside table momentarily captured her attention. John and his father. A much younger John, a teenager, with both his mother and father. Though he had his father’s build and eyes, John Calhoun had definitely gotten his amazing good looks from his beautiful mother. She was cover-girl gorgeous.

  In the photograph, J.R. was looking at his lovely wife. The framed moment in time had captured on his face the look of pure love. Amy’s heart squeezed. It must have been so hard for him to lose her when they’d had so much life ahead of them. She realized then why J.R. had dinner with a different lady friend every night. He was fighting the loneliness in the only way he knew how. It must have eaten away at him before he broke down and distracted himself.