Knight in Cowboy Boots: International Billionaires X: The Latinos

by Caro LaFever

  “I was teasing,” she blurted.

  His gaze swept back to meet hers. They both stared at each other for a long, silent moment, like they were two gunslingers, figuring out whether to shoot or join forces.

  “Okay,” he said in a soft, hushed voice. “I believe you.”

  “And I believe you don’t really cheat with cards.”

  A brilliant smile came to those scrumptious lips of his. Yet, unlike the others he’d shot her in these last few days, this one was real. Completely right.

  A thrill of accomplishment, of having given something to this man that meant a lot, rushed through her. She knew it was a ridiculous thought as soon as it strummed inside, but there was the way he looked at her, the hint of vulnerable in the blue, that told her the thought was correct. A violent urge to give him something else that would make him look at her like this pushed into her heart.

  Another ridiculous thought and impulse.

  “I want to know how you do it, though.” She skimmed her hand over the top of the card deck, trying to distract herself. “I plan on winning at least a hand, at some point.”

  “I have a feeling you’ll win far more.” A wry note edged his words. “But it can wait until later.”

  Grabbing her hand from the table, he laced his fingers through hers again, an odd thing she’d never had any other man do before. Somehow it felt right, though, as if they blended together.

  The thought made her yank her hand from his.

  His expression turned quizzical. “Didn’t your father tell you to learn everything about me you can? Everything about how I run my casino?”

  “Yes,” she admitted with reluctance. Because she was beginning to understand she’d underestimated this man’s talents in a whole variety of ways. Not just his charm and his smiles. Not only his silky way of moving and his talent for keeping her distracted and curious. She had a sudden sense he knew a lot of about hospitality, too, and her base of knowledge wasn’t going to match his. “He did.”

  “Then here’s your chance.” He glanced at his watch before waving to the door. “It’s after ten, and the casino should be starting to rock and roll. I’m willing to show you everything. Every inch of it.”

  “I could have gone with your assistant and Peter.”

  “That wouldn’t have been as much fun, would it?” Grabbing her hand once more, he pulled her to a stand. Right beside him. Close enough she took in the wicked scent of him. Warm and heated, spicy and sexy. “I’m much more fun. I assure you.”

  “Do you?” Forcing confidence into her voice and her body, she gave him a look.

  A leap of excitement flashed in his eyes. As if she’d lit a blaze of challenge in the heart of him. The blush she’d fought off moments ago crept up her neck. She felt the heat of it, and in embarrassment, tried to take a step away.

  He didn’t let her go. Instead, he inspected her, the blue of his eyes growing dark. “How incredible.”

  “Incredible?” she choked.

  “I can see why you don’t wear any makeup. It would be a waste.”

  “A waste?” she parroted once more.

  “To cover this enchanting display.” His other hand, the one not latched on to hers, rose and touched. A long finger lazily traced a line across her flaming cheekbone to her nose.

  She’d never liked her nose. It was prominent and bold. Not cute like a button. More than once, she’d thought about getting it fixed, yet every time she got to the point, she backed down because somehow, she thought it fit her face in a strange sort of way.

  The finger grazed down the line of her embarrassing nose and again, she tried to break free.

  His hold tightened.

  “Do you know your freckles turn amber when you blush?” His breath brushed across her hot skin and his gaze caught hers, holding her as surely as his hand.

  “No. I didn’t.”

  He hummed, his focus returning to the trail of his finger.

  “Are they ugly?” A question she’d held inside for her entire life.

  Am I really ugly?

  His gaze snapped back to her eyes and a fierce light blasted from the blue. “No. Not at all.”

  “All right,” she whispered, realizing she trembled.

  The fierceness of his stare grew fiery. “Who told you they were?”

  “My father has never liked my freckles.”

  His finger dropped, but instead of stepping away as she half expected, he pulled her right into his body. His heat wrapped around her like a furnace, chasing the trembling away.

  They stood together. For a long moment.

  She didn’t move, and neither did he. From his suave charm and light manner, she might have taken this as a pass and anticipated him trying for a kiss. He didn’t try.

  He just held her.

  Finally, he eased away and gave her his signature smile. “Shall we go see my casino, and let you pick my brain?”

  Jessica wanted much more from him. Especially after this moment of…

  Tenderness.

  That was what it had been. That was how he’d held her and touched her. With tenderness.

  Some part of her heart turned soft and she desperately wanted to pick until she found the deep inside of him she’d spotted. But he was all flash again. All glamor and elegance, and like a professional dancer, he was giving her moves and not letting her see in to his center.

  His smile held, the blue of his eyes blank. “Well? Shall we?”

  Nick had been right. Actually, he had been on the right track, yet he hadn’t drawn the right conclusion. Jessica McDowell was fast and sharp. Far faster and sharper than anyone on his staff, including his Maggie mía. In fact, she tested even his superior skills and talents.

  The realization made him zing with excitement.

  “How many employees rotate through your kitchen within a twenty-four hour period?” She shot another question at him as they paced through the quiet of the main gallery.

