Читать книгу The Tycoon Meets His Match - Barbara Benedict, Barbara Benedict - Страница 8

Chapter Three

Rhys glanced at his watch, then up at the gate sign, as if the departure time would miraculously change. Flight Delayed, it continued to flash, the same as the last hundred times he’d checked it. Apparently, they had gate hold at JFK again. Thunderstorms, the scourge of summer travel.

He counted slowly to ten, trying to control his frustration. This, after wasting two-and-a-half days in Miami searching—no, combing—the area near the docks and finding no sign of Lucie. Nor was she registered at any hotel, staying with friends, or, to his relief, making an unscheduled stop at any local hospital. She might as well have vanished off the face of the earth.

As his brother pointed out, Rhys was accomplishing nothing in Miami. He might as well return home to take care of business. Lucie was bound to run out of cash sooner or later, and she’d eventually call for help. Just like she always did.

Jack had carefully omitted all mention of the looming crisis at their Dallas subsidiary, another encouragement to race home. Rhys might have panicked, but, having had the foresight to ship his laptop to Miami, he was able to detect and correct the problem quickly by remote. He’d been working on his laptop while waiting for his flight, but due to his recent lack of sleep, his eyes were now dry and scratchy. Rubbing them briskly, he nearly missed the blur of dark-red hair dashing past.

He blinked hard, certain his weary eyes had to be deceiving him.

But no, it was Trae. Her hips were now adequately covered by a snug pair of black jeans, with a sedate green silk blouse draping her upper torso. She nonetheless managed to exude a sultry sexiness as she raced to the gate across the way.

Sitting up straight, Rhys checked the board for her destination. New Orleans. Departing at ten-fifty-five. Alert now, he watched Trae thrust a boarding pass at the waiting attendant, who ushered her into the tunnel before promptly shutting the door behind her.

Determined not to let her get the advantage, he jumped up and raced to the counter. Too late to get on that flight, but he meant to be on the next plane to New Orleans.

“Bobby? Nah, he ain’t here.”

Stifling a groan, Trae stared at Bobby’s cousin, Beau Boudreaux. From his greasy brown hair and unshaven face, to the questionable stains on his jeans and gray sleeveless sweatshirt, he could be the poster child for Skid Row International. At two in the morning, she found it no easy task to decipher his soft, slurred speech from six feet away—the minimum distance required to prevent his pawing her. “Okay,” she tried again. “Are you expecting him back any time soon?”

Swaying slightly, Beau stared blankly, as if her words couldn’t quite penetrate his fog. “Who?”

“Bobby. Remember, I asked if I could see him?”

“Yeah. Yeah, right. Nah, you can’t.”

“What do you mean, I can’t?”

“I mean he ain’t here. And he ain’t coming home for a while. Went off to Hollywood. Back in May. No, April. May. Yeah, May.” He scratched his head, obviously continuing to debate, in his thoughts, the actual month of Bobby’s departure.

“Bobby’s in California?”

“Yeah, making movies.” He grinned, blatantly happy to move on to a new topic. “Ain’t that a hoot and a half? With his looks and all, most folk hereabouts always thought he’d be starring in pictures one day. Nobody guessed he’d be making them instead.”

He leaned forward, as if to impart an important secret. Trae instinctively took a step backward.

“Film production, that’s his thing now. My little cousin has himself a backer, some guy with more money than he knows what to do with, willing to bank money on his genius. Out there on the coast, that’s where y’all find Bobby. Living the good life, mooching off some rich dude up in Beverly Hills.”

“I don’t suppose you have an address?”

“Matter of fact, I sure do.” Reaching behind his apartment door, Beau grinned as he pulled a ragged piece of paper from a drawer. “Wrote it down to give to Aunt Livie. Says she wants to mail Bobby a birthday present, but ’tween you and me, I’m betting she’s out to snoop. You know Aunt Livie.”

Trae didn’t, but saw no reason to prolong their conversation. Snatching the paper from Beau’s none-too-steady hand, she stuffed it in her pocket. “I don’t suppose he took anyone with him?” she asked, to distract him from noticing that she’d taken his paper.

Beau shook his head, the grin sliding into a leer. “Plenty of chicks wanted to go, though. Especially that blond that came looking for him a day or so back. Pretty little thing. Man, wouldn’t I love to get a…”

“You said blond?”

With visible effort, Beau did his best to focus. “You… her…hey, y’all used to hang around with Bobby years ago. I remember you.”

His leer deepened. Trae edged back another few steps.

“Hey, where ya going? Got a six-pack I’m willing to share. We can, uh, hash over old times.”

