by Caro LaFever
“When I got the idea to stay here,” he’d moved closer, his breath brushing through the strands of her hair, “I knew right away this would be where you’d want to sleep.”
“Did you?”
“Sí.” His light touch on the base of her spine went through her like a liquid shot of pleasure. “I knew you’d appreciate the entire home.”
He was right, and she didn’t want to think he knew her so well. So soon. This man was clever and canny, though. Why was she surprised he’d caught on to her unspoken desires and dreams? The cozy kitchen designed for a cook. The homey touches, like leather-bound books and big, squat candles. Even the paintings on the walls—a mix of landscapes and modern masters—made her feel at home.
He had sensed this.
The realization made her shiver.
“You’re cold. Time to jump in that shower.” His voice turned brisk. “The food will be here when you get out.”
The hot shower had washed away the shiver, replacing it with a lethargic peace. She’d thought about falling into the inviting bed, but her growling stomach wasn’t having any of that. Finding her suitcase placed by the dresser, she’d only managed to pull on the first T-shirt and baggy flannel shorts she usually wore to bed. Trying to impress Nick at this point of the night was impossible.
When she’d arrived in the tidy, white-and-blue kitchen, he hadn’t seemed to care, although he’d showered and changed into linen pants and a silk shirt. Yet, he’d hardly glanced at her outfit; his entire focus had been on stuffing food into her mouth.
The old grandfather clock in the hallway pealed in one lonely clang, making the growing silence between them seem to echo.
“Way past midnight,” he murmured, as he dropped his chopsticks into the last empty red box. “Time for the princess to sleep.”
Something about the way he said the words sounded like an accusation. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing.” His expression turned inquisitive at the sharp tone of her voice. “Just a comment.”
“I’m not a princess, Nick.”
He looked at her, his gaze keen. “No, you’re not, are you? I thought that’s what you were before I met you, but after today’s events, I know for sure.”
The comfortable warmth and easy peace that had drifted between them as they’d devoured the food slipped away. In its place rose fear and anger, and a whole bubble of emotions she couldn’t define. “Know what for sure?”
A thin smile crossed his face. “Temper, temper.”
“I guess I’m due.” Pushing herself to stand, she gave him a dirty look. “Since you had a tantrum outside this house not more than an hour ago.”
“I wouldn’t say a tantrum, more of a flareup. However, I get your point. Touché.” Before she could turn around and leave, he threw something at her.
She caught it in one fast clip, before sneering at him. “I’m not a girly-girl, either. I can catch.”
“Catch anything I throw at you?” His smile contradicted his tough tone. It was gentle, a soft, slippery temptation to lean in and let him hold her.
“I’m going.” Before she did something stupid.
“You have to eat a cookie before you go, Ginger Snap.” Easing back on the stool, his smile never slid.
“Why? Is that some rule of yours?” She fingered the plastic-covered treat, keeping her gaze on him in case he pounced. What she hated to admit, in this dimly lit, simple kitchen, was she wanted him to. And she didn’t, all at the same time.
Sleep. That was the only thing she needed.
“Go ahead and open it.” He pointed a finger at the treat in her hand. “Read your fortune.”
“You first.” Leaning on the kitchen’s entryway frame, she tucked her hands under her arms, trying to appear nonchalant. Still, this was the first time she’d been alone with a man in a place they were both going to sleep in. The realization made her cautious and yet, incredibly horny.
His luscious lips puckered, drawing her interest and making the heat inside rise. Maybe it wouldn’t be him doing the pouncing.
Maybe it would be her.
Before she could decide if that was going to be the case, he ripped the plastic and cracked the cookie open. He took a long time reading the small strip of paper. Then, he chuckled. “A total miss. I can testify this statement is false.”
“What does it say?” The low light of the stove waved a pattern of warm honey across his olive skin and dark hair. The length of his body, the graceful way he lounged on the stool, the flicker of his lashes as he hid his eyes from her—everything about him sang a sweet song of seduction.
Her hand tightened into a fist around her own fortune.
“It says,” his voice dropped low, “luck is the residue of design.”
There was a bitter filament running through his words. Something that made her straighten and narrow her eyes. “Hey, you.”
“Sí?” He kept his gaze on the broken pieces of the cookie.
“I know you think of yourself as lucky, but no one gets to where you are on pure luck. I’d say your fortune was entirely accurate.”
“Are you sure?” His long fingers fiddled with the edge of the plastic. “Not everyone would agree with you, Jessie.”
“Really?” There was something here, something she desperately wanted to grasp. A secret that had nothing to do with her and her father and the hotels. A secret that hurt this man. She could tell by the way his big shoulders were aligned, and the taut, white line around his mouth. “Who would that be?”
“Your turn.” His voice went light and sexy, his accent nonexistent. Straightening on the stool, he flashed her a tight grin, and when her eyes met his, the blue was blank.
Frustration raced through her. She’d been close. Very close to understanding him. “Please tell me—”
“Your turn,” he said again, and this time, the words were tough. Just as he’d spoken to her outside this Painted Lady.
