Jen stepped away and began pacing the room. “I thought we were all going together.”
So did I. “He said he had some things to do before the gala. Which makes me wonder if maybe there isn’t a woman in this situation somewhere for him, too.”
Tensing, Jen swung back around.
Matt continued his guesswork. “There has to be something going on that is causing Dad to tear up the ranch and sell off the limestone again.”
She cocked her head.
“I’ve looked through everything in the ranch books, checked and double-checked every fact and figure against my own records, and those of our accountants and lawyers…”
Her eyes met his. “And…?”
“Nothing,” Matt grumbled, balling his hands into fists. “The ranch is solidly in the black. There is no debt. Yet my dad just found it necessary to quickly raise several million dollars. And the only time he has ever done that was when there was a woman involved.”
Jen appeared uncomfortable again, and that in turn made Matt uneasy. He needed to be able to talk about this with someone. Hell, he wanted to be able to talk about it with her.
“What are you going to do?” she asked quietly, after a moment.
Aware that her walls were going up again, the way they always did when the talk between them turned too intimate, Matt vowed, “I’m going to find out what is going on ’cause something—or someone—is pushing my dad to make these moves.”
Without warning, Jen’s eyes filled with turbulent emotion. “And then what?” she asked, even more quietly, as if fearful of his response.
And she had reason to be—given how he felt about anyone harming his family. “Then whoever is behind this is going to have to deal with me,” Matt predicted grimly.
Chapter Thirteen
“Oh, no. Don’t tell me he’s here,” Emily McCabe-Reeve murmured in Jen’s ear shortly after the two of them entered the hotel ballroom the next evening.
Jen followed her new friend’s gaze to the tall, blond, incredibly handsome man standing next to the orchestra hired for the black-tie event. “Who is he?”
“Vince Owens. He owned property in Laramie County for a while.”
Jen continued regarding the tuxedo-clad cowboy. Charm radiated from him as he greeted one partygoer after another—clapping shoulders, kissing cheeks and shaking hands.
A few guests were obviously happy to see him.
Most merely tolerated him.
Not a good sign, Jen thought.
Plus, he kept surreptitiously looking their way as he made the rounds of the crowded ballroom. “He doesn’t appear to like you, if the way he’s glaring is any indication.”
Emily’s frown deepened. “That’s because my last name is McCabe. Although,” she added with typical devil-may-care cheer, “I’m sure he is not too fond of any of the prominent families in our parts.”
Nor they him, Jen noted, as Vince Owens got closer.
Emily laced an arm around Jen’s waist and drew her in the opposite direction. “Just stay away from him. You’ll be fine.”
Matt and Dylan returned with glasses of champagne for all. “Any sign of Emmett?” Emily asked.
Matt exhaled in obvious frustration. “Just a text, about ten minutes ago. He said he was ‘unavoidably delayed’ and might have to skip the evening.”
Disappointment spread through their little group. “Oh, I hope that’s not the case,” Emily lamented.
“Me, too,” Jen murmured. Because if Emmett was a no-show, it could mean that he was having more symptoms—and that would not be good.
“Don’t worry,” Matt said, leaning in to slip his arm around her waist. Misreading the reason behind her concern, he murmured, “I texted Dad that I would introduce you around. He gave me a heads-up on who the big-time collectors of Western art were.”
Embarrassed that Matt could think her that crass, she said, “You don’t really have to do that.”
Sensing tension, Emily interjected, “I think this is our cue to slip away.” Waving, she and Dylan set down their glasses and headed for the dance floor.
Alone with Matt again, Jen guided him to the edge of the ballroom, where they could talk more privately. “It was really sweet of your dad to want to promote my career that way.” She sipped her champagne and continued talking sense to Matt. “But—”
“No buts.” He discreetly squeezed her forearm. “Dad may have let you down. Heck, let us both down, with all his mysterious behavior lately, but it doesn’t mean I will. So hitch up your big-girl pants—” Matt gave her a humorous, yet heat-filled gaze “—and let’s get a move on.”
