Knight in Cowboy Boots: International Billionaires X: The Latinos

by Caro LaFever

  “Tell me about this place.” The clever woman sitting across from him pinned him with her pointed look. “It’s special, Nick.”

  “Jessie.” He tried for a deflection with the nickname.

  “You’re being stubborn again, and hiding.” Sliding back in her own chair, she let her arms fall to her sides. The movement highlighted the astonishing purity of the lines of her shoulders and neck.

  Nick would classify himself as a connoisseur of women. He’d met females from here to Timbuktu, and he could confidently predict what they’d do and say. He knew all the lures, he knew all the games. He also understood how women used their bodies to get what they wanted.

  The woman across from him didn’t use her body. He suspected she didn’t even realize her innate power. During the last day or so in her company, he’d come to understand she had no idea what potential ammo she had to shoot at a man.

  Jessica McDowell might be incredibly intelligent, but she was clueless about her sexual appeal.

  The realization made him hot. Really hot.

  “All right,” she said. “Let’s play your game.”

  “I always like playing games.” He husked the tease, holding on to the last string of male supremacy he still had.

  Then she shot one of her bullets. One he was almost sure she had no idea she had.

  She laughed. She threw her head back, letting him see the elegance of her long, beautiful neck. The edge of her jaw and chin were perfectly female, a perfection that was all Jessie—stubborn and pointed and exactly right for her.

  Nick had seen a lot of women laugh in his life. His mamá had laughed with her brothers and sisters. True, her laugh had held a touch of crazy, but he’d still enjoyed the sound as a kid. His dad’s housekeeper had laughed when he’d gamely tried her venison stew for the first time and had grimaced. Maggie laughed at his jokes, as did his female staff. And, of course, there’d been dozens of women who laughed to gain his attention.

  None of them laughed like Jessie.

  Her sound came from deep inside, from her belly, from her soul. There was no calculation inside the laugh, no female lure or womanly camouflage. The laugh rolled around him and into him, like a burst of fresh air on a dry, dusty day.

  She looked at him again as her amusement trailed off into the night. Keeping her gaze on him, she leaned across and snuffed out the candle centered on the table.

  The lights of the city below his penthouse bathed the edge of his large terrace with strokes of blue and red and gold. But in the center of the overhang, where he’d placed the table and two deep-seated chairs, there was a startling darkness.

  A peace.

  Nick sucked in a surprised breath.

  “Tell me,” she whispered from the shadows.

  “Tell you what?” A panicked sort of odd exhilaration shot through him, making him feel as if he’d entered a holy spot and was about to spill his guts to his confessor.

  “Tell me about this terrace.” Her tone edged toward tough. “I can see it’s important to you.”

  “All my casinos are important to me.”

  “This isn’t the casino, though,” she countered his jab of defense. “This is where you live.”

  “Some of the time.” He realized his back was sticky with sweat. “Most of the time I travel.”

  A sigh came from her. “Me, too.”

  “You don’t enjoy it. Traveling all the time doesn’t appeal, does it?” It was time he turned the tables, time he started asking questions, so he could sort her out and get her where he wanted her.

  In bed.

  With his ring on her finger.

  Not digging into him with a finely-etched intelligence that frankly scared him.

  “I enjoy some of it.” A rustle drifted across the table, indicating she was shifting in her chair, perhaps in unease.

  Good. He’d distracted her.

  “I like our hotels,” she said. “I grew up in them, after all.”

  “What?” Another kind of surprise cracked inside him.

  “After my mom died…”

  Something in her voice when she trailed off made his hard heart twist. He should have done more investigation on Jessica, not focused his attention on her father and the McDowell hotels and the potential deal. He should have known this about her. Been ready for her pain. Because that was pain in her voice. “Jessie—”

  “Anyway,” she cut him off. “After that, Dad lived to work. Thankfully, he took me with him.”

  “How old were you?”

  “A baby.” Amusement filled her voice. “You should hear the stories the long-time staff tell about him trying to find stellar nursemaids, going from city to city.”

  “They had to be stellar, huh?”

  She snorted. “Of course. I was a McDowell.”

  There wasn’t a spot of arrogance in the statement. Pride, yes. And the ever-present affectionate amusement she exhibited whenever she talked about her father. But there was nothing he could label as smugness, or vanity, or any number of other traits he’d come to despise during his years with the wealthy and privileged.

  Jesús.

  Not only did he want this woman, he liked her. Honestly liked her.

  “So there was no lack of quality care.” He caught the whiteness of her hand as she fluttered it at him. “And I do like traveling to our hotels. In a way, they’re all home, and the staff is my family, as well as Dad.”

  A picture filled his mind.

  Of a small redhead girl, running down long, narrow hallways populated with strangers, asking for cookies in a gigantic commercial hotel kitchen, trying to find a place she could call her own in the vast empire her father ran with an iron hand.

  “But…?” His voice went husky again, this time with empathy, luring her forward with her own confession.

  “But…sometimes it gets tiring.”

  “Just tiring?”

  “Sometimes I think I want more.” Her words lingered between them like a soft cry.

