Читать книгу Taking Home The Tycoon - Catherine Mann - Страница 10

Three

Determined to put a hint of space between them even if she couldn’t will herself to just walk away, Natalie flattened a hand to his chest.

The hard, muscled wall of his chest.

Gulp.

“I’m complimented you want to kiss me, but that’s not included in the bed-and-breakfast package.”

He chuckled, the rumble of his laugh vibrating against her hand. “That’s the nicest put-down I’ve ever received.”

Gaining strength, she let out her own low laugh, arching her eyebrows, taking him in, trying to focus on the crisp September air instead of his musky scent. Or the way the shadows played up his bad-boy mystique. “I imagine you don’t often get told no.”

“Another compliment. For someone who is rejecting me, you’re doing it very nicely.” Voice still throaty, he swallowed, eyes fixed on hers.

“So you hear me saying no to your advance?”

He shook his head, the line of his lips growing taut. Sincere. “I hear you. No is no. I just want you to remember I still feel the same way. I want to kiss you. Very much. And if you decide you want to act on this attraction, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

The courtyard dimmed ever so slightly. The moody stars seemed brighter as the lights from the B and B went out one by one. People were making their way to bed. She ought to be moving in that direction, too. Away from Max. Away from the way his aqua stare sent her reeling.

“You assume the attraction is mutual.” A lame defense. She knew it as soon as the words flicked from her tongue into the night air.

He stayed quiet and held her gaze.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Attraction exists. But I think it’s fair to say people don’t act every time they’re attracted to someone.” She looked past him, toward the street. A neighbor walking a border collie shuffled by in a half daze. The sound of gravel shifting beneath paws and feet gave her something else to focus on besides the tempting muscled man in front of her.

“Touché.”

“You’re conceding?” Narrowing her eyes, she tucked a few strands of hair behind ear, unconvinced.

Max passed the now-empty beer bottle from hand to hand, the green glass glinting. “Not giving in. Just noting your point, since you noted mine. We are attracted to each other. I consider that a huge win. I’m a patient man, especially when the stakes are important.” He leaned forward, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Very important.”

“A kiss? Really?” She’d never met a man patient for a kiss.

He leaned close, so close his breath caressed her face. “Yes, really. What I believe is going to be a really amazing kiss.”

He smiled at her, collecting his empty bottle and her glass as he stood. His absence allowed for the light breeze to brush her exposed skin, leaving her aware of just how close they’d been sitting. How easy it would have been to act on any of her feelings and temptations. How she simply could not allow herself to do that.

As if she needed another reminder. Watching him walk back to the B and B, Natalie swallowed hard.

Just a boarder. Maybe if she repeated that enough times, it’d be true. Glancing up at the muted stars, Natalie realized it would be quite some time before she would find sleep.

* * *

Next to the kitchen, the craft room was Natalie’s favorite place to spend time creating—everything from her dresses to accessories she sold in The Courtyard. The little artisanal mall was a big hit in town, and a nice source of extra income for her stretched budget.

She knew she was lucky to have a creative outlet that blended with her life as a single mom. In a house drenched in color riffs of reds and yellows—remnants, in some ways, of a Texas sunset—the craft room boasted a lighter, airy setting. The light sea-foam-green wall stood in contrast to the other cream walls. Tufts of tulle, lace and silky fabrics huddled in the corner, sparking whimsy into Natalie’s life.

She ruffled through the half-finished sketches of bridal dresses on the glass desk rimmed with gold, nearly knocking over the arrangement of blue hydrangeas—her favorite.

The room itself, such a stark contrast to the rest of her house, made her feel like she’d stepped into a fairy-tale land. A place outside the reality of her existence. A place where she channeled the grief of losing her husband into more productive, selfless endeavors.

Like running a small, custom-wedding-gown business. Sewing was threaded throughout her entire life for as far back as Natalie could remember. Great-grandmother Elisa had taught her to crochet, and after that Natalie found the act of creation comforting. She’d soon transitioned into sewing, sketching and eventually designing her own clothes.

Natalie had always found art in these moments of baking and sewing. These weren’t merely goods to be sold, but pieces of her soul she sent out into the world.