“It’s been a blast seeing you again, Beau, but I’ve got to run. Places to go, people to see. Flight to catch.” This last was uttered over her shoulder as she hurried down the street. Behind her, she could hear Beau calling, first pleading then turning increasingly nasty as she rounded the corner and ducked out of sight.

Did he honestly think she’d step one foot inside that dive he and Bobby called an apartment? Hadn’t her quest to find Lucie already been enough of an ordeal?

It had taken her over two days to get here from Rhys’s estate. She’d been forced to wait for Rosa’s grandson, Raymond, to return with his boat. Convincing him to turn around and go back to Florida had taken considerable patience and tact, not to mention a serious depletion of her funds. And then, once she got to Miami, she’d spent the rest of the time in bureaucratic hell while Quinn and her government contact straightened out the mess of her missing passport.

And now she had to grab a flight to California.

Hailing a cab, Trae fought off a growing uneasiness. Her funds—even with Quinn and Alana’s supplement—were rapidly dwindling. She eyed the backpack she’d stuffed with Lucie’s loosest clothes and necessary toiletries, and the three hundred dollars she’d found jammed in a pocket. She’d brought it along, figuring her friend would need the cash, but unless she found Lucie soon, Trae might have to use the money herself.

It would be a loan, used only in an emergency, but it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared. Bad enough to imagine Lucie in New Orleans, a place they knew from their days at Tulane, but the prospect of her friend wandering around the streets of Hollywood was even worse.

And what about once she did find Lucie? Back when she’d started this search, Trae hadn’t thought past the moment they would connect. How there would be two mouths to feed, two bodies needing shelter, two fares for the long journey home…

Then again, Rhys had been in the picture, she realized as the taxi sped to the airport. Rhys, who always took care of everything.

Entering the airport and walking to the gate, she found herself thinking about him, wondering where he was, what he was doing. Probably still spinning his wheels back in Miami, she thought with a grin. His stubbornness would never allow him to admit defeat. She wondered if he’d figured out yet what a mistake it had been to leave her behind, to underestimate her abilities. He would eventually, when she was the first to reach Lucie.

See how you like it then, Paxton, she thought. Not fun, is it, being left in the dust?

Watching her from the other side of the concourse, Rhys felt anything but dusty. On the contrary, he felt at the top of his game. All things considered, he could be pleased with his progress. Okay, maybe it had been sheer luck, spotting Trae on Bourbon Street last night, but the difference between success and failure lay in how a man played out his hand. With skill and decisiveness, he’d tailed her. Undetected, he might add, to the dingy apartment on Esplanade that somehow seemed familiar.

Granted, he’d heard little while she’d grilled the drunk at the door, but he’d been in the perfect position to overhear her instructions to the cab driver when she left. From there, it had been a snap to follow her to the airport, where he’d found her flopped in a seat, waiting on standby for a flight to Los Angeles.

Which still wouldn’t take off for at least another hour. A full hour in which he could be working, he thought in frustration. Hoping to maintain a low profile, knowing even a carry-on would slow him down, he’d opted to check his laptop with his luggage. All he had left was his BlackBerry. And the Times Picayune, which he held up to shield his face.

Peering over the top of the newspaper, he had to marvel at Trae’s stamina. Most women he knew would have given up long ago, or gotten someone else to do the job for them. But there Trae sat, in her tired green blouse and rumpled black jeans, her posture betraying her exhaustion as she continued to gut it out.

He was suddenly reminded of Mexico, when he’d escorted Lucie and her friends back to college. Refusing to be anywhere near him, Trae had sat across the concourse then, too. She’d claimed she didn’t want any more lectures, but he suspected it had had more to do with her pride. She’d hated that she couldn’t afford to pay the fine, that she had to rely on Rhys instead—as evidenced by the check he received five months later. Certainly Lucie had never repaid him, or that bum of a boyfriend, either.

And all at once, Rhys remembered how he knew the Esplanade address, having paid a small fortune to get Boudreaux out of jail.

Sitting up straight, he began to put it together. This changed everything. Clearly, Trae knew Lucie’s whereabouts.

The question was, what to do next?

It wasn’t as if he could become her stowaway. Most likely, he couldn’t even follow Trae. With all the freeways branching out from LAX, all she had to do was hop in a cab. And there would go his only link to Lucie.

Not good.

Rhys resettled himself in the chair, thinking hard. Managing his father’s company had taught him that the key to success often lay in an ability to recognize change, to adapt to it. When you hit a snag, sometimes you had to forge new partnerships. Not permanent ones, necessarily. Make it a brief alliance, make it last only long enough to get what you wanted. And what he wanted—no, needed—was to find Lucie and make sure she was okay.

Eyeing her over the paper, he decided that he and Trae would have a little chat.