  After giving her the grand tour of the kitchens, he’d persuaded her to take a moment at Devil Skye’s buffet. To his surprised pleasure, she hadn’t nibbled as many women did. She’d filled her plate with a fresh shrimp Benedict, several types of salad and finished it with a cold custard imported from a famous New Orleans restaurant. She’d liked the dessert best, and he’d made a note to himself to place a special order with his good friend, Chef Luc.

  “Guess,” he teased, pulling his head back into the conversation.

  “I’d project in the neighborhood of two hundred and twenty.”

  Very close, except—

  “But that number would likely go up by thirty percent during weekends and holidays.” Those wispy brows of hers furrowed in concentration. “Then you have to think about the amount of room service orders you get throughout the day.”

  Nick laughed. He stopped in the middle of the hall leading from the main kitchen to the employee changing rooms and chortled. A gaggle of maids passed them, peering at both he and Jessica and twittering behind their hands.

  “Why are you laughing?” The ginger snap snapped.

  “Because of you.”

  His answer made her face whiten, and she stepped back.

  “Hey.” Lunging for her hand, he grabbed her before she moved any farther away from him. “I meant, you are incredible.”

  “Incredible again.” She scowled, but there was something in her eyes that told him she liked the tag. “And you laugh at incredible?”

  “Sometimes I do.”

  She glanced up at him, and he realized she wasn’t as tall and imposing as he’d assumed. For some reason, this woman’s way of moving through a crowd had caused him to overestimate the actual length of her form and heft of her body.

  She was delicate when a man drew near enough to see and feel.

  Shifting on her feet, she looked down to somewhere in the vicinity of the knot of his tie. Another blush bloomed on her beautiful skin, the rose creeping up her long, elegant neck.

  He wanted to lick th
at neck.

  Except this wasn’t the time. Not quite yet. He still felt as if he were dealing with a startled, fragile filly who might run like the wind if he made a wrong move.

  “Jessie,” he crooned, trying to make her believe she was safe.

  Safe with Nick Townsend.

  The thought was absurd. So absurd, he stepped away from her, dropping her hand.

  She brushed her hands down her slacks. “Shall we inspect the casino cage next?”

  The last thing he wanted to do with this woman was talk credit, collections, and chips. Yes, she’d probably have a thousand questions he could answer in a moment, but he didn’t want to do numbers. Not even with Jessica. He wanted to revel in a fantasy. The fantasy of his Devil Skye, where a person dreamed of being rich. And the fantasy of Nick Townsend keeping Jessie safe. “How about we go out front, instead?”

  “Wouldn’t it be more methodical to finish in the back, so I have a clear sense of how your operation works?”

  “Methodical.” He shivered. “What kind of word is that?”

  As he’d hoped, her whole body relaxed and her expression turned amused. “Not a word you like, I take it.”

  “Methodical.” He shivered his fake shiver again.

  Another one of those splendid laughs of hers echoed in the empty hall. “All right. Lead me to where you want me.”

  Her last words trailed off and they stared at each other.

  Lead me.

  He hadn’t ever wanted to lead any woman anywhere. As a kid with his mamá, he’d learned that was basically a fool’s task. Women weren’t led, they were tempted or lured or bribed.

  Where you want me.

  When he’d made his deal with Clyde, he’d expected he’d want his so-called wife to be satisfied with a fancy mansion and an unlimited credit card. That’s where he’d expected he’d want this unknown daughter. Now? Now that was far from the case. But he didn’t quite know where he wanted Jessica McDowell.

  In his bed? Yeah, he was pretty sure on that one.

  By his side? Sure, he’d never had as much fun as this last hour while he’d walked with her through his casino.

  As a partner, not just a wife?

  That question stumped him. He’d been making his own decisions for years, and he liked it that way.

  “Well?” She arched her auburn eyebrows, as if he were disappointing her. “Are you going to show me something more, or are we done?”

  He knew the answer to both of those questions, even if he had no idea how to answer the others floating in his mind.. Showing her something more was a given. It was also a given, they were far from done.

  “Come on, Ginger Snap.” Latching onto her hand once more, he tugged her down the hallway. “Let me show you my fantasy.”

  Chapter 8

  “Come on, Dad. Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

  “Not tonight, Jessica.” Her father placed his almost-bald head on the sofa’s back and sighed. “I’m tired.”

  “The invitation was for both of us.” She paced in front of him, nerves and fear and excitement bubbling like a mixed brew inside. “And you napped all afternoon.”

  “You go.” Eyeing her, he nodded. “You look good.”

  For once.

  The words weren’t said, but she’d dealt with that look and those words more times than she could count. When she’d been very young, she’d tried to wear the fancy bows he bought her. When she’d been a teenager, she’d tried to fit into the flounces and flares of the dresses he chose for her. Even after she’d joined the McDowell chain of command, she’d patiently put on the short skirts and silk shirts the other women in the organization wore, trying to fit in.

  None of it had worked.

  None of them fit her.

  About two years ago, she’d quit trying. Going forward, she wore what fit and what she felt comfortable in. Plain shirts that didn’t advertise her lack of femininity. Slacks that covered her bony knees and skinny calves. Flat shoes that didn’t cause her to tower over everyone. When she did have to wear a gown and high heels to a party, she tried to minimize her time in the crowd by attending to the details that always materialized.

