Tycoon Meets Texan!

by Arlene James

  Had she realized how difficult it would be negotiating the shuttle bus ride to the correct terminal with a whole carload of luggage, she might have changed her mind and parked in close. As it was, she doggedly pushed and pulled and toted, determining with every step not to let the inconvenience spoil the mood, until she got herself and her belongings to the ticket counter. From there on out, it was smooth sailing.

  The counter clerk apologized for not being able to wave her through passenger security screening, as had apparently been the case with first-class passengers in the past, but Avis assured the woman that she didn’t mind standing in line like everyone else. The whole thing took less than eight minutes, anyway. Little more than an hour later, she was following a pretty flight attendant with a long, golden ponytail down a wide concourse.

  She stepped onto the jumbo jet with great curiosity and a quiet sense of awe. A few other passengers were already settling into place in the cabin. One man, a tall, handsome fellow with artistically tousled dark-blond hair already looked quite comfortable with a folded newspaper in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. Everything about him proclaimed money, from the expert cut of his expensive suit to the Italian leather briefcase at his feet and the air of nonchalant authority spiked with complete confidence. As the flight attendant led Avis to her seat, he looked up from his newspaper. Surprisingly dark eyes swept over her, and her skin prickled as if electrified. She swept her gaze around the spacious cabin but couldn’t help glancing at him again. He smiled slightly before going back to his newspaper, and heat bloomed instantly in her cheeks.

  “Number six,” the flight attendant said, stopping next to a comfortable leather chair. “The seat next to yours is empty, so feel free to take the window seat, if you like.”

  Avis smiled, feeling foolish. “Thank you.”

  Before the words were even out of her mouth, the attendant stepped across the aisle, hovered solicitously close to the dark-eyed stranger and inquired, “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Tyrone?”

  The voice that answered her was deep, urbane and flavored with the faint spice of an accent. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “My pleasure, sir. Call if you need anything, anything at all.”

  He lifted his glass in a wry salute and watched as the lithe blonde swayed down the aisle to greet the next, and as it happened, the last first-class passenger to board the flight.

  Avis lifted a brow. Apparently some passengers were more first-class than others. Well, he was an attractive man. Extremely attractive.

  She shook her head at such errant thoughts as she divested herself of her paraphernalia. The briefcase containing her laptop went onto the seat nearest the aisle. She tucked her handbag beneath the empty berth in front of it and draped her coat over the arm before seating herself next to the window.

  The attendant returned to trade a pillow and blanket for Avis’s wrap, which she promised to hang in a forward compartment where it could be retrieved handily at landing. Avis politely refused the offer of a glass of white wine and sat back to await take-off. As she did so, a sense of quiet satisfaction crept over her. She breathed deeply, relaxing, and felt exhilaration begin to build. It was a heady feeling, one she had never felt before.

  No, wait. She had felt this before, this sense of being where she should be at the very moment she should be there, of being poised on the edge of a grand adventure. The memory crystallized for her.

  It had happened on the third or fourth day of her second week at college. After days of confusion and uncertainty, she had finally found her bearings and known exactly where she’d been going as she’d walked briskly across the busy UT campus. The class to which she’d been heading, Natural Biology, had promised to be one of her least favorite, but had been required core curriculum for the sensible Business Management degree upon which she’d set her sights. Yet, she had felt then this same serene affirmation that filled her now. She had known that she’d made the right choice, was in the right place, doing the right thing. Even the sense of loneliness that she’d carried with her since the age of eleven, when her parents had been killed in a traffic accident, had briefly receded. In that moment, everything had seemed possible, even those dreams she had dared not voice.

  It hadn’t lasted.

  The problems and choices of everyday life, not to mention biology, had soon swamped her, pulling her off course time after time, until finally her dreams were dashed upon the hard rocks of reality and consequence. Was it possible that she might actually find herself upon the right path, or was this just that moment of sweetness before the rug was yanked out from under her again?

  History told her that it would most likely be the latter, but a hope that she hadn’t realized she still possessed held out for the former. She laid her head back against the seat, content to rest in the moment in which she found herself, anticipating the excitement to come.

  They were still loading the rear compartment when the Adonis across the aisle laid aside his newspaper, leaned forward and in that low, deep voice stated baldly, “You like to fly.”

  She turned her head, smiled politely and admitted, “I expect to.”

  His dark eyes flickered as he computed this information. “You have never flown before?”

  “No. This is my first time.”

  She looked away, disturbed by the unwelcome distraction of senses alerted to anything but the anticipated experience. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and silently, reaching for that rare moment again. Before she found it, the great engines of the jet rumbled faintly to life, and excitement slammed her heart against the walls of her chest. Gripping the curved ends of the armrests with her fingers, she realized that the clicking sounds she heard were the results of the other passengers fastening their seat belts. Delighted, she searched for and found both ends of her own. After sliding the buckle into the clasp, she pulled the belt tight across her lap and tried not to grip the armrests again.