Hours later, Trae shifted in her aisle seat, stirred from the strangest dream. She’d been in the jungle, with a bare-chested Rhys Paxton carrying her over a wide, swollen stream. It had been hot, August-in-Miami hot, a nd not just from the humidity. A considerable amount of the heat had been generated between them.

Half-awake, she could still feet the rush, the anticipation, the excitement as they’d gazed into each other’s eyes. “Trae,” she could still imagine him whispering, his breath warm and soft on her cheek and the subtle scent of his aftershave lingering in the air. With a strange reluctance, she opened her eyes.

And there, mere inches from her face, was Rhys Paxton.

She popped up so quickly, she nearly clipped him on the chin. Seeming as startled as she felt, he straightened and took a step backward. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he said stiffly. “But it’s imperative that you and I talk.”

Talk? Trying to shake off the effects of the dream, she stared at him. Nothing could be further from jungle attire than the charcoal-gray suit he now wore, with a cobalt-blue shirt and what was, for him, a rather dashing burgundy striped tie. With his freshly shaven face, he looked ready for the office. While she…

With what precious little sleep she’d gotten lately, she probably looked like death warmed over. “What are you doing here?” she snapped.

He wore a self-satisfied smirk as he took the vacant seat across the aisle. “Actually, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Trae struggled to regroup, her thoughts chasing themselves through her head. Clearly, he’d been following her but how…when…where…

“Miami,” she thought aloud. “You must have been lying in wait for me there.”

He seemed taken aback for a moment—no doubt astounded by her cleverness—but he recovered with a quick shake of the head. He leaned over the armrest. “All that should concern you is that I’m here and not about to go away. We have—” he paused to consult his watch “—approximately one hour and fifty minutes until we land. So, for the time being, you’re not going anywhere, either.”

The last vestiges of the dream evaporated with his brusque words. No matter how he’d gotten there, Rhys Paxton was planted a mere two feet away and she had to deal with him. “Okay, so what do you want?”

He ignored her less than gracious tone. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. A truce might be a good idea, after all.”

“Ah, so now the man wants to make nice. This have anything to do with the fact that I have a viable lead and you’ve got nothing?”

That wiped the smirk off his face. “Keeping score isn’t going to help either of us find Lucie. We can continue to fight, but if we really want to find her, we can increase our chances considerably if we pool our resources.”

Trae shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m trying to save the girl, not deliver her to the Inquisition.”

“And your idea of salvation is to leave her in the clutches of a lowlife like Boudreaux?”

Not good, Trae thought uneasily. Not good at all if Rhys knew about Bobby.

She clung to the hope that he wouldn’t bother talking to her if he had all the pieces to the puzzle, or even any hope of collecting them in the near future. He thought he was so clever, but Trae could see right through him. He planned to use her, then spit her back out once he had what he wanted. “Here’s my problem, Paxton. You’re asking me to trust someone who just left me stranded in a foreign country without a passport.”

“Okay, I admit that was low. But I’d had a rough day and wasn’t thinking clearly. Now, however…”

“The only difference now is that I’ve got something you want.”

He stared at her, frowning. She imagined he wasn’t accustomed to people sassing him back.

“You’re right,” he said finally with a solemn nod.

She hadn’t expected the admission. Oddly enough, it disarmed her.

Until he added, “But keep in mind that I have the funds and connections to prolong my search indefinitely. I think we both know that I’m not about to give up. I will find her, with or without your help.”

“Is that a threat?”

With a shrug, he leaned back in his seat. “No, ma’am. Just a statement of fact. I can guarantee that I’ll bring her home eventually. Can you say the same?”

“My, my, my. Aren’t we cocky?”

“Not at all. I’m being realistic. We both know you’ll run out of funds long before I do.”

She thought of the three hundred dollars in the backpack. A comfortable cushion in the short term, but if this dragged on…

No, she’d worry about that when she had to. “Forget it. Your proposal is all win-win for you, and lose-lose for me. Not to mention poor Lucie. I’m not offering up my best friend to a loveless marriage.”

“Lucie and I have a steady, caring relationship,” he protested, appearing insulted by her words. “You’ve always refused to acknowledge that, but you know it’s true. I’ve been there for Lucie just as much as you have and if you don’t believe me, you can ask her yourself once we find her. I’m confident you’ll find she wants this marriage as much as I do.”

“Yeah, and that’s why she fled from the altar.”

“She panicked. Who can blame her? All those strangers in the church, her mother nagging, her friends stuffing her head with pointless advice.”

“Okay, Paxton,” Trae said, having no wish to confess the part she may have played in Lucie’s bolting. “Say I buy into your theory that Lucie panicked. It’s been days. Isn’t that enough time to come to her senses and head back home?”

“Mitsy just blew a damn fortune on that wedding. Would you want to face her any time soon?”

