Chapter Fourteen
Travis stood outside the English manor, heart in his throat, knees practically knocking together. He had expected Neela to give this up for him?
The drive was filled with cars, each one costing more than he made in five years. He could see crystal chandeliers hanging inside the building through the ten-foot-high windows. Or maybe they were made of diamonds, he thought with a scoff. He could hear chamber music for Christ’s sake.
No, he wouldn’t ask her to come back to him, but he had to set her free. Free of her father’s threats.
He slowly moved up the stone steps to the doors. They swept open before he could push the bell.
A white-haired man wearing a black tux with tails gave him a polite nod. “Sir?”
The music was louder now, along with the low murmur of voices and clinking glass. Shit, he was about to barge in on some party.
Fuck it. He wasn’t going to wait until morning. He’d been on and off planes for the past three days. Flying stand-by sucked hard core. He was exhausted, needed a shower, and wanted to get this over with. “I’m here to see Neela Singh.”
“Right this way, please.” The guy—a butler?—led Travis through the massive, marbled entry, down a short, wide hallway, and then into a—holy fuck! Neela’s house had the equivalent to a grand ballroom the likes he’d only seen in movies and five-star hotel ads.
When he realized what everyone was wearing, he chuckled. And then outright laughed. Oh boy, this should be interesting. He stared at the sea of tuxedos and ball gowns that glittered under the sparkling chandeliers. Even the waiters—carrying trays of finger food, champagne and wine—were duded up.
The butler frowned at him as he leaned against the wall outside the ballroom and tried to catch his breath from his laughter. His cowboy boots and jeans, not to mention the T-shirt that had been clean more than twenty-four hours ago, stood out like a sore thumb.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Exhaustion, he thought around another chuckle. He was getting loopy. He needed sleep, badly.
“Sir?” the butler said, concern written on his weathered face.
“I’m fine.” Travis pushed away from the wall and let out a deep breath. He had to laugh. If he didn’t, he might cry, and that would be rather emasculating. He was about to lose his ranch and his woman in one fell swoop. Straightening his shoulders, he faced the open double doors of the ballroom and scanned the crowd but didn’t see Neela anywhere. Trying to act as loose limbed and relaxed as he possibly could, he strode into the room.
Like a scene from a movie, the talking slowed, then stopped, as every eye—at least a hundred pairs—turned to stare at him. He turned a slow circle, scanning for Neela once again. She wasn’t here, and he hadn’t a clue who Daddy Dearest might be. There were at least a dozen dark-skinned, Eastern-looking men.
Travis cleared his throat, ready to announce himself and that he was looking for Omar, when a compact, shapely blonde bustled through the crowd. She rushed through the area that had opened around him and grabbed his arm.
Bright blue eyes stared up at him. Her perfectly coifed hair wiggled a little with the agitation written all over her pale, painted face. “Travis?”
He gave one sharp nod, and then recognition dawned. He hadn’t seen the woman in twelve years, but Travis realized this was Neela’s American mother.
Her other hand came up to cover her mouth as her eyes went even wider. A tiny squeak came out of her, and he was afraid she was going to pass out.
“Travis?”
He spun around to face the doors where his name had been said in little more than a whisper, yet seemed to echo through the silent room. Then a collective gasp sounded from the people around him.
Neela.
His heart clenched. He locked his knees to keep from falling at her feet and begging her to come home with him.
Like the Red Sea, the onlookers parted, and he walked toward her. She shook her head and backed away, out the doors, across the hall.
The doors to the ballroom slammed shut behind him with the force of thunder.
Neela put her hand over her mouth, looking a lot like her mother had inside, and shook her head. Her other hand was held out in front of her as if to warn him off. “Don’t,” she said softly, pleading him with her eyes.
He stopped moving. “Neela,” he whispered, then shook his own head. “Did you think I’d let you marry someone you don’t want?”
Tears pooled in her big, dark eyes.
“Like hell you’re going to stop this wedding.”
Travis turned at the strident, thickly accented voice and came face to face with a tall, lean man in a black tuxedo. His skin was darker than Neela’s, but there was no mistaking the strong, exotic features.
“Hello, Omar.” Travis crossed his arms over his chest and moved in front of Neela, shielding her from her father’s obvious wrath.
“Kincaid.”
Omar almost sounded pleased he’d shown up. As if he’d been expecting it. Or hoped for it.
“You’re not going to force your daughter to marry someone she doesn’t want.”
Omar tilted his head slightly to the side and raised an admonishing eyebrow. “Truly? She has consented to the marriage.”
Travis looked over his shoulder where Neela still stood with her back against the wall.
“Don’t do this, Travis. Please, don’t. You don’t know what he can do. You’ll lose the ranch.”
He’d come to terms with the idea over the past few days of travel. If the bank took the ranch, though the thought of losing the homestead hurt like a bitch, he’d be out of debt. Free and clear. He and the boys could start over fresh.
He gave Neela a negligent shrug. “I’d give up anything for your happiness. Do you want to marry this Fitz-what’s-his-name?”
Her brow puckered in a frown, and tears glistened in her eyes. “No,” she whispered.
