by Janet Dailey
“Will Max be joining us as well?” Tara asked with sudden curiosity, then glanced at Sebastian in quick apology. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed to include him. Besides, if Crawford Hall is typical of most old homes, it isn’t exactly wheelchair-friendly.”
“Crawford Hall happens to be an exception, then, thanks to an ancestor who was similarly handicapped in his later years,” Sebastian explained. “So there are suitable accommodations for your father if he should wish to come.”
“I believe he’s already made other plans, but I’ll ask him,” Boone replied.
“Do that,” Sebastian said with an aristocratic nod.
“I will.” Boone gripped the arms of his chair and pushed out of the seat, rising to his feet. “I’ll let you all get back to your tea. Pick you up at eight,” he said to Laura, then winked. “And bring your appetite. Don’t waste it all on those sweets.” He gestured to the petit four on her plate and left the table.
Laura watched him exit the room before she brought her attention back to the table. “This should be a very entertaining weekend, don’t you think?” Her smile was wide and full of amusement.
Boone slammed into the suite and threw a glance around the sitting room that never even paused on his father. “Where the hell is Edwards?” he demanded, referring to his father’s personal secretary and chief assistant.
“He went to FedEx those documents back to the States. Why?” Max’s frown was sharp with suspicion. “What’s happened? Did that girl break her date with you?”
“No.” Boone strode across the room, jerking loose the knot of his tie as he went. “As a matter of fact, we have been invited to spend the weekend in the country with her and Tara Calder.” He snatched up the telephone receiver and punched out a series of numbers. “I want to place an order,” he said into the phone.
“I don’t understand.” Max wheeled his chair over to the desk where Boone stood. “What do you want with Edwards?”
Ignoring the question, Boone continued his conversation with the unknown party. “I want a room full of orchids delivered to Ms. Laura Calder’s suite at the Lanesborough. No, wait,” he said on second thought. “Make that one exotic and absolutely perfect orchid. On the card, simply put, ‘See you at eight,’ and sign it ‘Boone.’ Make sure it’s delivered immediately. I want it in her suite when she returns.”
When he hung up, Max pounded the arm of his wheelchair. “Dammit, are you going to answer my questions? I want to know what the hell is going on.”
Boone looked at him, his lips drawn back in an expression that was more snarl than smile. “Did I forget to mention that the weekend invitation came from that Englishman, Sebastian Dunshill?”
“Dunshill.” Some of the anger went out of Max’s voice as his mind grabbed hold of the news and ran with it, exploring its many ramifications.
The door to the suite opened and J.D. Edwards walked in. He was short and stout and all Texan, as evidenced by the bolo tie and pointed-toe cowboy boots he wore with his business suit.
“It’s about time you got back,” Boone said with impatience. “Find out everything there is to know about a man named Sebastian Dunshill. And I mean everything,” he snapped. “And I want it yesterday.”
“Well, well, well,” Max murmured, fairly beaming in approval. “You do know how to take the initiative.”
But Boone was too angry to notice his father’s reaction as he stalked into his room.
With the setting of the sun, a gossamer-thin fog drifted through the London streets. It veiled the glow from the lampposts along the street outside the restaurant.
Laura was oblivious to the fog and the night-darkened view from their window table. The whole of her attention was on her dinner companion, Boone Rutledge. She doubted that anyone could have looked more out of place amidst the restaurant’s marble and gold Louis XVI decor than this big and brawny dark-haired Texan. Yet its fussily feminine perfection served only to accent his blatant good looks and raw virility. His bold maleness was like a powerful magnet, irresistible in its attraction.
She watched him cut into his steak while she idly toyed with her plate of veal and lobster in a seafood sauce atop a bed of tender vegetable noodles.
“So, tell me,” Boone began in a conversational tone, “have you always been interested in tracing your family tree?”
“Hardly,” she replied in amused denial.
“Really?” His thick black eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “You seemed so interested in this portrait that I figured it must be a hobby of yours.”
“Truthfully, Tara is more interested in seeing it than I am. Which isn’t to say I don’t have some curiosity about it, because I do,” Laura admitted. “But if I never had the opportunity, I wouldn’t cry over it.”
“A lot of people these days have become obsessed with uncovering their roots,” Boone commented. “A few years ago my father hired some guy to trace back our family tree. He was convinced we were related to one of the defenders of the Alamo,” Boone recalled with a smile. “You should have seen my father’s face when he learned that the only famous ancestor we had was the outlaw John Wesley Hardin.”
“John Wesley Hardin? You’re kidding!” Laura all but hooted with laughter
“ ’Fraid not. Needless to say, he fired the researcher on the spot.”
“He must have been furious.”
“Believe me, he was roaring louder than a Texas tornado. It didn’t help that I suggested he might have come by his skill in business honestly—he had merely found a bloodless way to do it, first snuffing out his competition, then taking over its assets.”
“Something tells me that didn’t make you very popular with him.”
“He did a bit more roaring,” Boone admitted, his grin broadening.
“I can imagine,” she said, then added thoughtfully. “I suspect, though, that Max welcomes any excuse to roar.”