  “Is that dress new?” her dad asked.

  A frizz of hysterical elation floated up from her belly. She felt the start of another stupid blush rising on her neck. “Yes,” she muttered.

  “It’s nice. I like the color.”

  A color she would never have picked for herself. Usually, she stuck with sedate blues and grays, with some touches of green once in a while. Swiveling away from her father’s interested gaze, Jess walked toward the plate-glass windows leading to the terrace. With the dark of the night and the light behind her, she saw herself as clearly as if she were looking in a mirror.

  The dress was red.

  She never wore red.

  Long ago, some well-intentioned concierge at the McDowell’s Paris hotel had looked at her hair and kindly told her to never wear red. Since the woman had often directed guests to the couture houses that would fit their tastes, Jess had taken the advice to heart.

  Until this afternoon with Nick.

  “You should get going,” her dad said from behind her. “He’ll be wondering where you are.”

  “He’ll be wondering where we are.”

  “I doubt it.” A lick of a tease layered his words, something that rarely entered her father’s voice. It made her turn around and stare at him.

  “Not the way you’re looking tonight,” he added.

  “Dad.”

  “What?” The teasing look dropped from his face to be replaced with a bland smile.

  “Why aren’t you willing to go with me?” For the entire day, she’d been diverted by her tempter. Now, though, reality snuck back, bringing with it all her suspicions. “What is going on between you and Nick Townsend, and how do I fit into this?”

  “I thought you picked his brain most of the day. Didn’t he tell you anything?”

  Nick had told her lots of things. He’d explained his hiring criteria and his accounting operation. He’d willingly shown her every inch of his casino, and as far as she could tell, had held no secrets from her. He’d introduced her to not only his assistant, who clearly was close to him, but a whole assortment of his staff—who also appeared to adore him.

  Nick Townsend.

  Adored by his entire staff.

  She hadn’t expected that. In her experience, charm and allure often lost their appeal when exposed for any length of time. Charming men and alluring women had strolled into her life more than once, and every time, they never lived up to their billing. So what she’d anticipated was a surly crew willing to do his work for the lavish amount of money he paid them. What she’d found instead was a group of people who would do just about anything to make him smile.

  His real smile. The one that lit his eyes.

  Not the signature smile she’d come to realize hid more than revealed.

  That real smile of his was why she’d bought this dress.

  The suite’s phone buzzed.

  “That will be him,” her father said. “Wondering where you are.”

  “I really want you to come tonight,” she pleaded, ignoring the phone.

  “I’m tired.”

  “Dad, please.”

  The phone buzzed again.

  “Jessica.” She got a blast of the McDowell glare. “Answer the phone and then go to his suite.”

  Pacing across to the side desk, she picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

  “Where are you?” Nick's voice was different coming from the phone. Huskier, with his slight accent more pronounced.

  A flare of lust shot through her, as his voice slid around her and caressed her skin. Something she never had to contend with before when she merely talked to any other man on the phone. The realization irritated her. “I’m still here in our suite. Obviously.”

  He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that only escalated the excitement and irritation running through her. “Succin
ct and logical. Another thing I like about you.”

  He’d spent the entire day telling her what he liked about her. He liked her intelligence and her questions. He enjoyed her company and knowledge of hospitality. He said he liked her freckles, he didn’t let go of her hand, and he beguiled her until she’d tried on this dress that was all wrong.

  Yet, it had seemed exactly right when she’d put it on.

  He’d told her that, too, and then gave her a wry but real smile when she insisted on paying for it herself.

  “Is there a problem with your father?” His question cut through her thoughts.

  A swift slash of confusion went through her, because she detected genuine concern in Nick’s question. That didn’t fit, either. After she’d read about him on Google and thought about his initial approach to her, she’d figured he was a man on the make, a man willing to do or say anything to get his way.

  A man who wouldn’t hold a woman with tenderness.

  A man who’s staff wouldn’t like him.

  A man who wouldn’t be concerned about an old man.

  “He’s just tired.”

  “Ah.” His lazy accent curled around the word. “And you’re worried about coming to me on your own.”

  Coming to me.

  I want to win you.

  Which was it? Both or neither? The questions swirled in Jessica’s head, making her feel dizzy.

  “Don’t be worried, Ginger Snap. I won’t bite.”

  She huffed. “Don’t call me that. It makes me sound like I’m five years old.”

  “Are you wearing your dress?” He ignored her objection with his usual sleight-of-hand. “I can’t wait to see you in it.”

  “I think my father and I should take a raincheck.”

  “Jessica,” her dad snarled from the sofa.

  “Jessie.” Nick’s deep voice strummed along her nerve endings.

  “We’ll order room service.”

  “I’m not hungry,” her father grumped.

  “And miss a chance to pick at my brain?”

  “Yes. For tonight.”

  “That’s too bad,” he hummed down the line. “A good friend of mine is visiting from New Orleans and has taken over my kitchen for the evening. He prepared something special for us.”