by Robyn Grady
And, while she might never accept it—while she would want to see his head on a spike when this was done—Jack couldn’t help Becca Stevens, either.
* * *
The next morning, Jack’s cell phone woke him.
Rubbing his eyes, Jack grabbed it, checked the caller ID—lesson learned—and connected.
“Jack?” Becca sounded puzzled. “Did I wake you?”
He sat up, ran a hand through his hair. The bedside clock read eight-oh-five. Holy crap. He always had trouble getting to sleep, but what the hell time had he finally nodded off last night?
“I thought I’d call early,” she went on. “I have a plan.”
Jack smothered a yawn. “I like plans.”
“Can I come over and tell you about it?”
“I thought you might have been, well...”
“Pissed at you after ditching me yesterday? I understand your situation with Angelica. She feels backed into a corner.”
“The only way out is to fight.”
“Or to accept. Even forgive.”
He swung his feet over and onto the floor. “Ultimately, that’s up to her.”
“It’d help if you stopped pushing her.”
Jack grinned. “I thought you said you understood.”
He heard her sigh. At least she didn’t argue.
“What time can I come over?” she asked.
She certainly was eager. “Why not the office?”
“It’d save time.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll just jump in the shower.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that he’d wait for her. Bad Jack.
“See you in thirty then,” she said.
Naked, he crossed to the bathroom. “I’ll be here.” With bells on.
* * *
Jack answered his booming doorbell wearing tatty jeans that hung low on his hips. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. When he lifted an arm to lean against the jamb and his epic six-pack firmed up even more, Becca could have drooled.
Look into his eyes. Not the big, bronzed chest or that strip of skin south of his navel, damn it. Look at his eyes.
“Morning,” he said. “You’re late.”
A lousy ten minutes. And she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking where the rest of his clothes were, either. Even his feet were bare; who knew toes could be sexy?
The other time she had visited, an older man with an impeccable air had seen her through to the back lawn. “I thought the butler would answer the door,” she said.
“Merv’s not a butler.” His arm slid down as he stepped back to allow her inside. “He looks after things for me on the home front. It’s his day off.”
“Did you grow up having a person like Merv around to mix your chocolate milk?” she asked, stepping into the double-story, marble-decked foyer that smelled of money.
“I did.”
“Must be nice.”
He laughed. “Still trying to guilt me out?”
“Just saying...”
“Merv does a great job. In return he is paid extremely well.”
She pinned up a smile. “Then everyone’s happy.”
Jack must have been six-two or -three. In peep-toe flats that matched her simple white summer dress, Becca felt way less than her average height. When his scent filled her lungs, she fought the absurd urge to wither against him...even drag her lips all over those pecs. His chest was that good.
Before he shut the door, he did a double-take at her ride parked in the forecourt. “Tell me that’s not a company car.”
“My ’63 Fiat Bambino is what’s known as a true classic.”
He squinted, looking harder—admiring the distinctive light mint-green shade, perhaps. “Are those dinky wheels even roadworthy?”
“I’m pretty sure it’ll get us where we need to go.”
He gave her a doubtful look. “Pretty sure.”
“Are you ready?”
He shut the door and set his hands on the band of his jeans. She fought the urge to fan herself. She’d seen that body before, on a billboard advertising men’s underwear.
“Ready to go where?” he asked.
“First of all,” she pointed out, “you’ll need clothes.” Or I’ll go insane. “Three to four changes.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Oh, it will be.”
With anticipation gleaming in his eyes, he nudged his chin toward the stairs. “Come up while I pack. I might need further instruction.”
As he headed off, Becca hesitated. But it wasn’t as if he planned to throw her down on his bed and manacle her wrists to the posts. He wasn’t that depraved. At least, she didn’t think he was.
Steeling herself, she jogged up the stairs behind him.
“You didn’t say where you’re taking me,” he said over one beautiful broad shoulder.
“On an adventure.” A journey.
“Should I let anyone know?”
“Anyone, as in Angelica Lassiter?”
“She needs my support, now more than ever.”
Becca’s stomach pitched and she groaned. “God, I feel for her. I really do.”
“But not enough to side with her.”
“You know the answer to that.”
At the top of the stairs, he turned left down a wide corridor. Examining the mouthwatering way his muscled back tapered to the incredible seat of those jeans, she kept close.
“Here’s an idea,” he said. “While you’re trying to convince me to step back from a takeover, I could try to convince you to come join the dark side.”
Join Jack Reed? Ha!
“I’m not the least drawn to the dark side.”
He waited for her to catch up before continuing. “Not even a little bit?”
“Not even the teensiest baby thimbleful.”
“Nothing in this world is simply black or white, you know.”
She refrained from rolling her eyes. “Just pack, Jack.”