“And he does bite as well,” Boone warned.
The remark reminded her of the many stories she’d heard about her own Calder family. On occasion they had been known to bite, too.
“He wouldn’t have become what he is today if he didn’t,” she said realistically. “Just the same, I like your father. I’m glad he’s going to join us this weekend.”
“He likes you, too.” His glance traveled over the golden sheen of her hair, its loose waves framing a face that was classic in its beauty. “He usually doesn’t have much time for the opposite sex, but he’s really taken with you. Exactly how did you manage that? I could use some lessons.”
For all the jest in his tone, Laura suspected he was half serious. “My way probably wouldn’t work for you.” She laid down her silverware and reached for her wineglass, using those few seconds to think through the rest of her answer. “You and my brother Trey are in somewhat similar positions. Both of you are being groomed to take over the family business. I don’t have any of that pressure. The only expectations my family has for me are negative ones—you know, don’t get into trouble, don’t become involved with drugs—that sort of thing. It leaves me amazingly free.” She took a sip of her wine as if to punctuate the thought. “My brother, on the other hand, if he makes even one small mistake, everyone seems to come down harder on him than they would on anyone else. Not out of cruelty, but because of the role he’ll have to fill one day.” She tilted her glass toward him. “I suspect it’s the same for you with your father.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He was deliberately offhand even though he knew her summation was right on the nose. It was the first time he could recall anyone ever demonstrating an understanding of his situation. In one way, it touched something deep inside him. But in another, it made him uncomfortable.
“I remember my brother said to me one time, ‘You know, Sis,’ ” Laura switched to an imitation of a man’s voice, ‘the worst thing about it is you’ve got to take their guff and keep your mouth shut when you really want to knock their heads off.’ ”
“I’ve been there a time or two,”
Boone agreed wryly.
“I think that’s why Trey took up rodeoing in college. It’s his way of rebelling a little—and blowing off some steam at the same time.” She studied him over the rim of her wineglass, a knowing gleam in her dark eyes. “So what’s your form of release from the pressure? Fast cars or fast women? I’d bet it’s the latter, considering your reputation for playing the field.”
He was much more comfortable with this kind of conversation, and it showed. “You know what they say about safety in numbers.”
“Variety is the spice of life and all that,” she teased. “You sound like me—easily bored.”
It was not the response he had expected. In the past when he had made similar comments, the response had invariably included a subtle lecture on the benefits and joys of monogamous relationships.
Even now, a part of him was skeptical of her reply. At the same time, though, he had to acknowledge that it rang true. And it stung a little that she didn’t seem to be interested in “catching” him. Simultaneously Boone realized that Laura Calder would not be an easy conquest. He’d never had to work to get a woman before.
And it was that thought that prompted him to say, “Tonight, sitting here with you, I’m not all that interested in the variety that’s out there when you play the field.”
“Now that sounds like a line,” Laura chided lightly.
“With other women, it would be,” Boone admitted. “With you, I’m really not sure.”
“In that case, I’ll take it as a high compliment. Thank you,” she said with an accepting dip of her head, her eyes alive to him in a way they hadn’t been before. It was a look he was determined to keep there.
Following dinner Boone instructed the chauffeur to take them to one of London’s many gaming establishments. Laura eyed him curiously. “Don’t you have to be a member to go there?”
“I am,” he stated.
“Do you enjoy gaming?” she wondered.
“Don’t you?” he countered, flashing her a smile that was reckless and sexy.
The London casino had none of the Vegas clamor of slot-machine bells and clattering coins. Here the gambling was limited to table games—blackjack, poker, roulette, and craps. It was an atmosphere that would have been sedately British except for all the shouts and excited chatter that came from the crowded craps table.
Boone guided her toward it. “Have you ever played craps before?”
“Once or twice,” she said, but the twinkle in her eyes indicated a greater familiarity with the game than that.
“In that case, you’ll need a stake.” He pressed a stack of tokens into her palm.
“There’s really no need. I can afford to buy my own,” she reminded him.
“I know. But tonight’s my treat,” he said with a smile and shouldered his way to the table, urged on by half a dozen excited bettors.
The feverish contagion of the scene had quickened Laura’s pulse. The pace of the game was swift, almost nonstop. The only pauses came when the shooters shook the dice, sometimes muttering under their breath and sometimes calling for the needed point. Almost the instant the dice came to rest, the losing bets were raked in and the winners paid out amidst a mix of groans, the occasional curse, and a rare few triumphant outcries.
Through sheer good fortune, Laura managed to double her stack of chips, but Boone was on a hot streak, the stacks growing in front of him with each roll of the dice.
“You’re bringing me luck,” he said when the winnings from another bet were pushed his way.
“Of course.” Laura flashed him a smile of absolute certainty.
“Let’s keep it that way,” he signaled to the dealer his intention to cash in.
She glanced at him in surprise. “I didn’t expect you to quit while you were ahead.”
He grinned. “That’s how you walk away a winner.”