Turning away from the desk after consulting the sketch, she tried not to think of the man staying in the room above. Focus on the here and now. In a slight state of disarray, she noted the piles of airy fabric in her three sewing machines—evidence of her works in progress. More than just her work, it was her creative outlet. A piece of the world just for her.

In the very back corner behind the white couch accented with gold pillows, where her two friends were sipping mimosas, she smiled at the completed gown—a wispy lacy dress with a sweetheart neckline. Perfect for a boho bride. Their figures formed a silhouette against the drawn blind to keep prying eyes out. No one needed to see the masterpiece until after it was complete and the bride made her debut.

Even with the blinds drawn shut, an expansive skylight allowed golden September light to wash over the room, adding to the otherworldly airiness.

Sketch in hand, Natalie made her way to the white couch where Emily Knox sat, green eyes rolling back as she bit into one of the apple turnovers. She swallowed and dabbed her pink lips with a napkin, a smile forming on her whole face. “You have outdone yourself this time, Natalie.” Emily placed the turnover back down on the glass-and-gold coffee table, her nimble, long fingers finding the champagne flute.

Natalie couldn’t help thinking about the drink with Max, how easy it had been to talk to him, to lean into his touch. How quickly he’d filled her home, her thoughts, her life.

Emily took a sip of the mimosa and then raised her glass to Natalie, appreciation radiating from her eyes and her yum. After she set the glass down on the table, Emily carefully arranged the knickknacks and uneaten pastries, pulled out her camera and snapped a picture. She fluffed her honey-brown hair, content to review her image. Emily saw photographically, and her ranch-based home provided a continual canvas of inspiration.

“Please. It’s nothing.” Natalie shoved her left hand into her pocket, searching for her misplaced measuring tape.

“No, honey, this is delightful,” Brandee Lawless offered, staring at her reflection in the ornate mirror. Her dress wasn’t quite finished.

A pit of guilt welled in Natalie’s stomach as she examined the state of Brandee’s dress. She was a mash-up of the girl next door and a woman who would fight for her ranch and dreams with every fiber of her body. Brandee was set to marry Shane Delgado, a rancher and millionaire real-estate developer.

The wedding was approaching, and Brandee’s dress was more of a suggestion at this point. Classic lines that felt just right for Brandee—and that was about as far as Natalie had this dress figured out. Silk skimmed over a more structured underdress, and while Natalie imagined lace integrated into the design, the exact positioning was still a work in progress.

Brandee licked a hint of cinnamon from the corner of her mouth. “I’m praying Max St. Cloud can find the person responsible for these cyberattacks. It’s just...deplorable what this person is trying to do to the people of this town.”

Emily nodded, her normally sunny features darkening. “So much hatred in one person. It must be personal, which is scary because if so, the person could be close.” Her voice grew taut, as if the words had to climb over a lump in her vocal cords. “But to try to destroy my marriage. How can a person have a vendetta against so many of us?”

The cyberattacker had sent photos to Emily trying to make her think her husband, Tom, was cheating on her with Natalie. Someone had taken photos of Tom helping Natalie and her children, photos so strategically taken one could almost believe he had a second family. Tom had just been trying to help, had been suffering from a hefty case of survivor’s guilt over her husband’s death. Life had been hard on all of them.

Thank goodness the Knox marriage had survived and was stronger than ever.

Now Emily and Natalie were even friends. Truth was stronger than hate.

Natalie strategically hugged Brandee, careful not to press any of the loose pins into her. “Let’s not allow that awful person to steal anything more from us by taking our joy. We can’t stop him or her—not yet anyway—but we don’t have to invite that negativity into our lives. There are so many reasons to rejoice.”

Brandee nodded. “Did you hear? Nick and Harper’s latest ultrasound showed the twins are both boys. It seems like the population is exploding in our little town.”

Emily snorted on a laugh. “Isn’t that the truth? It’ll be your turn, Brandee, soon enough. We need to keep that joy in mind.”

“You’re right.” Brandee smiled widely. “Nothing should taint every moment leading up to my wedding.” She twirled around on the pedestal, recalling a lithe ballerina. Even in the half-finished dress, she was a swirl of bridal beauty.