Jen grinned, emotion bubbling up inside her. “Okay. But only for a little bit. Then I want us to enjoy the party.”
She wanted this to be a great prelude to their first real date, the following day.
As it happened, the introductions that followed went a lot easier than she’d expected, maybe because Matt was clearly so happy to be with her, and proud of what she did. And maybe because the people in the West Texas Ranchers Association were among the friendliest and kindest people she had ever met. Whatever the reason, Jen had a seriously good time meeting everyone Matt introduced her to. The only problem was Vince Owens.
He kept watching her, and something in the way he looked at Emily reminded Jen of the way her ex-husband’s parents and their friends had viewed her, too.
It wasn’t until Matt excused himself to get more food from the buffet that Vince Owens came closer and slid into a chair next to Jen.
“So,” the tall blond interloper said, a smirk on his handsome face, “where do I sign on?”
Cruel experience told her where this was headed. Jen worked to keep her emotions in check. “Sign on for what?”
“I heard rumors about the arrangement you made that landed you a bedroom on the Triple B. Although…” Vince smiled suggestively “…I heard it was with Emmett Briscoe, not his son.”
Just how obnoxious was this man? Out of the corner of her eye, Jen could see Matt, waylaid next to the buffet table, talking to Emily’s dad, Shane McCabe. Thankful that he wasn’t around to witness her humiliation, she pretended she hadn’t registered the innuendo and explained matter-of-factly, “My commission is with Emmett.”
“Hmm…so where does the son come into it?” Vince leaned toward her, his bourbon-scented breath brushing her face. “Are you sculpting him, too?”
Oh, God. And she thought she’d left this sort of treatment behind when she got divorced! Jen’s anger flared. “No.”
“I don’t know why not.” Vince shrugged, his eyes gleaming suggestively. “He probably looks pretty good in the buff. Not as fine as me, of course. But the only way to tell that is to see for yourself. And…compare.”
This had gone far enough. Jen no longer cared if she made a scene. Making no effort to hide her revulsion, she stood. “Whatever you think, you’re mistaken.”
Ignoring her icy warning, Vince reached out and gripped her wrist. When she tried to pull away, he held her harder. “All I’m asking for, honey, is the same deal,” he said smugly. “Or, hell, I’ll even go you one better. I’ll pay you five percent more than they are, if that’s the holdup.”
“Let her go.”
Jen froze at the sound of Matt’s voice behind her. Dimly, she became aware that all conversation around them had stopped.
She was so embarrassed she wanted to die.
Vince rolled unsteadily to his feet. “Mind your own business, Junior.”
Matt stepped in, fury emanating from every pore. “She is my business.”
“Really?” Vince taunted. He turned to leer at Jen in a way that caused the room to go even more silent. “’Cause she just intimated that she’s not.”
Jen tried to subtly get her wrist free without making a scene. To no avail.
Jaw clenched, Matt stepped closer. “I’m going to tell you one more time, Vince—”
“That’s Mr. Owens to you, pipsqueak.”
Jen rea
ched out to grasp Matt with her free hand. “Don’t. Please.” Please don’t make a scene. Not on my behalf.
Matt ignored her. Determined to take control of this situation, which was getting uglier and more public by the second, he continued to regard Vince with a death glare. “Let. The Lady. Go.”
Vince chuckled. “Not until I work the same deal that you and your proud papa have—commissioning art in exchange for this pretty filly’s time and attention.”
Oh, Lord, you shouldn’t have said that.
Aware she had just been made to sound like a hooker, Jen winced.
Matt took a swing at the other man. Knocked off balance, Vince crashed into the table, then hit the floor. Only to spring back up like a jack-in-the-box gone rabid, grab Matt’s shirtfront and pull him down with him.
Matt took an uppercut to the jaw, then delivered another punch to the gut. Ladies screamed. Men put their arms out and stepped back to clear the space. And a fistfight, the likes of which the West Texas Ranchers Association hadn’t seen in years, ensued.