“True.” Laughing she gathered up her own chips, counted out the stake he’d given her, and gave them back to him. “This is yours, I believe.” The rest she collected and dropped inside her black silk evening bag. As they moved away from the table, she released a long breath, conscious of her heart rate slowing to something closer to normal. “What an adrenaline rush,” she declared. “It could so easily become addictive.”
“And it does for some people.” He ran his gaze over her upturned face, noting the lingering flush of excitement and finding something addictive in its look. “Want to try your luck at the blackjack tables.”
She glanced in their direction and shook her head. “No, it looks much too tame. But I could go for something tall and cold. How about—” The rest of her question was never finished as she was sideswiped by a casino patron, the impact knocking her off balance and sending her stumbling against Boone.
“So sorry, miss,” the man declared, instantly contrite, his voice slurring and his hands catching at her in an effort to steady her. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. My wife’s always warning me about that.”
“I’m fine. Really,” Laura insisted as he continued to hover over her, close enough that the sourness of his whiskey breath fanned her.
“Are you sure now?” he persisted.
“Positive.” She wanted nothing more than for the man to leave, but he didn’t seem to get the message. She suddenly sensed Boone moving away from her. Temper flaring that he would abandon her, Laura turned after him.
“No, you don’t, buster.” Boone growled directly behind her.
At almost the same instant, Laura felt a pull on the shoulder strap of her evening bag. When she glanced down she was stunned to see a man’s hand inside it and Boone’s clasping the man’s wrist in a viselike grip.
“Stop that man!” Boone barked the order.
With a start, Laura realized he was referring to the man who had bumped into her. Turning, she saw the culprit scurrying away, moving with a haste that included no signs of drunkenness. She understood in an instant that the two had been working as a team, the first to distract her while the second pilfered her purse.
Action erupted behind her as the second man took a swing at Boone and jerked his hand out of her purse. The man struggled frantically to break free. From the outset it was obvious that he was no match for the younger and much stronger Boone.
An actual fight was something Laura had never witnessed. On rare occasions at the ranch she’d seen the aftermath of scraped knuckles, cut lips, bruises, and even a black eye a time or two, but she’d never been present when a fight occurred until now.
Within seconds, it seemed, Boone had subdued the man, holding him in a paralyzing headlock, his arm twisted high behind his back as the casino’s security staff converged on the scene.
As brief as the incident had been, Laura had felt all of its heat and heart-pounding fury. She was conscious of the blood rushing through her system in a kind of savage high that simultaneously frightened and thrilled her.
Casino security were quick to take custody of the would-be thief from Boone, and Laura watched the violence ebb from him. Its passing was accompanied by a series of actions, beginning with a big shrug of his shoulders to correct the lay of his suit jacket, followed by a stretch of the neck and a quick adjusting of his tie to center it once again. Then his glance made a sweep of the gathering of onlookers, more as if to challenge any other takers than to search for danger.
When his glance finally stopped on her, his dark eyes still had a trace of battle glitter in them. It was that element of the primitive that Laura found fascinating.
But neither was given an opportunity to converse as security escorted them off the gaming floor to an inner office. There questions were asked, and events described. It was all repeated again when the police arrived and took their statements.
Nearly an hour later Boone and Laura climbed into the rear of the waiting limousine, apologies from casino management still echoing in their ears.
“At last that’s over,” Boone declared on a heavy sigh and settled back in the cushioned seat. “I had
hoped to show you an evening to remember, but that wasn’t what I had in mind.”
The limousine passed by a streetlight, the streaming flood of light briefly revealing a tiny smear of blood at the corner of his lips. Laura removed the precisely folded handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and used a corner of it to dab away the touch of blood.
“My hero,” she murmured with a lightly teasing smile. Boone smiled back, but she noticed the secretly pleased look he wore that she had called him that even in jest. “Have I said ‘thank you’ yet for preventing that man from absconding with my winnings?”
“I don’t think you have.” His eyes had an expectant gleam.
“Thank you,” she murmured and leaned into him, covering his mouth in a nuzzling but brief kiss.
Before she could draw back, Boone hooked an arm around her waist to keep her against his chest. “You’re more than welcome.” His voice was husky.
His hand came up and cupped the back of her head, pulling her lips back to him. His mouth came down in a driving, delving kiss full of male aggression that made no attempt to conceal his desire behind finesse. A part of her gloried in its primitive heat, but her head warned her against letting it continue.
With a degree of regret, she flattened a hand against his chest and pushed back, dipping her head to pull in a breath that his kiss had denied her. His hands tightened on her in an attempt to draw her back, but Laura managed to maintain a small distance.
Peering at him through the top of her lashes, she murmured between deep breaths, “You do know the quick way to start a fire, don’t you?”
“I had help,” he reminded her.
Sensing his advantage, Boone again attempted to eliminate the space that separated. This time Laura laid two fingers on his lips.
“I think we both know where another kiss would lead,” she told him without any trace of false primness. “And I don’t know you that well—yet.”
He hesitated, gauging the firmness of her refusal, then loosened his hold on her. “That’s the most promising ‘no’ I’ve ever heard from a woman.”