He was gone. Back into the shadows of his dance. She supposed she could push some more, except she couldn’t deal with his potential angry response. Not tonight, after the chaos of the hotel fire. Jess pulled her disappointment into the pit of her soul and pulled her hands out of her armpits. Loosening her grasp on the treat, she sighed.
“Come on,” he pushed her, “tell me your fortune.”
The wrapper ripped open in the hushed quiet of the kitchen, and the cookie obediently crumbled in her hand. She read the little black words on the white paper and stupidly, tears welled.
Tired. That was the only issue here. She was just doggedly tired.
“What does it say?” His question was cautious as if he sensed her distress.
She wasn’t distressed about a stupid fortune in a Chinese cookie. How absurd. “Nothing much.”
Glancing up, she caught his look of concern. And it dawned on her. For all his charm and guile, for all his unexplained anger, for all the reasons she should be leery about this man, she couldn’t help but like him.
Like more than the way he handled his staff and hers. More than how he held her with tenderness and helped her with the hotel. More than the way he smiled at her sometimes with his real smile.
She liked Nick Townsend for all these reasons and more.
“What?” His mouth quirked. “Like what you see?”
Yes, she did. She liked his black hair and tawny skin. The blueness of his eyes and his long, elegant body. There was something more, though. Something beyond his physicality and movement that drew her into liking him. Liking every part of him.
The realization astonished her.
“Yes, I do.” Not allowing herself to drop her gaze as she usually did when confiding a truth to anyone, much less this man, she swallowed. “I like everything about you.”
Even the anger. Because something told her that was tied to the bitterness that had run through his voice moments ago. She wanted to heal that, dammit.
His expression went blank with shock this time, instead of a mask. Befor
e he could say or do anything, she looked at her fortune. “Beauty surrounds you because you create it.”
A hush swept through the room. Only the tick-tock of the grandfather clock and the soft swish of outside traffic managed to penetrate. Jess knew she should say something, a light, fluffy word or two, and then flit off to bed.
But he held her, without his hands twining around hers or his body coming to stand right by her own. He held her with his presence, the permeating tenderness of his concern for her. The way he didn’t move and still, was with her.
“Jessie,” he finally whispered.
“Yes?” She swallowed again, this time her tears.
“I can’t think of anything that suits you more than that fate.”
Another swallow.
Her hand crushed the cookie in her palm. Because he was wrong. There wasn’t anything beautiful about her or what she created. Hell, she’d barely created anything other than a life of following her father around the world. A life bereft of beauty until this man had walked into her life. And yet, she hadn’t created that, either. Somehow, in some way, her father and Nick Townsend had.
Bitterness welled.
“Jessie,” he called her once more. “Look at me.”
With the last of her energy and courage, she looked at him.
“Créeme,” he demanded. “Believe me.”
His Jessie looked like a little girl when she slept. A red tuft of hair sprung from the top of her head, a lick of fire on the whiteness of the pillowcase. Her hands were fisted by her wide mouth, her eyes were scrunched shut, and she huddled under the duvet, although the temperature in this attic room was plenty warm.
If Nick didn’t have such big plans for today, he’d let her sleep. After all, during the last two days and three nights here in San Fran, she’d worked like a hard-core workaholic.
But today, he was going to steal her away.
“Hey.” Leaning down, he tugged on an errant curl. “Wake up, sleepy.”
Grumbling, she rolled over, presenting him with a plain green T-shirt and more rumpled hair.
She was adorable.
With a yank, he pulled off the gray duvet and the cream sheets. He stopped cold at the sight, though every muscle and blood cell inside him turned hot.
She wore the same outfit she’d worn two nights ago, when they’d eaten Chinese. At the time, the only thing he concentrated on was her tired face. Yeah, okay, and the way her breasts bounced without a bra on.
This morning, the only thing he could take in was the long, long length of her bare legs.
“Jesús,” he muttered. “Freckles here, too.”
Where the freckles on her face were little dabs of pretty amber on white, the freckles racing along her legs were like a spritz of brilliant gold making her limbs shimmer in shades of gilded skin.
“You.” A grumble came from the bed. A female growl of disgust that grew louder as she rolled back around. “Go away.”
Shaking himself, Nick grinned at her scowling face. “You’re awake.”
“Not for long.” She straightened and made a grab for the end of the sheet. “Give that to me.”
“Not a chance.” Throwing the covers on the floor, he bounced on the bed, his hands grabbing her before she could slide away. “It’s morning.”
“It’s early morning.” The twist of her body caused him to lose his balance, and he fell in a heap on top of her.
There were worse places to begin the day.
Too bad he wore jeans and a sweater. In compensation, he took advantage and plunked a quick kiss on that patrician nose of hers. “Hi, Ginger Snap. Time to get up and greet the day.”
“I worked until eleven p.m. last night,” she snarled as she glanced at the dim light of the sun streaming in from the terrace doors. “And it can’t be more than seven a.m.”
“Correct.” He beamed at her. “It’s exactly seven.”
Wiggling, she immediately stilled when his inevitable reaction bumped on her lower belly. Her gaze narrowed. “I’m going back to sleep.”