Good point. “Okay, but why hasn’t she contacted you? You two having this steady, caring relationship and all.”

His jaw was clenched so tight, it was a wonder he got the words out. “It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

This time, Trae leaned across the aisle. “Try me.”

He stared at her face for what seemed an aeon, as if taking her measure. “I know you want to paint me as the bad guy here, but I swear to you, all I want is to make sure she’s okay. Once I can see that she’s fine, you can talk to her all you want. Say whatever you want.”

“Even if I talk her out of marrying you?”

He shrugged. “You’re welcome to try. But right now, you need me as much as I need you. It’s vital we find Lucie before she ends up in serious trouble.”

Gazing back at him, Trae found it hard to doubt his sincerity. Against her better judgment, she could feel herself soften. “This promise of yours. I want more than simply being allowed to talk to Lucie. I need to speak to her first.”

“And why would I agree to this?”

“Because you’re confident she wants this marriage as much as you. Really, Paxton, what do you have to lose by letting me talk to her first?”

He narrowed his gaze as if suspecting a trick, but nonetheless nodded and held out his hand. “Fine. Then we have a deal?”

She didn’t know that she could trust him, but the more she thought about it, the more joining forces seemed the most practical solution. He had all the money, why not let him pay for the rental car, make him drive into the hills? All she’d have to do was go along for the ride, then whisk Lucie off to safety once they found her. “You don’t go anywhere near Lucie until I’ve had my say?”

“You have my word.”

She still wanted to argue, but really, what was the point? Reaching across the aisle, she clasped the hand he offered.

How could she have forgotten the jolt she got from touching this man?

No, not quite accurate to call it a jolt—more like a readjustment, her trying to get around the awareness that his grip could be rock solid, yet tender and warm and sincere at the same time.

If Trae truly believed she could judge a man’s character by his hands, she had to believe in a man who could hold hers like that.

Even if the man was Rhys Paxton.

Disconcerted, she looked up to meet his eyes, and for an instant got lost in his gaze. She’d never realized how blue his eyes were, how honest and direct. Gazing into them, she flashed back to her dream and found herself feeling heated inside, almost breathless, almost…

Was she out of her mind? This was Rhys Paxton, the most arrogant man she had ever known and, none too coincidentally, her best friend’s fiancé.

That damned dream, she thought, yanking her hand out of his grasp and sitting back in her seat.

She made a shooing motion with her hands, anxious to have him gone. Watching him make his way to the front of the plane, she sighed in exasperation. Figured he’d be in first class.

Okay, he’d gained the advantage in this round, but she hoped, for his sake, he wasn’t assuming he’d always get the best of her. Trae was taking nothing for granted, especially not his so-called word. He might not be as selfish and ruthless as she wanted to believe, but the Rhys Paxtons of this world almost always had their own agendas, and they rarely included standing aside for the Trae Andrelinis. She might have to work with the guy, but it didn’t mean she had to trust him.

Stretched out in the plush leather seat, Rhys knew he should be resting but he felt too unsettled to sleep. He was worried about Lucie—where she was, what she was doing, what kind of mischief Boudreaux could get her into this time.

Contrary to what Trae implied, he did care about Lucie. How could Trae call it a loveless marriage? She’d made it sound like another business acquisition. Granted, maybe their relationship didn’t have all the sizzle of a paperback romance, but he’d been looking out for her for years and couldn’t imagine ever doing otherwise. Everyone knew Lucie couldn’t ask for a more dependable or more devoted husband.

Yet…

The instant he’d touched Trae’s soft, warm skin, something shifted in chest. Holding her hand in his, staring into her deep, emerald eyes, his sense of obligation moved ever so slightly away from Lucie and onto…

He shook his head. He owed Trae nothing more than his promise that she’d get to speak to Lucie first. So why, then, did he suddenly feel guilty about leaving her scrunched up in economy while he luxuriated in first?

This wasn’t about anyone’s comfort—he was here to find Lucie. And if he expected to do so, he had to concentrate on what lay ahead. The wise man—the winning man—always came prepared.

He’d arranged the rental car, convinced Trae—albeit reluctantly—to lead him to Lucie and had two seats reserved for the red-eye to JFK this evening. As long as the Worldways baggage handlers didn’t go out on their threatened strike, he and Lucie would be home and back to business as usual by early tomorrow morning.

Smiling, he sat back in his seat. The ball was in his court again, just where he liked it.

Consulting the map in the glove compartment, Trae stifled a grin at Paxton’s grumbling as she guided them out of the airport. Apparently there had been a mix-up and all the agency could offer was this tiny, well-used Neon. Bad enough not to travel in the style to which he as accustomed, but to make matters worse for him, the baggage handlers had misplaced his luggage.