  “More of what?” He stepped into somewhere he’d never been with a woman. Not with his mamá, not with Maggie. Not with any woman he’d dated. A somewhere that wanted more, more trust and faith and hope. A somewhere where he cared about what this woman wanted with his whole heart and not merely a small portion of it.

  “No, no.” She chuckled, the sound light and bright. “Your turn.”

  “My turn?” he parried.

  “I told you some stuff, now you do the same.” Her words were strong and sure, as if she were proclaiming how things worked for everyone.

  He’d never played this game. This game of one person giving, then the other person reciprocating. That wasn’t a game he’d ever been good at, and wasn’t planning on playing. Ever.

  Not even for Jessie.

  Standing, he jerked back his chair. “Are you done?”

  “Clearly,” she snapped, her spine straightening.

  “It was good, wasn’t it?” He pitched his voice low and soothing. “Chef did himself proud.”

  There was silence from across the table as he stacked the china and silverware, preparing to retreat to the kitchen and regroup.

  “Wait.” She shot from her chair when he began to lift the stack.

  “Why?” Clutching the dishes in front of him like a shield, he narrowed his eyes at her dark form. The only thing he really could see was the tense line of her shoulders. Which told him he wasn’t out of the woods of her questions.

  Before he could make his escape, she marched around the table and snatched his shield. Slamming the dishes on the table, she slid right into his open arms. “So…bucko.”

  He tensed in her grasp and grabbed for the escape. “I told you—”

  “That’s right,” she murmured, as she tangled her fingers in his. “Cowboy it is. But I’m not going to let you off the hook.”

  “What hook?” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, because the feel of her long fingers lacing through his made his brain shut down.

  Ju
st her touch. Just a simple touch.

  His formidable mind went blank. A shock ran through him, causing him to stiffen.

  “Hey.” Her body inched nearer to his, pressing along the entire front of his hot, hard body.

  When had he become so hot?

  When had he grown so hard?

  “Hey yourself,” he muttered into the fluffy bun of her hair.

  Her hands tugged him closer. “I’m not going to hurt you, you know.”

  “Huh?” His brain was a mist of lust and bewilderment. Every muscle in his body was taut, and yet, he still relaxed into her possession.

  “I don’t do that.” The brush of her breath wafted on the skin of his neck and jaw. “I don’t tell secrets.”

  “I don’t have secrets,” he managed to flip the lie out with his usual light grace.

  Somehow she’d nestled closer because her chuckle rumbled from her chest to his. “Right.”

  Her thumb rubbed his palm. A gentle, sweet touch. A touch of friendship, not sex. A touch he’d never experienced from a woman.

  “Jessie.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He couldn’t think of anything else to do.

  There was no response from her, other than another stroke of her thumb.

  “We should kiss,” he blurted, because when he stood this close to a woman and was this hot, it’s what would happen. Inevitably.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Her rejection cut into his heated core like a steel-cold spear. He tried not to give her any reaction she might use against him, but he couldn’t control the immediate tensing of his body.

  A sigh slid across his neck. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

  Totally confused, he frowned into her hair. Still, his muscles slowly relaxed along the length of her again.

  “It’s just that I want to have something else with you.” Her thumb kept moving on his palm. “I want to be your friend.”

  He wanted to be her lover and her fake husband. He wanted her hotels and his ranch. He wanted to keep this awful secret contract from her, so she’d be in his bed, and share her sharp brain, and make him laugh.

  Friends? He wasn’t friends with a woman he wanted as a lover. A woman he planned on tricking and playing and lying to.

  Oh, sí.

  Él estaba en lo profundo, mierda hasta el cuello.

  He was in deep, deep shit.

  Chapter 10

  The man looked shaken.

  Jessica Lynn McDowell had never shaken a man in her life.

  A frantic thrill went through her, followed by confusion. What had she done that was so unusual? Hadn’t the man ever met a woman who wanted to be his friend? She had several male friends throughout the world—it had always been far easier for her to cultivate friendship rather than sexual relationships. Not that she had ever thought of Nick Townsend as friend material before. Sensual tease, yes. Irritating curiosity, for sure.

  Not until the moment on the terrace where she’d seen the bewilderment in his eyes. Not until she’d felt the shock go through his body when she’d touched him with her own tenderness.

  Not until then, had she wanted him as a friend.

  He’d pulled her off his terrace with all of its secrets still unrevealed and into his flashy, modern penthouse. He’d yanked her through the kitchen and into the airy living room sporting a dramatic view of Las Vegas. And then he’d stopped short in front of the black glass fireplace, dropped her hand like it was a grenade, and stared at her.

  “What?” She shrugged her shoulders. “You don’t want to be friends?”

  “I don’t do friends.”

  The way he said the words made her frown. He said them as if he were declaring some kind of commitment. “Sure you do. What about your staff? What about your assistant?”

  “That’s not the same,” he muttered, as he brushed a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it and making him look boyish again.

  Nick Townsend was no boy.