They crossed a double threshold into a massive private suite. In this separate sitting room, blue brocade couches offered luxurious seating. Shelves filled with tomes lined an entire wall. An uneven pile of books lay stacked on an otherwise tidy desk. The room smelled of sandalwood. Masculine, soothing and unsurprisingly arousing.
Jack moved into an adjoining suite—the master bedroom. Becca took a calming breath and stayed precisely where she was.
“Will I need a dinner suit?” he called out while she ran a fingertip over book spines. Business, philosophy, a number of classics. One entitled The Witchery of Archery.
“No suit,” she called back. “It’ll be easy living all the way.”
She moved to check out what was hung inside a large glass casing on a neighboring wall. “This bow looks like it belongs in a museum,” she said loud enough for him to hear.
His deep disconnected voice filtered out from the bedroom. “It’s thousands of years old, found preserved in ice in Norwegian mountains. The bow is made of elm. The arrow tip’s slate. I won’t say what I had to do to get hold of it.”
She felt her eyes bulge. Wow. “This really does belong in a museum.”
“I’ve had offers.”
She took in the authentic Persian rug a few feet away. “Don’t need the money, right?”
“It’s not about money.”
“It never is,” she muttered, “when you eat caviar five days a week.”
He went on, “It’s about pride. It’s about passion. A person should never give those away.”
Passion... Becca peered out the window over his home archery field.
“So, have you ever split an arrow down the middle?” she asked, strolling over toward t
he view. “You know, like in the movies.”
“That’s a one-in-ten-thousand shot.”
“So, that would be no?” she teased.
“I’m pretty good with apples though.”
“On heads?”
“Just call me William Tell.”
“I was thinking more Robin Hood, in reverse. Robbing from the poor to give to the rich.”
“What about the theory that Robin Hood was nothing more than an outlaw?”
“In that case, I have the bases covered.”
He emerged from the bedroom looking edible in a black polo shirt and tailored dark pants. Overnighter in hand, a wry smile on his face, he sauntered over.
“So now I’m a thief?”
“There is that theory,” she said, “yeah.”
As he lowered the case to the floor, his face came closer until the tip of his nose very nearly met hers. A tingling wave washed through her before settling in her chest.
“You’re not worried that while we’re away I might steal another kiss?” he asked close enough for his breath to brush her mouth.
Her suddenly sensitive nipples pushed against the lace cups of her bra. But now that she knew what to expect—knew just how to play this—it was within her power to resist.
She crossed her arms. “Like I said. Zip chance of defecting to the dark side.”
While they were away, Becca planned to remind herself of that every minute of every day.
Five
Becca steered her Bambino north up Highway 1, tawny-colored hills on one side, awesome ocean bluffs and beaches on the other. With the windows rolled down, breathing in sweet oleander-scented air, she suggested that they play “Did you know?”
“Did you know,” she began, “that there are no deaf birds or fish?”
Jack’s dark hair ruffled around the sunglasses parked on his head. “I did not know that,” he said, sounding suitably impressed.
“Did you know that one in every three hundred and fifty babies born have permanent hearing problems? Until twenty years ago, most children born with hearing problems weren’t detected until they were two to three years of age. Now ninety-five percent of newborns are screened.”
“That’s good to hear.” His grin was kick-ass sexy. “No pun intended.”
After steering through a stomach-dropping curve, she flicked over another look. Elbow hitched on the window ledge, foot tapping to 104 on the radio dial, Jack looked relaxed. Becca was stoked that he’d gone for this road trip idea even if it was simply because he needed the break from his desk. Of course, she knew Jack hadn’t got to the top of his game by slacking off. No doubt he hoped this trip would be in some way beneficial, either by garnering information from her that might help advance his and Angelica’s takeover plans, or by believing that he might actually pull off taking her to bed.
If she’d shared this smoldering chemistry with any other man, Becca might well have acquiesced. All kinds of sparks zapped around the room whenever she and Jack were together. But this week was not about romance. Definitely not about sex. It was about persuading a ruthless rich man not to add Lassiter Media to his wall of trophies. Becca wanted to reach Jack Reed’s more human and merciful side. She wanted to help him accept that true pride came with peace of mind and compassion, not suffocating wealth and majority indifference.
Jack needed to find himself, and she was going to help shine the light. She’d started by planting him in the audience at a high school, making him a part of the swirl and the thrust. This morning she would introduce him to another foundation-funded scheme, as well as a person who had returned from the brink of despair to get her life back.
Later, Becca aimed to completely remove Jack from his cutthroat corporate element. She wanted to strip his defenses bare, make him forget who he was while nurturing his higher self. She had to believe there was some part of Jack Reed who would connect with the joys and importance of simple things, and also recognize that others less fortunate needed help to achieve even that connection.