* * *
TO MATT’S FRUSTRATION, Jen took little comfort in the fact that he won his chivalrous battle on her behalf. “You did not have to hit him,” she scolded, as soon as they retired to the privacy of Matt’s hotel room.
Unable to help but note how gorgeous she looked in the silvery evening gown that draped one arm and shoulder and left the other bare, he shrugged. Eyes still on her, and the way the dress swirled around her long, luscious legs, he tossed off his tuxedo jacket, undid his bow tie and collapsed in a chair. “Sure I did.”
The sting of her public humiliation still heating her cheeks, Jen added water to the ice in the bucket. Clearly still working through her adrenaline rush, she responded indignantly, “I was handling the situation.”
Matt undid the first few buttons of his shirt as Jen pulled up another chair and sat kitty-corner to him, her chiffon-covered knees pressed against his thigh. He winced as she removed the bloodied towel from his scraped knuckles, and reminded her, “You couldn’t even get your wrist free.”
She clenched her teeth as she plunged Matt’s hand in the icy water. “I would have stomped on Vince’s foot with my stiletto eventually.”
“What kept you?”
She scowled. “I was trying not to make a scene in the middle of the ballroom!” She jumped up and went into the bathroom.
Matt heard the sound of water running.
Jen returned, damp washcloth in hand. Frowning, she sat down again, leaned over and pressed the cloth to left side of his jaw, then his cheekbone. “Now all that people will remember about me was that I’m the up-and-coming sculptor who was the subject of a fistfight between you and Vince Owens.”
Matt grunted and pulled away. That side of his face stung, which probably meant it was scraped up, too.
“I’m not going to apologize for coming to your aid. Vince Owens had it coming!” And Matt knew that if he hadn’t stepped in when he had, some other guy would have.
Jen refolded the cloth, so the surface was clean. Cupping his chin, she leaned in again to continue the first aid. “That’s not the point.”
His blood pressure rose. “Then what is the point?” he demanded.
Glancing at him, she sat back. “Because of my background—because I grew up poor and you grew up rich—this kind of stuff is going to keep happening, Matt.”
He sensed she wanted him to put up a fight, so she could list all the reasons they were wrong for each other. “No,” he said softly. “It won’t.”
Appearing overwhelmed by the events of the evening, she challenged, “Have you ever dated anyone who grew up below poverty level before?”
Tensing, Matt leaned forward and took her hands in his. “The fact that you came from nothing and made yourself something makes you all the more attractive to me.”
“I know that.” Jen stood and walked away.
“And?”
She paced, her teeth worrying her lower lip. Finally, she turned and looked at him with barely suppressed anxiety and a weariness that seemed to come straight from her soul. “I’m not sure I can go back to that kind of life, where everyone wonders if I am a gold digger and my every move is suspect.” She shook her head, her beautiful eyes glistening. “It’s a miserable way to live, Matt.”
He closed the distance between them. Fearful of losing her, he took her in his arms. “Even more miserable would be me living without you.”
Figuring the only way he could convince her of that was to show her, Matt lowered his mouth to hers. He stroked the side of her neck with his thumb. And she opened her lips to his. Her breasts pressed against his chest, the warmth of her seeping through the starched fabric of his shirt. Her mouth pliant beneath his, she wreathed her arms about his neck and arched against him.
He kissed her the way he had wanted to all evening. With no restraint. She was so beautiful, so soft and feminine. And so responsive.
Determined this would be their most satisfying lovemaking yet, he cupped her breast through her gown, felt her nipple pebble against his palm.
“Matt! The dress.”
He lifted his head, not sure he understood.
“We have to be careful. It’s going to be donated to charity, remember?”
He chuckled at the reason for her concern. “Then there’s only one thing to do,” he declared.
“Get it off me,” Jen guessed.
“I can help with that.” Gently, he eased her out of her gown. Blood rushed to his groin as he took in her silk-and-lace bustier and thong. He looked his fill, then swept her up and carried her across the room. “Damn, you are gorgeous.”