Shoving off the couch, camera slung around her neck and mimosa in hand, Emily strode over to them. “Mimosas and friendship and photos. To weddings. And gorgeous gowns.”

“I’m sorry the gown isn’t complete.” Wringing her hands, Natalie stared at the heap of fabric, beads and lace. At all the yet-to-be-realized potential.

“This is a custom job. I understand that, love that and adore the idea of photos of the gown in progress, fittings and changes.” Brandee shrugged, another smile lighting up her face, brightening her eyes. “It’s a metaphor for life. The joy and process doesn’t stop on the wedding day.”

The work.

Natalie blinked back tears. Damn it, she usually didn’t let her armor crack this way.

Emily glided forward and wrapped her in a gentle hug. “Oh, God, Nat, I’m sorry.”

Natalie willed in one steadying breath after another. Comfort almost made it tougher, but she practically shoved the tears back into her body. Another steadying breath, and she patted her way free of the hug. “Please, don’t. It’s been a year. I’m moving forward with my life. I’m beginning to remember the happy times that deserve to be celebrated.”

Her attraction to Max had been a mixture of relief, in that it assured her she was moving forward, and wariness, because now she needed to figure out if she was ready.

Reaching out to her friend, Brandee gave Natalie’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “You’re incredible.”

Natalie choked on a laugh and sniffled back the last hint of tears. “I wish. But thank you. Making these dresses brings me happiness.” She didn’t need a man—didn’t need Max—because she was happy and fulfilled with the life she’d built.

“And about this moving forward... Would it have something to do with Max St. Cloud staying here?” Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Brandee exchanged a glance with Emily, who offered her a mimosa.

Natalie made notes in her sketchbook, not that she needed to, but it was easier than meeting their eyes.

“Why would you say that? He’s just a boarder, staying here while helping the town.” Natalie worked to keep the heat from rising to her cheeks.

Brandee snorted halfway through a sip of her mimosa. “Seriously? I saw you two out front playing with the kids and when you walked past each other in the hall on our way in here. The two of you all but launch electric static snapping through the air when you’re in the same room.” She turned to Emily. “Am I wrong?”

Emily refilled her crystal flute. “Just the looks you two exchange damn near singe my hair.”

Natalie conceded the obvious, making her way to the sewing machine. “He’s an attractive man, Emily.” Arranging the material, she began to work, hoping the sound of the machine would disrupt this conversation.

“And you’re an attractive woman.” She swept both hands through the air to form Natalie’s shape.

Clutching satin, Natalie sagged back from her sewing machine. “I’m a tired, overworked mom.”

“Hmm...” Brandee clapped her hands together. “Maybe you need a spa day.”

Natalie’s spine stiffened defensively. “I’m not going to launch some Cinderella-vamp makeover to snag a man.”

Tut-tutting, Brandee shook her head. “No argument. I’m going to schedule it for next week. This is for you. Just for you. You deserve it.”

Emily smiled knowingly. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you already snagged his attention.”

Natalie shot to her feet. “I’m going to get us more pastries and something to drink without alcohol.”

With quick steps, she made her way to the kitchen, popped open the largest cabinet and extracted an ornate crystal pitcher—her great-grandmother’s. Absently, she tossed the already-sliced lemons from the fridge into the pitcher, filled the bulk of the container with ice cubes and added water. As the impact of water caused the ice-cube cluster to melt and disperse, she heard a steady, almost undetectable sound.

The pitter patter of a slight drip. The sink was leaking ever so slightly. Another thing to fix—after she finished this gown session, of course.

As Natalie began to make her way back to the craft room, the scene from outside the oversize window arrested her gaze.

Max.

But not just Max. He sat at the pink-and-white Little Tikes picnic table across from Lexie. Her chatterbox daughter was serving him imaginary tea, and had just extended a feather boa to Max, who good-naturedly rested the bright purple boa on his shoulders.

As Natalie clutched the water pitcher, she swallowed.

Trouble.

Maybe that spa day wasn’t what she needed. Maybe instead she needed the frumpiest burlap sack and chastity belt money could buy.

