by Arlene James
Pete shifted in his seat. “That’s true. However, Fort Worth is underserved in that area, and I have the figures to prove it.”
Lucien nodded. “All right, I’ll need to see that material, of course, but I still have one or two other concerns. For one thing, the plan needs a movie theater.”
“We thought of that,” Pete said, “but there are already two downtown.”
“How modern are they? How many screens have stadium seating? Can the market support a third?”
“I’ll find out. What else?”
“I think you’re off base on condominium and apartment space. A definite move is underway in this country to taking residence closer to one’s work. This market is prime for that, but you don’t have enough affordable units. Some of those large, expensive spaces need to be broken into smaller, less expensive ones.”
Avis gradually let out her breath. It seemed that Lucien was serious about the project. Whatever else he was, he was a conscientious businessman.
Pete nodded in reply to Luc’s suggestion. “Avis proposed that very thing to the architect, and she had a few other ideas that he really liked, too, a supermarket, for one, and a rooftop swimming pool and garden for another.”
Lucien looked at her with a touch of surprise. “Excellent. I’d envisioned the pool but didn’t think of the supermarket, frankly.”
In spite of her personal disquiet Avis felt a spurt of pride. “Downtown doesn’t have a grocery market, and now that living space is being developed here, it really needs one, but to get the most out of it, the supermarket needs to be at front street level with its own parking. Unfortunately that means acquiring the lot next door, which contains a small barbecue restaurant. It can be done reasonably if we’re quick and quiet, but with parking in the area at a premium, I think we should consider building a parking garage on at least part of that space.”
“Phase Four,” Pete interjected, “if we decide to go that way.”
Luc nodded thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving Avis. “I’ll need surveys, plats, a complete prospectus, and if, as you say, this has to be done quickly and quietly, then I need them as soon as possible.”
“We’re revising our prospectus now,” Pete said eagerly.
“Not we,” Luc said. Sitting back and crossing his legs, he finally addressed Pete. “I find that too many hands actually slow the work at times. You know the old saying, too many cooks and what have you. I think it’s best if I work with Avis on this. She seems to have the most innovative ideas.”
“But this is Pete’s project,” Avis protested instantly. “He was working this deal long before he and I entered into partnership. He found the architect. He put together the initial investments.”
“That’s true,” Pete confirmed. “Avis didn’t even really want to be involved. I had to talk her into it.”
“Good thing you did,” Luc told him calmly, “because I’m afraid that is the only non-negotiable point for me. Either I work with Avis on this or I don’t work on this at all, and that, of course, means Corydon doesn’t get involved.”
“Now wait just a minute!” Avis exclaimed. “Pete has a vested interest in this deal.”
“I have the money,” Lucien pointed out smoothly. “It’s very simple. I work with you or I take my money and I go.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Thirty million dollars,” he said flatly, “means that I get to decide what’s fair and what isn’t in this situation.”
Avis felt her temper rise. “This is ridiculous.”
“That’s not the word I’d use,” Pete muttered, glaring at Luc.
“Use any word you like,” Luc told him, returning that glare.
For a long moment, silence reigned, then Pete looked from Luc to Avis and back again before abruptly shoving back his chair. “Hey. You want to work with Avis, that’s fine.”
“Pete, this is your project!” she protested.
“This is about money, Avis, not ego. If he prefers to deal with you, I’m cool with it.” He looked at Lucien, adding, “Besides, we all know I’ll be involved every step of the way, just behind the scenes.” He rose and dropped his napkin in his chair seat.
“I don’t like this,” she told him, voice shaking with repressed anger and dismay.
He moved to her side, dropped a hand on her shoulder and bent low to speak into her ear. “You brought him here, honey. You’re the draw; I can see that. Now you do what you do best and make me proud.”
“Pete,” she pleaded.
“You can handle him,” he said. Then he straightened and walked around her chair to face Lucien Tyrone. He didn’t offer Lucien his hand, and though Luc rose, he didn’t offer his, either.
“I expect you to make me lots of money, Mr. Tyrone,” Pete said, an edge of warning in his voice, “you and my girl here.”
Luc stiffened. “That’s one of the things I do best, Mr. Coeli. I think perhaps Avis could attest to some of my other talents.”
Avis gasped and grit her teeth as the two men stood there, staring one another down. Then Pete turned, looked at her, and walked away.
She dropped her gaze to her hands, mortified and struggling to control her temper. Lucien resumed his seat. For a long moment, she did not trust herself to speak, and he seemed to feel no need to do so. Then, suddenly, she couldn’t stop herself. “How dare you! Pete is my partner. You don’t have any right to cut him out of this project. And you certainly don’t have the right to make that kind of innuendo in front of him.”
“I’m not much concerned with rights just now.”
“No, all you care about is getting what you want!”
He smiled grimly at that. “But unlike most of the world, I make no apologies for it.”
“Well, just like everyone else, you can’t always have what you want. That’s life.”
“True. You, for instance, did not get rid of me as easily as you wanted.”
“And that’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” she hissed, remembering that they were in a public place.