  She’d felt his erection, hard and strong on her belly. But there’d been something fragile in the way he held himself that she wanted to understand before she decided whether or not she wanted to take this any further. There wasn’t any thought of her father, or what deal he had with the man. Not when she looked into those blue eyes of his and saw something more than confidence and arrogance.

  Clearly, though, he didn’t want her to get near him. Other than physically, and she knew she didn’t do well with that kind of scenario. When she had sex with a man, she inevitably…felt.

  Felt the yearning for connection.

  Felt the lingering knowledge of this not being right.

  Felt the pang of bittersweet regret.

  Then, there was the deal she didn’t know about that she really needed to keep in the forefront of her mind every time she interacted with this man. The deal that lay not only between her father and Nick, but between her and him. She felt that, too.

  “I should leave.” Making a sudden decision, she turned and headed for the stairs leading to the elevator.

  “Wait.” His hot hand grabbed her elbow.

  She shot him a frown. “Dinner’s over, and obviously, you’re not willing to share anything important, so I should go.”

  “I’ll share something important.” His lips tried for his breezy smile, yet it didn’t work. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, and she knew him well enough to know that was the only time his smiles counted.

  “Listen, cowboy.” Shifting closer, she didn’t allow him to drop his gaze. “I’m not stupid, and I won’t swallow your garbage, got it?”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. “I got that.”

  “Then tell me something truly important, or I’m walking.”

  His hand dropped her arm and his gaze slid away, focusing on the city lights behind her.

  “Come on,” she coaxed. “It can’t be that hard.”

  His harsh, barking laugh shot from his mouth. “Okay. Here’s the thing.” He reached out again, this time snagging her hand in his. “I like you.”

  The simple words were forced and hurried, as if he were afraid he’d lose them if he waited any longer.

  A lot of people had told her they liked her throughout her life. Her father’s staff had patted her head and cooed when she was a kid. The classmates at college and graduate school had repeatedly sidled up and maneuvered her into going to parties and study labs with them. During the last few years, she’d often gotten invitations delivered with friendly grins and overtures for more.

  She’d always known why.

  It was because of what she was, not who she was.

  Nick’s admission was fundamentally different. She felt it straight to her bones. Not only because of his reluctant delivery, but because she saw honesty in his eyes.

  “Really?” A stunned blur of tears filled her own.

  “Sí.” His hand tightened on hers. “So you can’t leave. I’ve told you something important.”

  A chuckle escaped her. “It’s important that you like me?”

  “You have no idea.” Leaning closer, he touched her hair with his lips. She knew this because a tingle shot straight from the top of her head down to her toes. No one had ever had such an effect on her like this man. The fact scared her, and delighted her, too.

  It also made her wary.

  Because this man held important secrets. She knew it in her gut.

  “You know.” She took a step closer, not quite touching his torso, but oh, so close. “You could tell me something else important.”

  “Could I?” His warm breath brushed her ear.

  “Yes, you could.” Taking her courage in hand, she pushed. “You could tell me what’s going on between my dad and you.”

  He tensed, all those long, graceful muscles tightening once more. His hand went taut around hers, too, as if he were intent on keeping her near. Jessie held still, hoping he’d trust her because he liked her.

  If he liked her, he should trust her.

  Abruptly, h
e stepped back and dropped her hand.

  She looked up and her heart sank. He had his smile back on, his expression suave and cool, his eyes a heavenly blue that gave her nothing other the blank beauty. “Well, Ginger Snap, there you are in all your glory.”

  “What do you mean by that?” she snapped, her heart tumbling into a vast sea of disappointment. Because his tone reeked with cynicism.

  “What I mean is, I can’t ever forget you’re a woman, can I?” His smile held as he slid his hand into one pocket.

  The elegant, casual pose told her everything she needed to know. Any connection they’d forged together tonight was gone.

  Perhaps it was for the best. She couldn’t let herself get sucked into his bright brilliance when there were secret deals going on about her hotels. “I don’t know what you mean by that, but I can tell this evening is over.”

  “Not yet.” He kept his focus on her face. “There’s something you have to do now.”

  “And what’s that?” she snapped again.

  “You have to tell me something important.”

  “I never agreed to that.” She pressed her suddenly clammy palms on the lace of her dress.

  “It’s fair, though, isn’t it?” His fake smile drifted off his face. “Ojo por ojo.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “What?”

  He shook his head, a look crossing his face that told her he was impatient with himself for speaking in Spanish. “Tit for tat.”

  “Nope. No deal.” Dropping her hands, she headed for the stairs once more. “Have a good night.”

  “I plan on it.” He grabbed her once more and twirled her into his arms. “If you won’t tell me something important—”

  “I won’t.” She resisted the urge to struggle, and glared, instead.

  “Then, you can do something else for me.” This time, his smile was tinged with a determined stubbornness she’d seen in the mirror a time or two.

  “What if I don’t want to do anything for you?”

  He slid his cell phone out of his pocket and tapped once. “Have you ever two-stepped?”

  Every one of the lights went out, leaving only the city’s gleam from below the penthouse.

  “What are you doing?” Feeling as if she were losing control of the situation, she finally allowed herself to tug away from him.