by Francis Ray
He looked up, his expression vague, as if he hadn’t known she was there. “You like flowers?”
The words didn’t flow smoothly from the huge man, who had to weigh at least 250 pounds. He had the biggest hands she had ever seen. “Yes, I do.”
Opening his lunch kit, he removed a Thermos and slowly watered the plant. “Flowers need water.”
“And protection.” She picked up small pieces of broken concrete, then squatted and placed them around the flower. “There.”
The bear of a man gave her a wide grin. She smiled back.
“Jess, you aren’t bothering Ms. Grayson, are you?”
Sierra looked up to see a man similarly dressed in construction garb, a worried frown on his dark face. She wondered how he knew her. “I was the one interfering.” She rose to her feet and extended her hand. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”
The man jerked off his hard hat, stuck out his gloved hand, then snatched it back and quickly removed the glove. “Sorry. Dave Crane, construction foreman. Jess Harmon is the best welder in my crew.” He glanced at Jess, then back at Sierra, “I hope he didn’t bother you.”
“He didn’t.” She smiled at Jess, who had his head tucked. “He and I both like flowers. I was admiring his.”
Jess’s head came up. “I watered it.”
“All right, Jess. Get to work.”
Warily the big man looked around as if frightened, then whispered, “Is he here?”
The foreman cut a glance at Sierra. “Yes, but—”
Jess didn’t wait. He just took off at a fast clip.
“Who is he scared of?” Sierra questioned. She detested people being picked on because they were different or made to feel as if they didn’t belong. She’d experienced both.
The foreman replaced his hard hat. “Jess … Jess is special.”
“Who?” Sierra asked.
“Mr. Navarone,” he said, then hastened to add, “Jess heard Mr. Navarone take a man to task for being careless and causing an accident. Jess has been uneasy around him ever since. He’s the strongest man I know, but he’s as gentle as a lamb and doesn’t like arguments.”
Blade’s anger would be something to see. But he wasn’t cruel. “He shouldn’t be afraid of Blade.”
“I’ve tried to talk to him, but it hasn’t done any good. Since they aren’t likely to see each other again, I decided to let it go.” The foreman glanced at his watch. “I’d better get to it myself. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” Sierra continued into the building. She wasn’t afraid of Blade, but that didn’t mean she didn’t plan on being cautious.
Only Sierra.
On the terrace of his home Blade stood in the shadow of a seven-foot cone-shaped topiary. He’d tracked Sierra from the moment she’d left the W and seen her staring up at the building. Then, to his utter surprise, she’d struck up a conversation with one of his construction workers.
Blade hadn’t seen what they were looking at until he’d gotten his binoculars. A small flower that Sierra had placed concrete around. He couldn’t hear what she said, but he could see the smile on her face, imagine her sweet laughter.
Obviously she had never met a stranger and could charm anyone she set her mind to. Him included.
The doorbell interrupted his musings. He tossed the binoculars on the cushioned chaise and went to answer the door.
Sierra rang Blade’s doorbell and told herself not to be nervous, but it wasn’t helping. Blade clearly wanted more than a professional relationship and, if she was honest, she wanted the same thing. However, becoming involved with a man like Blade presented its own set of problems that she wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with.
The door opened. She’d expected the man who had greeted them in San Francisco.
“Good morning, Sierra. Why the look of surprise?”
“Good morning, Blade.” She stepped inside. “I imagined you’d have someone else doing this.”
“Correct, Ms. Grayson.” The elderly man from San Francisco appeared. “It is my job.”
Sierra smiled and extended her hand. “Please call me Sierra. Blade knows what a hearty appetite I have and was just helping.”
A smile warmed the man’s austere face. “Nice save.” He extended his hand. “Hal Jenkins. It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Sierra.”
“Don’t keep her standing in the foyer.” Martin joined them and took her arm. “Hello, Sierra. If you please, with your French toast you’ll have Canadian bacon, diced onions with potatoes, and a fruit bowl.”
“You read my mind, Martin,” she said, allowing herself to be led through the immense great room done in luxurious ecru and white. She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Jenkins.”
“Jenkins, if you please,” the servant said, then looked at Blade. “Hurry up so she can eat.”
Blade looked at Jenkins’s retreating back. In Blade’s memory, his butler, an all-around man, had never ordered him about. But then Blade had never brought a woman like Sierra to his home. In fact, there had been no woman.
Sierra was a “first” in too many ways to count.
“Mr. Navarone, if you please.” Martin popped back out of the small dining room off the kitchen. “Your guest is waiting.”
Shaking his head, Blade followed the chef. If he had to break tradition, he might as well enjoy it.
Sierra held up her hand as Martin tried to tempt her with another slice of French toast made with real butter and topped with freshly made whipped cream and slivers of strawberries and blueberries. She smiled up at the hovering chef. “This breakfast was the perfect way to start the day.”
“You honor me.” Bowing, he was gone.