Instead of answering her, he asked his own question. “Are you his girl, Avis?”
She squelched a tiny, irritating thrill at the thought that he might really care and turned up her nose. “That’s none of your business.”
“Are you Pete Coeli’s girl?” he demanded in a low, tight voice. “Or is that something he wants and can’t have?” As heat surged into her cheeks, he seemed to reach his own conclusion. “Is that a game you play, Avis? Do you make men want you and then hold back?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You didn’t hold back very much with me,” Lucien went on, “but it was enough to make me crazy.” She looked up in horrified surprise at that. “How much have you held back with Coeli?” he demanded.
“Pete is my partner!” she shouted, and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, dropping her gaze. When she looked up a moment later, she was shocked to find Lucien as blazingly angry as she was.
A muscle quivered in the hollow of his jaw. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“It doesn’t deserve an answer.”
“But will have one, nonetheless.”
This rigid, commanding Lucien was someone she didn’t know, but she realized that the only way to satisfy him was to give him what he wanted, which was simple enough. “It was just a figure of speech. I’m not Pete Coeli’s girl in any romantic sense of the word. I’m his business partner. That’s all.”
“But he would like it to be more.”
She didn’t refute that. Let him infer what he would. “Now you have to answer a question for me. Are you in this deal or not?”
Lucien crossed his legs, seeming very relaxed suddenly, and brushed the backs of his fingers across his thigh. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On you.”
She had been very much afraid he was going to say that, and now that he had, she could do nothing but stare at him in dismay.
He suddenly
leaned forward again. “Did you really think you could just walk away?” he demanded, tight-lipped, revealing the depth and breadth of the pride that had brought him here. For one insane moment, she hoped that it might be more, but then she closed her heart against the possibility that he might truly care for her as a person, a whole woman. What difference did it make? Ken had cared, after all, and his caring had trapped her.
“Yes,” she said, suddenly desperate to get away. Shooting to her feet, she picked up her handbag from the corner of the table and slapped it beneath her arm. “And I still think I can.” With that she turned and stalked out of the restaurant.
Luc clamped his jaw and fisted both hands, aware that he’d handled her badly. That feminine, soft-spoken exterior was built around a backbone of pure steel, as he knew only too well. Forcing the issue would never succeed with Avis. One needed charm and careful, thoughtful negotiation with such a woman, and even then it would be a real fight. Adept in the art of submission, she played her implacable will like an ace up her sleeve, giving in and giving in and giving in until one finally noticed that she hadn’t really given what was most desired at all—and never would if pressed. Having learned that lesson in London, he’d meant to entice, even to entrap if necessary; instead he had confronted her with his wounded pride, and as before she had simply walked away.
Well, he wasn’t about to put up with that, not after weeks of designing his battle plans and marshaling his forces. Hours and hours of research had been involved. Favors had been called in. Friends had been importuned, not to mention the millions of dollars used to purchase Corydon and set up its reserves. Yet, the campaign had barely begun, and she thought to route him with retreat. As if she could run fast and far enough to leave him behind her. He hadn’t thought her so foolish—or himself so angry, angry enough to frighten her away again, and she was afraid. He had seen it in her eyes. But of what? Another mystery to be unraveled.
Sighing, he signaled the waiter. While he was settling the bill, he had his car brought around. It waited for him when he walked out of the restaurant, the valet standing stiffly by the open door. Lucien disliked hired limos and drivers, finding it much more expedient to own not only the automobile but the loyalties of the driver, as well. Some things, however, could not be avoided, and he was resigned to the situation, at least in the short term. With resignation came the intention that she would appreciate the many compromises he had made and the trouble to which he had gone on her behalf. Eventually.
Giving the driver her address, he sat back and prepared himself for what he expected to be a relatively long trip. The driver knew his way around, however, and didn’t quail at speed limits. The limo eased into the northern outskirts of the tiny city of Puma Springs little more than half an hour after blowing past those on the southern edge of Fort Worth. Luc looked around him with interest as the driver consulted his GPS unit and carefully negotiated the broad streets.
Another six or seven minutes passed before the limo pulled into the very narrow drive of a partial two-story, clapboard and brick veneer house with a single-bay front-entry garage. The siding had been painted the same cheery yellow as the buttercups that dotted the flowerbeds in front of the low, boxy shrubs bordering the house and walkway. The rich, deep green of the shrubs repeated on the rooftops and paneled front door, which was flanked by large terra cotta pots filled with purple pansies. The faux shutters that trimmed the windows and the garage door added a measure of pristine white.
Luc saw a modest but well-kept place with a neatly mown lawn and edging of the same dark red brick as the veneer, all very neat, almost regimental, except for the pansies and the weeping willow tree swaying seductively in the far front corner of the yard. That tree and the flowerpots were the only things about the place that put him in mind of Avis. The rest seemed the product of an altogether different hand.
He wanted to tell the driver that he wouldn’t be needing him anymore that night, but for the first time within easy memory, Lucien Tyrone wasn’t sure that he could convince the lady that he should stay. “Wait here,” he finally instructed, the words leaving the taste of ash in his mouth as he let himself out of the back seat.