  An announcement was made over the intercom system. The only words Avis understood were “take-off” and “nine hours.” Then the flight attendants directed the attention of the passengers to television monitors mounted to swing arms which pulled up from the sides of the seats. A video detailing emergency procedures played, but Avis could barely pay attention as the plane began slowly backing away from the terminal. She sat forward with great anticipation, gripped by an almost childlike zeal.

  A low chuckle to her left told her that her embarrassing eagerness had been noted. She sat back determinedly. As the video finished, another announcement was made, this one very short. To her frustration, she didn’t catch a single word. That’s when her traveling companion spoke up again. She could hear his smile in his voice. It sounded…indulgent, knowing.

  “According to the pilot, we’ve had a bit of good luck and will only be fifth in line when we reach the take-off queue.”

  As if to punctuate his pronouncement, the engines abruptly idled back. Deflated, she flashed a look in the stranger’s direction. He abruptly leaned sideways and reached a long arm across the aisle, offering his hand and a very radiant, very white smile.

  “I am Lucien Tyrone.”

  Something about that name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Nevertheless, good manners made her stretch across the empty seat beside her. His warm hand gripped hers tightly. An intense physical awareness rippled through her, making her tongue stumble over the syllables of her own name.

  “A-Avis L-Lorimer.”

  The flight attendant hurried toward them. She smiled at Lucien Tyrone, but she reached for the briefcase which Avis had left on the seat next to her. “Let me stow this for you before take-off.”

  “No, allow me,” Lucien insisted, releasing Avis to take the briefcase from the hands of the flight attendant.

  The attendant huffed slightly, then re-glued her smile and turned away. Avis tried not to widen her eyes at the very pronounced sway of her hips as she swiftly retreated.

  “Let me know when yo
u want this back,” Lucien said, his lightly accented voice laced with delicate humor, the briefcase disappearing under the seat in front of him.

  “Oh. Yes. Thank you. Uh, my laptop is in there, by the way.”

  “Ah. So this is a business trip?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “But you can’t completely leave the office behind, eh?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “I only ask since you seem to be traveling alone.”

  She smiled but wisely did not confirm that, but then she didn’t have to. It was obvious that she had boarded the plane alone.

  “Perhaps you are meeting someone?”

  “Yes,” she lied, not quite able to meet his eyes.

  He pursed his lips slightly, then said in a very relaxed, casual manner, “If this is your first flight, then I must assume you haven’t visited London before. If that is where you are stopping.”

  “No. I mean, yes. That is, I have not visited London before, and that is where I’m…stopping.”

  A lazy smile tilted up one corner of his mouth. “You will adore London. I promise you.” He said it as if it was a solemn and very personal vow.

  Suddenly, without warning, the engines revved and the huge jet surged forward. Avis caught her breath, hands once more gripping the padded armrests. The beguiling man across the aisle laughed as the aircraft picked up speed and she caught her breath.

  They raced on and on, faster and faster, until the massive vehicle shuddered and rattled. Then she felt a lift, surprisingly gentle, only to find herself abruptly pressed back into her seat as the nose of the airplane pointed skyward. She looked out the window and saw the ground falling away. Elated, she pulled in a breath of pure freedom.

  They climbed for a long while, and she rode it out with enthralled relish, feeling her cares and burdens lighten as she traded sky for earth. Just before the big jet leveled off, something compelled her to turn her gaze across the aisle.

  Lucien Tyrone smiled, his dark eyes glinting with satisfaction, indulging himself vicariously in her thrill, and then she was in that moment again, that rare instant when all is right with the world. Long seconds passed before she could make herself turn away, but even then the strange new sense of hedonistic fulfillment lingered.

  Some dreams, it seemed, really did come true.

  Chapter Two

  Luc smiled to himself. Flying commercial offered unforeseen benefits. His finely tuned sexual radar had fixed on the scrumptious brunette even before he’d looked up from his newspaper, but he still hadn’t been prepared for the quickening he’d felt at his first sight of her. The beauty of her oval face with its wide forehead and slightly pointed chin had momentarily stopped his heart.

  Though not a classical beauty, her beige-pink skin and full, wide, rose-red lips were utterly perfect. An elegantly shaped nose, neither too long nor too short, added to the symmetry of a beauty that verged on the ethereal. Her eyes tipped the balance to the exotic side. Large, elongated and thickly lashed, their outer edges tilted upward slightly, lending her a nymphish air. He hadn’t gotten close enough just yet to discover their actual color, but he would. Soon.

  Patience, he counseled himself, sensing a certain protective aloofness about her, despite her fragile, soft-spoken manner. He could afford to take his time. After all, for the next eight or nine hours, they were both effectively trapped.