He smiled at her. “Then you’re not going to.” He turned back toward Omar who looked as if he were about to burst a gasket. “You heard her. She’s not marrying the guy.”
“She will.” The man’s hands were clenched at his sides, his body practically vibrated with fury.
Travis shook his head. “No, she’s not. Neela, do you want out of this marriage?” he asked, never taking an eye of Omar.
“Yes. Oh, God, yes. But I can’t let you ruin your life for me.”
There was no mistaking her desperation, her fear. He steeled himself. He had to get out of this place before he did something like throw her over his shoulder and take her with him. Or kill her father. Or both.
“I don’t give a fuck if your father takes my ranch. I love you and will not stand by and watch you marry someone because you’re being blackmailed into it. Say no to him, princess, for your sake. For your future. I can take care of myself.”
He gave Omar one last, hard glare, turned on his heel, and stalked down the hall. The butler opened the front door for him, and he walked out. He could see the taxi still parked at the end of the drive, and he prayed his legs would get him that far.
Pressing a hand against his chest to ward off the pain, his eyes stung with tears. He didn’t care about the ranch; he only cared about Neela. She’d been ready to sacrifice her life for his sake. Giving up something like land and a building was nothing compared to what she’d almost done.
He reached the taxi and pulled open the back door. Damn this hurt. He slid into the seat. “Back to Heathrow,” he said, his throat so tight the words came out like a croak.
“Yes, sir.” The engine started, and the taxi pulled out from behind the line of cars, taking the long, curved driveway toward the mansion. Travis ducked his head. He couldn’t look at it, at the luxury, at what Neela would need to keep her happy.
The cabbie slammed on the brakes so hard Travis tumbled against the front seat. He glanced up through the windshield when the driver cursed.
Neela stood in front of the car, her hands on the hood. “Get ou
t of the car right now, Travis Kincaid, you good for nothing weasel!”
The beads on her silvery gown, sparkling in the headlights, vibrated with every ragged breath she drew. Travis pushed open the car door and stepped out, his heart thumping like a base drum against his ribs.
“I’m a weasel?” he asked.
“A slimy little weasel.” She shoved away from the car and stalked toward him. “How dare you show up here and ruin my engagement party.” She poked him in the chest with a pointed finger. “You show up in those clothes to a black tie affair? What kind of...of...asshole does that?”
She poked him again, and he backed up, bumping into the open door. It swung shut, and he fell backwards, landing on his ass on the dew-dampened blacktop. She’d come out here to yell at him for...? Incensed, he shouted, “You want to marry that guy?”
When he tried pushing himself to his feet, she planted her silver slipper shoe on his chest and toppled him backward. “You show up here, in England, to save me from a horror worse than death, declare that you love me, and then walk out the fucking door?”
His eyes went wide at her cursing, and wider still when she knelt down regardless of that fancy dress she wore. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and put her face just inches from his.
“I don’t think so, cowboy.”
The last was said in a heated, sultry murmur an instant before her mouth latched on to his. Too stunned to react, he lay there on the wet ground like a lump while Neela ate at his lips and sank her tongue deep in his mouth.
She didn’t want him to walk out the fucking door. He groaned and reached for her.
“I love you, too, Travis,” she said, panting, as she leaned her forehead against him. “If you think you’re leaving without me, think again.”
Close to hyperventilating, he sat up, pulled Neela onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around her. He was sure a heart attack was imminent, the way his head spun and his chest felt as if it would burst. But he couldn’t...wouldn’t...
“Babe,” he groaned and buried his face in her hair. “I’ve got nothing. I’m just a poor rancher, and now I doubt I’ll even have a house.”
She laughed and threw her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek. “I don’t care. Weren’t you listening? I love you. You, not the things you can give me.”
He looked deep into her sparkling onyx eyes and saw that she meant every word. “Ah, princess. I love you.”
Their lips met in a laughing kiss. “Thank God. No one else in England will ever want me now that they’ve seen me. Even now, my father’s having to explain to that ratty old man why he hadn’t revealed my ‘deformity’ during their negotiations.”
Travis noticed for the first time that she wore a sleeveless gown. “Their loss.” He ran his hands over her left arm, feeling her rough scars. “God, you’re beautiful. Inside and out. Any man would be lucky to have you.”
She grinned. “There’s only one man in this world I want.”
“Then let’s go home.”
She pressed her mouth against his, her hand lowering to his lap where his jeans were getting mighty tight. “I’ve never heard a better idea in my life.”
The End
Author Bio
Anna Leigh has been reading and penning romance for as long as she can remember. After she met and married her very own real-life hero, romance took on a whole new meaning. She now knows married life can sizzle and romance can be erotic—even in her own home. Her writing has taken on a spicier flavor, and while hubby’s off at work, she lets her imagination soar….
Anna loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at [email protected] or visit her Web site at www.annaleighkeaton.com for all her upcoming and previously published works.
For Anna’s alter ego and non-erotic romance, check out www.leannekarella.com.
Anna Leigh Keaton - Risking It All Page 8
