The Texan Quartet (Books 1-4) Omnibus

by Claire Boston

  He resisted the urge to pull her back into his arms, just. “I’ll say.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his breath back.

  She took his hand and led him over to the table. “We should get this done before I forget why you came over.”

  “Why did I come over?” Chris asked and earned a laugh from her.

  She cleared her throat and examined him, straightening up his bow tie, running her hand slowly over the lapels to make sure they sat right.

  Chris coughed. “If you want to make sure the pants fit, you need to stop doing that.”

  Imogen glanced down and grinned. “Do you want a drink?”

  “Please.”

  She left the room and Chris used the opportunity to get himself under control. The problem was every time he thought of her reaction to him in the suit he hardened again. She returned and handed him a glass of red wine, which he sipped from before putting it carefully on the table. The last thing he needed to do was spill it.

  Imogen grabbed a container of pins from the table and knelt on the floor at his feet. Chris desperately thought of his seventeen times table to distract himself.

  “It’s a good fit,” Imogen said as she pinned the hem. “It might have been made just for you.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say. He was too busy concentrating on a spot on the wall and not on the fact Imogen’s head was very close to his groin.

  It had been too long since he’d had sex.

  “You can take them off now.”

  It took Chris a second to realize Imogen hadn’t read where his mind was going and had actually finished pinning the hem. He stepped back and headed for the room.

  “Keep the jacket and shirt on,” she called. “You’ll need to try it all back on when I’m finished.”

  Chris did as she asked, putting his work pants back on and coming back out of the room to hand her the tuxedo pants.

  As she got to work, he sat on one of the nearby chairs and watched her. Her focus was absolute and her fingers moved quickly over the pants, checking it was all lying correctly before starting the sewing machine. The machine zipped through the work and it wasn’t long before she was cutting a thread and holding the pants back out to Chris.

  “Put them on.”

  Inside the room he checked her work and couldn’t tell it had been done. It looked like the original.

  When she was satisfied it was right, had pressed the suit and repacked it she turned back to Chris. “Hungry?”

  He was hungry for more than food but he simply picked up his wine glass and said, “Yes.”

  She took him through to the kitchen, which had a small round table in it, set with two places. The room was bright and cheery with yellow walls and accents all around.

  Turning the stove off, she dished up two plates of the pasta and gestured for him to sit. “Are you jet-lagged?” she asked him before taking a mouthful of the pasta. Her lips closed over the food and he quickly looked away. He was ridiculously worked up. Maybe it had something to do with the fatigue.

  “Tired mostly.”

  “I won’t keep you late then,” she said.

  He had no objection to staying late, none to spending the night even, but he didn’t mention it. Instead he asked, “How are things going with your business plan?”

  She examined her food and then she sighed. “Not great. Papa freaked out when he saw it; he told me if I went into business it would kill him.”

  Chris stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth. “What?”

  She shrugged but her eyes were sad. “He has an issue with mass-market clothing and he wants me to take over at Tour de Force.”

  He reached out and covered her hand, giving it a squeeze. “What did you say?”

  “I haven’t had the chance to say anything. He walked out and we haven’t spoken all week.”

  “He’s being rather melodramatic, don’t you think?” Chris knew Remy was controlling but wasn’t that because he loved his daughter?

  “Yes, but he was really upset,” she said, her voice quiet.

  “There’s something else, right?”

  She glanced at him in surprise and then nodded.

  “Tell me.”

  He listened while she told him what she’d discovered about her mother’s death and how she possibly had relatives she’d never met.

  Chris leaned back, stunned. What a jackass! To keep Imogen away from family who might love her.

  “Do you know how she died?”

  “No. The obituary said it was related to the pregnancy.”

  “You haven’t asked your father?”

  She shook her head. “How can I? He’s barely talking to me because I want to leave Tour de Force; to find out I’ve gone behind his back about Mama will infuriate him even more.”

  “What about your mother’s family?”

  “Piper’s doing some research for me. There are sixty Ryders in the Houston area,” she said. “I checked the telephone directory. And that’s if they haven’t moved away or died.”

  “I’ll help if you need it.”

  She smiled at him. “I could really do with a hug.”

  He pushed aside his empty plate and stood up. He wrapped his arms around her and she became part of him. He kissed the top of her head and held her, wanting to take away the pain her father was causing her.

  There was a loud bang at the kitchen door and Chris moved, shifting Imogen behind him as he turned toward the sound.

  Remy was standing there. Imogen pushed past Chris and stepped over to the door. “Hello, Papa.”

  “I need to speak with you.”

  Imogen looked to Chris and back at her father. “I’ll come over to the house after Christian leaves.”

  Remy bristled. “This is important.”

  “I have a guest.” Imogen’s voice was even, but there was an edge to it Chris had never heard before. “Papa, this is Christian Barker.”

  Chris saw the recognition in the old man’s eyes before he masked it. Anger stirred but he kept a lid on it. Imogen didn’t need him to rehash old battles now.