“He was beside himself last night when I told him you were coming for breakfast.” Blade leaned back in his chair, unable to keep himself from trying to visualize Sierra wearing his silk robe and nothing else, instead of one of her smart suits, this one white. “You have a way with men.”
“People,” she clarified. “Two of my sales this week were to women.”
“I stand corrected.” He didn’t want to argue with her; he wanted to make love to her until both of them were too exhausted to move.
Something in her narrowed gaze said she had a good idea what he was thinking. Sadly, he couldn’t tell whether she liked the idea or not. She was attracted to him, but as she’d said last night, she was still weighing her options. He planned to do everything in his power to sway her to his way of thinking and into his bed.
It wouldn’t lead to anything permanent, but for a short while he would know her softness, know a woman cared for him and not his wealth. A normal life with a woman was impossible. He thought he had accepted the idea, gotten over the wanting, but Sierra caused it to resurface. To be with her longer would be too risky. The media would become interested, and so might the wrong kind of people.
Sierra came to her feet. “Thank you for breakfast. I need to get to the sales office.”
He stood. “I’ll follow you down and show you to your place.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Perhaps it would be best if I remain at the W.”
He’d thought she might have second thoughts, but he didn’t intend for her to win this battle. “Staying at the W when you can stay in a furnished model of one of the estates you’re selling with the height of luxury and convenience sends the wrong message.”
“Staying here when we’ve stepped over the professional line a time or two sends the wrong message as well,” she told him.
He went to her, his gaze bold and hungry. “A time or two is just the beginning.”
“Self-assurance is one thing, arrogance, another.” She started to step around him. His hand circling her upper forearm stopped her.
“Sierra—”
“Move it or lose it.”
The words were said with such cold precision, his fingers unfurled. He had a sneaky feeling she’d think nothing of trying to break his hand if he didn’t. “Can we go back
a few minutes to when we just finished breakfast?”
She shot him a look. “You think you’ll be able to keep your foot out of your mouth this time?”
“I’ll certainly try,” he said earnestly. “But could you please work with me a bit?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not used to explaining myself,” he said tightly.
“A little humility is good for the soul.” She reached around and picked up her almost empty glass of orange juice and casually sipped.
He was being given another chance. “I admit I never thought of what people might say if we were in the same building, but there would be talk if you were here or at the W. Besides, being able to show the property at whatever time that is convenient to the customer would be a plus. In addition, if any of your family wanted to visit you, you have two guest bedrooms. If you wanted to have another tea or a light lunch for prospective buyers, Martin would be at your disposal. You and he could also work on the late-night menu you suggested once Navarone Place is opened.”
“Would it have hurt you to say all this at the first?”
If he had thought of it, it probably wouldn’t have. “As I said, I’m not used to explaining myself.”
She set the glass on the table without looking away. “I admire your business savvy and your accomplishments, but I won’t follow you blindly.”
“I’ll remember that.” He wanted to reach out his hand, to hold her, touch her, but clearly she was in a business mode this morning. “If you have time, I’d like to show you the estate.”
“I have time.”
Sierra was speechless. She had been joking last night when she had said she’d be living in a million-dollar estate.
“Since you had your tea here, I thought you’d like this one best and would be more comfortable here.”
Sierra dragged her gaze from the beautifully furnished room with classic lines of furnishings. “Because it was the largest, the most elegant and costly.”
“Living here will give you an even greater perspective.” Blade glanced around the room. “If you don’t like anything, you only have to call the designer.”
Sierra’s eyes twinkled. “Jacques would have a fit if I even moved a chair,” she said. She’d met the Dallas designer when she’d invited him to have tea with the group of ladies from the Belo Mansion meeting.
“He’d probably move it himself,” Blade said. “He sent word by John that if there was any justice in the world, you would emerge victorious.”
“He’s a wonderful interior designer. You have the ability to surround yourself with the top people in their field. The mark of good leaders is knowing they can’t do it all by themselves.”
The unexpected compliment went straight to his heart. From his pocket he pulled a key ring with the silver initial N. “This is the only key to the front door. It works the old-fashioned way for now. No one will be able to get inside unless you let them.”
She took the key without looking at him. “Thank you.”
“There’s already twenty-four-hour security on the grounds, but I’ve extended it to inside the building. This floor will be monitored by TV, so don’t worry. I want to show you something.” He took her to the intercom in the sleek kitchen. “Fire, police, or if you just feel off, someone can be here in less than a minute.”
“I’m not the helpless, nervous type.” She smiled up at him, expecting him to at least humor her.
If anything, his expression hardened. “Security is here for a reason. Let the men do their jobs.”
Sierra started to point out that the days of a woman waiting for a man to take care of her were gone, but she let it go. She had a feeling she wouldn’t win this argument with Blade any more than she had with her brothers. “I’d better get to work or you’ll regret hiring me.”
“Never.” His hand circled her forearm before he thought. He tensed for a second, half-expecting her to tear into him. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Where?”
“My place.” His eyes studied hers. “Martin would get huffy if we went anyplace else.”