She was excited about the little friend she had lined up for that part of their journey. Becca’s friend, the owner of a gorgeous little dog, had come up with the idea. Chichi’s antics could soften the hardest of hearts.
“Auditory areas of the brain,” Becca went on now, “are most active not only when a child listens but also when he reads. Isn’t that amazing?”
“How’s your foundation involved?”
“It isn’t my foundation. Not really.”
“But the dream is to head your own charity someday?”
“If I did, it’d help all kinds of causes, like Lassiter’s foundation does. I couldn’t choose just one.”
“If you had to?”
Concentrating on the snaking road, Becca ran through worthy causes in her mind.
“I’d want to give hope to homeless kids,” she finally said. “I spent time in foster care.” She pulled up in her seat and then took another sweeping turn. “I lucked out with my last family.”
“The one with the bakery.”
Ah... The smell of freshly baked bread and cinnamon-apple fritters in the morning. By then, she had felt transported to heaven.
“It was the first time and place I remember ever feeling truly safe. And loved.” Such a beautiful, warm, vital feeling. “I was eleven, the age when a kid starts to mature, to change...when we question everything three times over and still have more to ask. But my parents seemed to have all the answers.”
“How’d they manage that?”
“With patience and kindness. Plenty of communication. Talking. But mainly listening.”
“Which brings us back to did you know.”
She smiled. Right. “Did you know that the foundation is helping fund clinical trials of auditory brainstem implants in children?”
“You’re really into kids.”
“We all started out as one.”
When he didn’t reply, she glanced across again. He was studying the ocean. A pulse popped steadily above his jaw. Had she made him truly think or was she simply boring his pants off? Not that she needed that image in her head. It was tough enough battling the epic visual of his bare chest and arms when he’d opened his front door earlier that day. The memory alone made her breath come short.
“I got one for you,” he said suddenly.
“One what?”
“A did you know.”
Cool. “Shoot.”
“Did you know, once a long time ago, I almost got married?”
Becca’s grip on the wheel slipped and the Bambino swerved before she corrected and got back onto their side of the road. She pushed out a shaky breath.
“Jesus, Jack, don’t throw those curveballs while I’m driving.”
Jack Reed’s reputation as a corporate raider was trumped only by his name as a player. He was always on the hunt for something or someone to jump into bed with, before moving on to some other project.
Seriously. Marriage?
“So...what happened?” She smirked. “Did she break your heart?”
“In a sense. She died.”
Gravel sprayed as the car veered onto the shoulder. Was this a bad joke? Given the tight line of his mouth, she guessed not.
“Jack...” God. “I’m sorry.”
“Like I said. It was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.” His gaze sharpened on hers as his eyebrows knitted together. “You okay?”
“I just...wasn’t expecting that.”
Not for one minute.
He studied her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Want me to drive?”
“That could work.” He might even enjoy it. “Except...this clutch slips a bit. The steering wheel wobbles a lot of the time. She’s a temperamental beast.”
“But
full of heart.”
Exactly. “I think she’s worth the trouble.”
When she looked across, Jack’s thoughtful gaze probed hers. “I was thinking the same thing.”
* * *
Becca parked the antique-mobile out front of a redbrick single-story building. With its barred, round-arch windows, it was a cross between last-century public housing and urban old-English church.
During the rest of the drive, they’d spoken more about charities, including the fact that J.D. had left a good deal of cash to the Lassiter Charity Foundation. That segued into a discussion that touched upon the recent grand opening of the Lassiter Grill in Cheyenne. Jack had attended the opening with Angelica, which hadn’t gone down so well with the Lassiter “in” crowd. He mentioned that he hadn’t been invited to Dylan’s wedding to Jenna Montgomery; it had been very much a family-only affair.
Becca had then trilled about Felicity Sinclair’s upcoming nuptials to Chance Lassiter. Jack couldn’t see himself being invited to that shindig, either.
Now, as he and Becca walked up the rickety cement-block path, Jack pushed that other business aside to focus on a neat rainbow painted over the building’s entrance.
He scratched his chin. “Are we here to listen to a sermon?”
Becca reached back to release her ponytail and shake it out. “We’re here to test your powers of observation.”
Like observing how her hair unraveled around her shoulders like spools of gold silk? The way her every gesture and expression carried the conviction of what she believed in? Above all else, Becca believed in herself—what she was about and why.
She resembled Jack in that regard.
Not that he needed to explain himself to anyone—not for any reason. Although, when they’d played that game earlier in the car, he had given in to the impulse to throw a private snippet out there: if Krystal hadn’t died, they would have been married. Things would have been different.
Jack rarely thought about that period of his life. It stirred up unpleasant feelings, doubts, memories—well, obviously.
“How would you rate yourself?” Becca asked. “On observation.”