  Luc was suddenly glad that his mother had commandeered his personal jet for a rush trip home to Greece and that every other vehicle in his private fleet had already been promised or was out of commission for one reason or another. This wasn’t the first time that such a thing had happened, but in the past he’d always been able to charter air transportation, so it had been a shock to find that his usual sources were over-booked. Apparently charter services were in great demand, to the detriment of the beleaguered commercial airlines. In the end, the only expedient thing to do had been to book a commercial flight. He had viewed it at the time as a major inconvenience, especially when he’d discovered that he wouldn’t even be able to get a direct flight from California. Then she had boarded the plane in Dallas/

  Fort Worth, alone, and in an instant, he had judged all his inconvenience worth it.

  She was exquisite, this Avis Lorimer. Shapely, self-possessed and softly feminine with a voice like satin, she displayed an unselfconscious elegance. She was also skittish.

  Either singleness was new to her or much too familiar. He had no doubt that she was single, and even suspected that she had lied about meeting someone in London, not that it mattered so long as she was unmarried. Satisfied that was the case, he signaled the waitress for another glass of the excellent red wine that he had had sent aboard from his own private stock and settled back to wait.

  More than two hours passed before she grew tired of staring out the window. He frowned when she began checking out the in-flight movies, but then she put away the monitor and pulled out the airline magazine. He quickly leaned forward and offered his newspaper, a national daily. She turned a surprised, wary look on him, so he kept his smile perfunctory.

  “Interesting article on foreign real estate investment.”

  “Oh?”

  “The prices in London are astonishingly high.”

  “Are they? Guess it’s a good thing I’m not in the market.”

  She glanced away, but her politeness made it easy to keep her talking.

  “I was more interested in the article on the problems of the travel industry,” he went on conversationally. “Difficult times. But at least we are doing our parts, you and I.” He, actually, had been asked to do a great deal more by arranging long-term financing for one hard-hit major carrier. He still hadn’t decided whether to get involved. Surprisingly, he found himself wanting to tell her about it. He quelled the urge. Discussing business with strangers was never wise. As she finally took the folded paper from him, he added, “Oh, and the weekly movie guide is in this issue.”

  “For London?” she asked doubtfully.

  “No, but then I find that London is much more into live theater.”

  “Really? You seem to know a lot about the city.”

  It was all the invitation he needed. Having unbuckled his seat belt at the first opportunity, he rose and slipped across the aisle and into the seat next to her. She drew back, but he didn’t let that stymie the conversation. “London has dozens of theaters of every description, many of them quite family-friendly. But then, consider the history.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Starting with Shakespeare, I suppose.”

  He smiled and pitched his voice low. “We could start earlier if you like.”

  Her eyes glinted with humor and gentle reproach. They were dark blue, almost solid in color. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  He chuckled. “All right. Let’s just say that live theater seems always to have been among the great pastimes of the British. Do you know, they still send vendors down into the common in some houses to hawk treats during intermission? Live theater with ice cream and candy. It’s rather charming, actually.”

  She had relaxed a little. “Sounds as if you’ve seen your share.”

  He nodded and quipped, “When in London…” She smiled at that, so he stayed with it. “I love the old theatres with their opera boxes and faded elegance, and even those little cubby holes where they cram mismatched tables and chairs into the room and pass out the ale. It’s…I don’t know, quintessentially London.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s not like Greece, where the ancient is ever-present, or California, where if it isn’t the hottest thing right this moment then it just isn’t worth considering. London is connected as firmly to yesterday as to tomorrow.”

  She stared at him for a moment. Then a shy smile curved her lips, and the lushness of that mouth, the possibilities of that mouth, kicked him brutally in the groin.

  “You obviously know London well.”

  Forcing himself to look away
from her lips, he cleared his throat and tried to maintain the physical distance between them when what he most wanted was to lean in and let her essence swirl across his senses. “I know many places well.”

  “So you travel a lot?” He nodded, and she laid her head back against the seat, sighing. “I’ve always wanted to travel.”

  “And now you will,” he said, trying not to sound as if he was planning her future for her, which he very well could do, at least in the short term, if everything worked out as he hoped. But he was getting ahead of himself, way ahead. Best not to think beyond London. Yet his mind whirled through his schedule for the next several months: Buenos Aires, Bonn, Seattle, Toronto, Orlando, Chicago. He could always squeeze in Greece, too. Smiling at the picture forming in his mind, he asked mildly, “Have you ever thought of the Mediterranean?”

  She just looked at him. Then she laughed, a smoky, feminine rustle that hinted at silken covers. She would make love with intense concentration, this one, and she was going to make love with him. She just didn’t know it yet.

  “Well, everyone’s thought of the Mediterranean,” she said in that smooth, honeyed voice.

  “Have I considered visiting that part of the world? No. Not really.”

  “You should,” he said.

  “And why is that?” she wanted to know.

  He told her. Everything but the basic truth.

  “I know what that’s like,” she said softly, glancing up at him from beneath her lashes. The conversation had come finally, almost inevitably, to this. “My husband died over four years ago.”

  He rubbed two fingers across one eyebrow. “It will soon be five years for my wife. I remember when it happened someone said to me that it was a great burden but also a blessing to be the one left behind. I look at my son, and I don’t find losing his mother a blessing.”