It was as good an excuse as any. “Can’t have that.” Life had taught her the best way to overcome her fear was to face it.
“What do you want?”
The husky words sank into her. She wanted for him to really smile, to somehow ease the pain she often glimpsed in his dark eyes, for her not to be hurt. “Surprise me.”
“Works for me.” His hot, inventive mouth settled on hers.
Sierra planned a full day. In the morning, she scheduled appointments. In the afternoon, she wanted to meet with the head of the marketing department for Navarone Resorts and Spas. She shook her head at the small article buried in the Home Center section of The Dallas Morning News that morning.
During her stay in Dallas she’d searched the paper daily, and this was the first time she’d seen any mention of the estates. With the project slated for completion in less than two months, there should have been more of a buzz, more units sold. She expected to go after buyers, but they should have also been calling her.
There was an 800 number listed on the huge sign in front of the building, but none of her sales or those of the other Realtors had come from callers to that number. The article, with a two-by-four-inch black-and-white photo, wouldn’t tempt anyone to call.
She’d called John to learn the name of the person responsible and learned they’d hired a local marketing firm. Whenever possible, they liked to use local businesses. She asked for the contact name and telephone numbers.
Sierra refrained from telling John her opinion of the pitiful job she thought the advertising firm was doing. She wrote down the information he gave her, then called the phone number. After being passed on to two people in Fulton Advertising Agency, Sierra was finally connected to the person in charge of the campaign, Char James. Sierra had barely gotten out her name and position before the woman offered to come over and meet with her.
“Thank you. I’ll be in the sales office all afternoon. I’ll give your name to Security so you can come right up.”
“He really is there, then?”
Sierra frowned at the breathless quality of the woman’s voice. “Who?”
“Never mind. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
Was that another woman “chasing Blade” or one simply awestruck? Hanging up the phone, Sierra dialed Dominique at her studio. “How would you like the opportunity to take some photos of Navarone Place?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been itching to do that since I came over last week for the tea. When?” Dominique asked.
That was the answer Sierra had hoped for. “Can you be here in the morning? The head of marketing for Navarone Place is rushing over now. I want to discuss some ideas with her. But I think she’s more interested in seeing Blade than me. I’ll set another appointment once she gets here to meet you tomorrow. I want her to see your wonderful photographs as well. We’ve got to kick this campaign up a notch.”
“I haven’t done much commercial photography, but I’d like to try.”
“This is your chance. You see people and instinctively know how they’ll best photograph. I need that same eye,” Sierra said. “I want photographs that will pull them in, make them want Navarone Place to be their residence.”
“It’s fabulous. Daniel certainly jumped at buying an estate. If we hadn’t recently purchased a home with thoughts of starting a family soon, I might be tempted myself,” Dominique laughed.
Sierra pictured a chubby and happy dark-eyed baby, but the mother wasn’t Dominique. “You’ll make a great mother.”
“I’m going to do my best. See you tomorrow.”
Sierra hung up the phone, then went to look out the window. Babies meant marriage, permanence. No sane woman would think of either in connection with Blade. And, above all, she was a sensible woman.
Sierra heard someone enter the sales office and looked up, expecting to see Char. Instead, she saw Martin. She stopped ma
king notes and leaned back in the plush leather chair behind her desk. “I might lose track of time, but I know it’s not time for dinner.”
“Lunch. What would you like?”
She came to her feet and rounded the desk. “I don’t expect you to cook for me.”
“Mr. Navarone said that I was to see that you ate. I’m at your disposal.” He had a stubborn look in his eyes. “I take my cooking responsibilities seriously.”
Folding her arms, she leaned against the desk. “You remind me so much of my brother Brandon. He’s the chef and owner of a restaurant in Santa Fe. He’s fed me more times that I can count.” She looked around, then leaned over to whisper in Martin’s ear, “I can cook, but I don’t like to.”
Martin’s lips twitched. “That is what I’m here for.”
She straightened. “Since I am hungry, I’ll accept, but we’re going to discuss this later.”
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Ms. Grayson.”
Sierra looked over Martin’s shoulder to see a slender woman in her early forties in a black Chloé suit and stylishly cut auburn hair. Stepping around Martin, Sierra extended her hand. “I’m Sierra Grayson. You must be Ms. James.”
The handshake was limp, the dark eyes full of surprise. “You’re the exclusive broker? You’re younger than I expected.”
Translation: You’re too young to know what the hell you’re doing. “I’ll take that as a compliment. This is Martin, Ms. James.”
She barely flicked a glance at him. “Martin.”
“Ms. James. Excuse me.”
“How long have you been in real estate?” Char asked as Martin walked away.
“Long enough. How about you in advertising?”
Her shoulders snapped back. “Fifteen years.”
Sierra picked up the newspaper on her desk. “Then why is this the only news on Navarone Place I’ve read in the past week?”
Char actually laughed. “Where are you from? Obviously, you don’t know the value of free advertising.”
You didn’t get angry at condescending people, you let them trip themselves up. “Free advertising is worth squat when no one reads it or cares.”