  “I asked you to let me know when you have guests,” Remy said to Imogen.

  “No, you said to tell you if I’m having a gathering.”

  Remy’s expression was getting darker and darker. As much as Chris disliked the man, he didn’t want to make things more difficult for Imogen.

  “I should go, Imi,” he said. “If I’m going to look my best in that tuxedo tomorrow night, I need to get my beauty sleep.” He kept his voice light and friendly.

  Imogen glanced over at him and was immediately concerned. “Of course.” She turned to her father. “Come in. I’ll walk Christian to his car.”

  It annoyed Chris that her immediate concern was for him and his stupid jet lag, rather than for herself. She was too kind. He grabbed the tuxedo bag from where he’d left it and followed Imogen out of the house to his car. He laid the suit on the back seat and then turned to embrace her. “Call me after your father leaves,” he said. “I want to know you’re all right. In fact call me at any time, day or night, if you need me.”

  He kissed her deeply, hoping to make her understand he was there for her.

  She sighed. “Thank you. Drive safely.”

  He got in his car and drove away, wishing he didn’t have to.

  ***

  Imogen waited for the tail lights of the car to disappear before she turned and went back inside.

  In the kitchen her father was pacing.

  Not a good sign.

  “Would you like a drink, Papa?”

  He stopped moving at the sound of her voice. “I’ll have some of your wine,” he said, gesturing at the bottle on the table.

  As she got out another glass she asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “You’re not taking that man to the auction tomorrow night.” It was a statement not a question.

  “Yes, I am. Christian is my date for the evening.” She handed h
er father the glass of wine.

  “Non. We always go together.”

  It was true but this year she didn’t want to be seen on her father’s arm. This year she didn’t want to be with her father at all. “I figured you wouldn’t want to go with me after our argument,” she said instead.

  “Words said in the heat of the moment. You must go with me.”

  Imogen gaped at him. How could he brush their argument off so quickly when it had been haunting her for days? “I’ve already asked Christian.”

  Her father frowned. “His type are not welcome there.”

  Imogen stared at her father. “What type is that: males, lawyers, friends of mine?”

  “The event is very prestigious – only the wealthy and notable will be there.”

  “Oh, so he’s not rich enough?” Imogen’s temper rose.

  “Exactement! You will have to tell him he cannot attend.”

  “No,” Imogen said.

  Her father’s eyes widened.

  “Papa, I’m tired so you need to tell me what you came here for so I can go to bed.”

  “I came here because I was concerned for you. A strange car enters our property and goes to your house. It could have been anyone.”

  He’d been spying on her.

  Imogen shook her head in disbelief. “The property is surrounded by security. The only way the strange car could get through the gates is if one of us let it. That means I knew who it was.”

  Her father stepped back, put up his hands. “Don’t be mad, ma bichette. It is only because I love you that I do these things.”

  It was as though his words flicked a switch in Imogen’s brain, because suddenly anger came rising from nowhere and the words came pouring out. “Did love stop you telling me Mama died giving birth to me? Is love why you kept my grandparents and uncles away from me? Is it why you won’t let me form my own business? Is it why you won’t let me move out of home?”

  Remy held a hand over his heart and sank into one of the chairs.

  Imogen ignored his theatrics.

  “Who has been telling you these things?” he demanded.

  “I read them in the newspaper,” she said. “When you wouldn’t tell me, I decided to find out for myself what happened to Mama.”

  “You didn’t trust me?”

  “It’s not about trust. I needed to know the truth.”

  “I told you, you didn’t need to know the truth.”

  “Well you were wrong!” she shouted.

  Remy closed his eyes for a moment, then got to his feet. His expression was calm but his eyes were hard. “You think you know best? You think you are ready to hear what those monsters who called your mother family said about you?” He waved a hand. “Fine. Go. Talk to your mother’s brothers and her parents if they still live. But when they call you a murderer do not come crying to me. In fact, if you go to them, don’t come back at all.” He walked out the door.

  Imogen stared after him. It was the second time he had entirely withdrawn from her for trying to live her own life.

  She sank down on a chair. He couldn’t really mean it, could he? He loved her. He wouldn’t disown her for wanting to connect with other family.

  She rubbed the sides of her head. She honestly wasn’t sure. She didn’t know her father any more, didn’t know how he would react or why he was doing this. The only thing she did know was she couldn’t live like this. Couldn’t continue under his emotional blackmail. She’d had enough.

  She was twenty-nine years old. Definitely old enough to make her own decisions, and to choose where her life was going.

  Her heart clenched at the thought of spending the rest of her life without her father but she pushed it aside. He couldn’t really mean it. He’d only just said their last fight had been words said in the heat of the moment. Surely it was the same tonight?

  Whatever the case, it was time she found her own place so at least he couldn’t throw her out on her ear and make her homeless as well as fatherless.

  Her heart panged, but she pushed through the hurt.

  She fired up her laptop and searched for places to rent.

  An hour later her cell phone beeped. She checked the message. R U Ok? Christian. She’d forgotten to call him. She picked up the phone and rang him.