“Yes, sir.”
Mentally girding himself for battle, Lucien walked up the cracked, slightly sloping front drive in his Italian leather shoes, climbed the steps to the shrub-hemmed stoop, tugged at the French cuffs of his pale-blue dress shirt, eased the muscles across his shoulders by craning his neck slightly and reached for the doorbell.
Avis paced the bedroom floor in her stocking feet, still dressed except for her shoes. The doorbell brought her to a halt. Angry, worried and fearful all at once, she’d searched for some way out of this mess, asking herself over and over what she could do. TexBank was almost assuredly a bust now that she’d walked away from the thirty million dollars Lucien had been prepared to invest, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. How dare Lucien think he could just waltz into her life again any time it pleased him? Because he was Lucien Tyrone, of course, rich as Croesus and used to getting whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it. Well, not this time.
But poor Pete. She put a hand to her head, wondering if Pete could ever forgive her. How was she going to explain? She’d have to tell him about London, about her affair with Lucien. Would he hate her, she wondered, or just be sad and disappointed? She couldn’t decide which would be worse. And it was all Lucien Tyrone’s fault! The audacity and sheer arrogance of the man simply astounded. Oh, why couldn’t he have stayed away and let her be?
The doorbell rang again, and she jumped, knowing perfectly well who was ringing it. A bolt of terror shot through her, canceled by another of shameful delight. The bell began chiming repeatedly, insistently. Suspecting that it could go on all night, she yielded to the inevitable and descended the stairs. In the foyer, she called out that she was coming, then took a moment to steel herself as the ringing stopped. Finally, she opened the door and folded her arms, striving for a nonchalance she did not feel.
“I never figured you for a stalker, Lucien.”
He smiled apologetically, beseechingly, once again the Lucien she had known so well in London. “If being captivated qualifies me as a stalker, then I plead guilty to all charges.”
She frowned, despite a pronounced flutter inside her chest, unwilling to be charmed. “This is pointless, you know.”
“Then what can it hurt to let me come in?”
When he put it that way, she could hardly refuse. Besides, this was best settled in private, not in some restaurant or even on her doorstep. She turned aside, and he entered the foyer, craning his head curiously. She would not let herself think how far below his usual standards her little house fell. Funny, it had not seemed lacking in any way before she had met him.
“Can we sit?” he asked, turning to her.
She inclined her head and led the way into the open living area, feeling brittle. A club chair sat at an angle to the end of the matching sofa, both pieces upholstered in buff suede and accented with neat, tailored pillows sporting a rose tapestry cover. She waved a hand, and he positioned himself in front of the chair, but then he stood looking at her until she crossed to the fireplace and sat gingerly on the painted brick hearth. An arched brow seemed to say that he found her attempt to keep distance between them amusing.
Tugging at his pants legs, he sat. For a long moment, he simply stared at her, a lovely, masculine apparition from her past, where he should have stayed. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“I’ve missed you.”
A frisson of hot delight swept through her, but she denied it with a turn of her head. “Oh, please. We both know why you’re here.”
“I’m here,” he said firmly, “because I’ve missed you.”
She found herself on her feet again. “I don’t like games, Lucien.”
“Well, that makes two of us. Why don’t you stop pretending that you aren’t glad to see me so we can discuss this like adults?”
“You think I�
��m pretending?” she asked incredulously. “For the record, I don’t want you here, Lucien. I want you to leave. Go away and take your money and your schemes with you.”
His expression hardened, giving his face a chiseled appearance, and his hands gripped the rolled ends of the arms of the chair. “Your partner might have something to say about that.”
She turned away, hugging herself. “Pete will understand.”
“Will he?” She heard him come to his feet but barely had time to turn to face him before he was on her, his big hands capturing her shoulders. “Will he understand when he hears how easily and how often you came to my bed? Considering how he feels about you, I think he’ll understand why I am here, but I also think he’ll be hurt, and we aren’t talking about TexBank.”
True. All true. She imagined Pete’s disappointed face and closed her eyes, desperation clawing through her. “Oh, please,” she whispered. “For the love of God, please!”
He shook her, just once, insisting that she open her eyes. “How dare you bring up love?” he demanded roughly. “You walked away from it!”
Her eyes snapped wide. Walked away from love? From love? Horror rolled through her, and something else, a longing so sharp and dangerous that it made her cry out. Then his arms were around her, and his mouth was on hers. Gladness rushed through her in a sickening wave of giddiness, and any hope of resistance washed away with the tide.
Chapter Nine
Home. Being in his arms again was like going home at last after a long and tiring journey, and while one part of her reeled in horror, the rest simply couldn’t get enough.
Her hands closed in the fabric of his suit coat, her mouth opening for the ardent invasion of his tongue. She had tried so hard to forget how sweet that tongue was, how it played in all the secret recesses of which she herself was barely aware, evoking tremors and little floods of heat. Her body reveled in its contact with his, thigh to thigh, belly to belly, breasts to chest, feet interlaced, arms entwined. Mouth to mouth. Ah, why did it feel like belonging?