She flushed with pleasure, gestured winsomely. “The bed…”
“We’ll get there,” he promised, the passion in her eyes urging him on, compelling her to surrender. “In due time…”
For such a long time, Jen hadn’t allowed herself to dare think about falling in love, or being loved in return.
Matt changed all that.
The intensity of his kiss drew forth a well of emotions she wanted to pretend didn’t exist, but couldn’t.
She loved him. She was in love with him. And even though he hadn’t said the words, hadn’t even come close, he acted as if she meant everything to him, too.
He lifted her so she was sitting on the bureau, arms wrapped around his neck, his strong hard body ensconced in the open V of her legs. “It’s not fair,” she whispered. “You’re still dressed.”
“We’ll get there, too.” He kissed the side of her neck. Still driving her mad with sensation, he unsnapped the hooks of her bustier. She trembled as his palms molded her breasts, his thumbs rubbing over the tender crests.
Wanting, needing more, Jen tangled her fingers in his hair, wrapped her legs around his waist and brought his mouth back to hers. Their lips fused. Tongues tangled. Overwhelmed by the explosion of heat and yearning, she returned his caresses with everything she had, wanting the bliss—and the intimacy—only Matt could bring.
One by one, she undid the buttons on his shirt, then parted the fabric. She ran her hands across hard muscle and smooth skin, unable to take her eyes from his broad shoulders, nicely sculpted chest, well-defined pecs and flat abs.
And lower still…
As Jen opened his fly and eased the zipper down she smiled with appreciation.
Moments later, Matt stepped out of his clothes.
Then her bustier fell to the floor.
The only thing left was her thong.
Seeming in no hurry to get that off, he eased his fingers beneath the elastic, then lingered, the possessiveness in his touch making her feel deliciously ravished.
“Matt…” Jen murmured, as he kissed her shoulder, the underside of her breast.
Hands on her hips, holding her captive, he pulled her toward the edge of the bureau.
“Do you like this?” He sank down on his knees and pressed a kiss to the already damp silk.
Her body ignited, and she was so consumed wi
th wanting him deep inside her that she could barely breathe.
“You know I do.” Urgency swept through her. She made soft, breathless sounds of pleasure.
He kissed her inner thighs. “And this?”
She clasped his head in her hands. “Yes.”
His gaze traveled over her, the desire in his eyes unmistakable as he found her with his hands, and then, eventually, with his lips. Making her blossom. Letting her know he was the one in charge.
But control, Jen thought, was a two-way street.
Trembling with need, near the brink, she gasped, “No, Matt. Not without you. Not this time.”
The thong came off.
Matt possessed her with one smooth, sure stroke. Jen wrapped her legs tighter, arching against him, welcoming him in. Easing his hands beneath her, he lifted her, holding her close, going deeper.
Their bodies blended.
Her spirit soaring, heart brimming with unexpected, undeniable love, Jen kissed him again. She reveled in the hard, hot demand of his passion, and then there was no more thinking, no more delaying, only this sweet, melting bliss. And an afterward that was so tender and emotionally satisfying, it was unlike anything she had ever known.
Chapter Fourteen
Jen heard the steady, insistent knocking on the door, and groaned.
Feeling disoriented, she lifted her head and looked around, to find herself in bed, cuddled up next to Matt, her head on his chest. Her arms were around his shoulders, one of her legs was nestled between his. He had his arms wrapped around her, too. She felt warm and safe, and darn annoyed at the continued rapping on their hotel room door.
Where was the Do Not Disturb sign when you needed it?
Finally, Matt roused slightly, too. He turned his head to peer at the bedside clock. “Seven in the morning.” He dropped his head back on the pillow and pulled her closer. “Maybe they’ll go away.’
“And maybe,” Jen said, sitting up abruptly, embarrassed to be caught in flagrante, given that everyone they knew at the ball last night was staying on the top three floors of the downtown hotel, “they won’t.”
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