* * *

For the past three days, Max had been holed up at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. The beginnings of investigations were always the same. A blur of faces, words, files. For Max, the initial phase of the investigation was at once the most frustrating and most fascinating.

All the contingent possibilities took shape before him—the various paths seemed to reveal themselves as he met with the key town players.

Max had to continue to watch how the men postured, wait for nuggets of information to be dispensed. Analyze. Repeat several more times until something like a lead developed.

After a long Wednesday of scanning through the files of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, his eyes demanded some rest, craved home.

He corrected himself. He craved his makeshift bed in his transitory space—the theme of his life. Home was never locatable, and this dusty town was not home, either.

Max barely registered the drive back to the Cimarron Rose. Flashes of leaves turning from bright green to yellow and the lack of cars on the road both gave Max a feeling of timelessness. Ironic, considering everything except for this car ride had turned his world on its head. Max’s time at the bed-and-breakfast had been a surprise, to say the least. Not just because of a certain auburn-haired bombshell with sweet, sad eyes that melted his soul. But he’d been surprised how drawn he was to two of the cutest rapscallions on the planet as they rode their tricycles and played ball. Max usually avoided interactions with children, but now it seemed he was living under the same roof as two of them. He should be irritated. Or avoiding them.

Not having freaking tea parties, for God’s sake. He laughed to himself, recalling the way Lexie had sidled up to him, her invitation to have a cup of tea was the most earnest request he’d ever heard.

Just like that, two-year-old Lexie—who had inherited her mother’s eyes—had him, a big, bad billionaire, eating out of her hand in no time. He’d even worn a boa at her tea party, much to Lexie’s delight.

It seemed, though, that four-year-old Colby would be a tougher nut to crack. Could a kid that age be brooding? This one was. How much was the autism and how much was the boy’s personality? Max wasn’t sure, but he definitely had felt an instant kinship with the boy, who appeared to be a tech geek in the making with his video games and his aptitude at the computer.

But the kinship went deeper. Though their experiences were inherently different, Max knew what it was like to always be positioned on the outside of “normal” routines. As he made his way to the door, he found himself wondering what he could do for Colby. He would figure something out, a way to connect with the kid.

Now, though, he was having a harder time processing his reaction to Natalie, and the instant twinge of arousal that kicked through him every time she entered the room. Hell, even when she was bent over her sewing machine working on a new design for a wedding dress. So Max had decided to give himself a breather by spending some time working on the case these past three days.

But for now, there was no avoiding the need to go back to his room to compile his latest round of interviews and some data he’d gleaned from the Texas Cattleman’s Club’s files.

As he pulled into the parking lot, he noted the stillness of the air, the lack of guests. So many of the guests who had been there over the weekend had checked out, leaving him largely alone in this place.

As he was turning the doorknob, a scream assaulted his ears. Heart hammering, ratcheting into overtime, he dropped his things at the front door, his body posed to launch in the direction of the distress.

Worry coiled around bones, and an unsettling image of Natalie cornered in the kitchen seemed to permeate every nook and cranny of his mind.

But then another sound.

A squeal of wicked laughter. And another. Suddenly, the bed-and-breakfast was filled with the sound of hysterical laughter, emanating from multiple people. Heart steadying and curiosity rising, he followed the sounds.

His inner investigator egged him on.

The squeals and peals of laughter intensified as he neared the bright kitchen.

Nothing could have prepared Max for the sight in the kitchen. Water pooled everywhere on the tile, and more water continued to bubble from underneath the sink, creating a kind of indoor, shallow water park. Lexie theatrically splashed around, combining water stomping with something that looked like ballet. Her laughter and antics even incited the ever-reserved Colby to motion. Miss Molly ran circles around them, barking and wagging her tail in a golden fan.

Natalie’s rich laughter warmed the kitchen, made the disaster seem less like a crisis and more whimsical. Water soaked her shirt and her loose hair dripped, clinging to her.

Those radiant green eyes were calm—she was just as carefree as she’d been under the tree several nights ago.

Stunning.

In every situation—flour dusted, bathed in moonlight, drenched in water—Max felt drawn to her.