  “You’re supposed to be asleep,” she said, hoping for a bit of levity.

  “And you were supposed to call me after your father left. I’ve been lying here worrying about you since I got home.”

  His voice was warm and the image of him lying naked in bed popped into Imogen’s head, dissolving some of her pain and confusion. She smiled and focused on the conversation. “I’m sorry.”

  “So what happened?”

  He didn’t need to know her father didn’t want him at the charity event the next night. “We argued and I got angry.” She sighed. That in itself rarely happened. “I told him I knew about mother’s family and how she died. He told me if I met with them, I wasn’t to come home.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “What?”

  Imogen swallowed past the lump in her throat. “It’s past time I moved out anyway. I’m searching for somewhere to rent now.”

  “Imi, he can’t mean it.” He sounded uncertain.

  “I think he does.” Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat. “Anyway I don’t have any privacy here.” Her father had interrupted conversations with Christian twice now. She couldn’t have a serious relationship if he kept turning up, and she wanted one with Christian.

  “You’re upset. Do you want me to come back tonight?”

  She did. She really did, but it would be selfish of her to ask. He had jet lag and he was coming to the auction, which would run late. Plus she needed to learn to make it on her own, not to lean on someone so much. She’d done that enough with her father.

  “No, it’s all right.”

  “I’ll help you look for a place on the weekend if you like,” Christian offered.

  She’d love the company. She had little idea about real estate. “That would be great. I’ve found about a dozen options.”

  She heard him yawn. “Go to sleep. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”

  “Sweet dreams,” he said.

  “Same to you.” She hung up the phone and smiled. At least one thing in her life was going right.

  ***

  The next evening Imogen picked Chris up at seven o’clock, and when he opened the door he stared. Imogen looked different – amazing, yes – but different. It was Imogen, but not. He ran his eyes over her spiked-up hairstyle, the colorful and quirky dress, and down to the black, four-inch stiletto heels on her feet. It had to be a Tour de Force dress, but Imogen didn’t suit the Tour de Force style. She was more elegant, more beautiful than the outrageous styles of Tour de Force.

  Before he could say anything, she stepped forward, ran her hands up the lapels of his suit and kissed him.

  Thoughts vanished from his head and he closed his eyes, enjoying the dance of their lips and the feel of Imogen in his arms.

  When they parted, Chris’s heart was racing and he was firmly in favor of staying here and discovering what Imogen had on under the dress. He tried to keep things light. “I think you have a tuxedo fetish.”

  Imogen laughed. “When you’re wearing them I do.” She tugged on his hand. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

  “Wait, I’ve got something for you.” He walked back into his apartment and picked up a small wrapped package from the coffee table. He’d been debating whether he would give it to her since he’d bought it in Australia.

  Imogen took the package and frowned at him. “What’s this for?”

  He shifted his stance, feeling like he was a teenager again and asking a girl to a dance. “I found it at the Fremantle markets and thought you might like it.”

  She beamed at him and the nerves racked up.

  What had he been thinking buying her a cheap, handmade bauble from a market stall? This was someone who was used to drapi
ng herself in the latest and most expensive fashions. She wasn’t going to like the necklace.

  She unwrapped it. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, examining the craftsmanship carefully. “So intricately designed.” It was the dark brown gemstone that had caught his attention first. Imogen walked over to the mirror by the door. She held the necklace up against her throat and sighed with pleasure. “It will go perfectly with a summer dress I just made.” Turning back to Christian, she said, “Thank you so much.”

  “It’s nothing special.” He shrugged. “The brown reminded me of your eyes.” It sounded so cheesy.

  She brought the necklace up to her chest. “Of course it’s special.” She walked over to him and put her arms around his neck. “No one’s ever bought me a necklace before.”

  She kissed him and he forgot his nerves and his doubts.

  “In that case – ” he pulled her closer, molding his body to hers “ – we could stay here and you can thank me some more.”

  She chuckled. “It’s a charity event. I can’t be late.”

  He let her pull him into the elevator and then captured her in his arms to kiss her again.

  Chris’s blood heated and his breath was coming fast when the elevator doors opened. He needed to get himself under control. No more kisses or he’d never make it through the event without dragging her into a dark corner somewhere. Though the idea had a lot of merit, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be acceptable behavior for a Tour de Force representative. As they walked through the lobby, Imogen said, “Wait a second. Let me check my lipstick.”

  She stopped by one of the mirrors and sighed, quickly taking something out of her little clutch bag and painting it onto her sexy mouth.

  Chris stood behind, grinning at her in the mirror. She looked like she’d been kissed and he’d put that look in her eyes. He couldn’t help but feel smug about it.

  She rolled her eyes at him and then avoided his gaze while she redid her lips.

  ***

  Imogen had parked in a temporary parking zone outside Christian’s apartment building. She opened the car door for him and waited until he squeezed inside before shutting the door. It was a tight fit and he vowed the next time they went on a date they would take his way more comfortable car.