A hum escaped him. He’d been good throughout these last few days. No innuendos, no come-ons. Not even a snatched kiss. Instead, he’d been the benign helper, the guy who ordered sandwiches and drinks so she could finish her meeting with the senior staff. The guy who handled the press inquiries, and her father’s rumblings, and the sobbing tourist who couldn’t come into the fabled hotel.
He’d been good, dammit.
He bumped again.
“Alone,” she snapped.
“Ah, my Jessie,” he crooned. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“What?”
Letting himself take one more bump, he rose from the bed and smiled down at her. “You get up, shower, and come with me.”
“That’s all?” Her sarcasm shot out.
“And I’ll take you somewhere you’ve never been.”
A snort was his response. “I’ve been all over this town. I know San Francisco like the back of my hand.”
“I bet you’ve never been where we’re going this morning.” He was almost sure this wouldn’t be a place a McDowell would visit. Hell, he hadn’t ever been there, and he was as far from being aristocratic as they came. Imagining Clyde walking around, trailing Jessie behind him? Not a chance. Or that’s what he hoped. “Get in the shower. We don’t have any time to waste, if we’re going to get the best.”
“Get the best what?” Her question was terse, but she did push herself to sit on the side of the bed. Preoccupied, she ran her hands through her hair, and in the process, brought his brain cells to another stop.
The sunlight caught the gold and amber in the strands, turning them from fire to blaze. Her hair was a heavy silk flow of burning glory trailing down her back. His hands twitched at his sides, wanting to grab and take, wanting to brush his fingers through this river of brilliance and feel the heat of her womanly wiles.
Spanish words roared through his head in a kaleidoscope of passion. Words he’d heard in his childhood and never understood the true meaning.
Ella estaba bella. Era preciosa.
Encantadora.
“Jessie,” he croaked.
She paused, her hand still in the gleaming strands of curls flowing down her shoulders. Her gaze widened when she got an eyeful of him at eye level.
He was a man. Who happened to be excited.
A hard cock was inevitable.
Her freckled knees clamped together and her hand dropped from her dazzling red hair. A blazing blush rose from the edge of the T-shirt laying on her neck to flood her cheeks. “Um.”
For the first time since he’d been a kid arriving at the ranch, thinking he’d find solace, he felt incredibly stupid. Maybe it was because he’d been caught with an erection, but he knew that wasn’t true. More than anything, it was because he couldn’t think of anything to say to this glorious creature. She struck him like a lance, like a penetrating shaft aiming right for his very soul. That realization mixed with his horniness quickened his temper. Before he spoiled the morning with another tantrum she’d lecture him about, he turned and headed for the stairs. “Fifteen minutes.”
“I should probably go to the hotel.” Her voice was tentative, still husky from sleep.
Impossibly sexy.
His cock strained for release, making it hard for him to think straight. The only thing he had to hold on to were the plans he’d been devising for two long days and three lengthy nights. He reached the top of the stairs and turned, figuring he was safe from her allure. “You’re not working today.”
“Who says?” She gave him her standard-issue side-eye, her voice losing some of the husky.
“I say. We’ve both worked like dogs for the last couple of days and it’s time for a break.”
“But there’s the housekeeping to sort out—”
“That can be done on Monday.” His hand shot out, palm raised, to stop her continued objections. “We’re taking this weekend and enjoying the city.”
Worry creased
her brow. “My dad—”
“Your dad isn’t in charge of this operation, is he? He gave that responsibility to you.”
“Yes, he did. So I have to make sure I do this right.”
“You’ve already done it right.” Frustration ran through him at her continued lack of self-confidence. How could she not realize she was an amazing owner? An amazing organizer and soother and promoter? “Look at what you’ve done during the last couple of days. Take a second, Jessie, and be proud of what you’ve done.”
Her gaze flickered to his, as if seeking approval.
¿Qué demonios!
She did not need his approval. She didn’t need anyone’s approval but her own. Yet he gave it to her anyway. “You are amazing. Créeme.”
A cautious smile crossed her face at the now-familiar word. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.” He wanted to race back to the bed and bend her over and start kissing. It had been what he wanted to do for days. Except instinct told him she wasn’t ready for him. For the desire and lust streaming through his Latin blood. So instead, he’d planned this day. This precious day that would show her he listened and understood. “Please take a break with me for the next couple of days.”
“I’m sure there will be questions I need to answer.” Her white fingers tightened into a fist. “And there’ll be—”
“Okay.” Leaning on the doorframe, he folded his arms in front of him before giving her a determined look of his own. “I’ll allow you to take your phone with you.”
“Allow?” Those mixed eyes turned frosty, though a tiny wisp of a smile edged her mouth.
Nick laughed. Not only because she was so quintessentially his Jessie at this moment, but because he knew he’d convinced her. “Yeah, allow. You can take phone calls, if needed. However, you’re still coming with me. Again, I bet you’ve never seen where I’m taking you.”
She stared at him from across the bedroom, her wispy brows lowering like she was about to judge him once and for all.
Nick held his breath.
“Okay, cowboy,” she finally drawled. “I’ll take your bet.”
