Читать книгу Her Christmas Temptation: The Billionaire Who Bought Christmas / What She Really Wants for Christmas / Baby, It's Cold Outside - Debbi Rawlins - Страница 9

KRISTY sat up straight and peered past the Eldorado Tours sign to a mass of bright yellow, blue and red fabric that billowed out across the packed desert sand.

“What’s that?” she asked, bracing her hands on the dashboard as Jack bounced the rented SUV into a dirt parking spot next to the porch of a small, graying building.

“It’s a hot air balloon.” He smiled, clearly pleased with himself as he shoved his sunglasses above his forehead.

She blinked at his profile. “You told me we were going to see the Grand Canyon.”

“We are.”

“But—”

He killed the engine and set the hand brake. “Did you think we’d ride down the cliffs on burros?”

She angled her body to face him. “I thought we’d drive up to the edge and take a look over.” She’d never been to the Grand Canyon, but she imagined there were any number of lookouts along the main road.

“This is way better,” said Jack. “We’ll cruise down between the cliffs and get a close-up of the river.”

Kristy’s stomach dipped at the thought of skimming close to jagged rocks in something as fragile as a hot air balloon. “Is that safe?”

“It’s safer than falling off a burro on a narrow trail.”

She glanced back at the rapidly expanding balloon. “That’s your benchmark for safety? Anything above falling off a burro?”

Chuckling, he opened the driver’s door. “Don’t be a wuss. You’ll have a blast.”

Taking a deep breath, Kristy reached for her own door handle, trying to remember if she’d ever heard reports of balloon fatalities in the Grand Canyon. She couldn’t think of any, but that might simply mean the mathematical odds were catching up with them.

Jack rounded the hood and pulled on the top of her door, drawing it open the rest of the way.

“Have you ever ridden one?” she asked.

The roar of the balloon’s gas burner echoed in the air as the huge balloon lifted from the ground, taking on a life of its own in a slight, desert breeze.

“A burro?”

She gave him an exasperated glare. “A hot air balloon.”

“A couple of times.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

She squinted at the bold yellow against the crackling blue sky. “How exactly do they steer?”

“They don’t.” He retrieved a small cooler from the back seat of the car. “You’re pretty much at the whim of the wind.”

“This is not reassuring, Jack.”

He placed his free hand at the small of her back, urging her toward the gate. “The pilot’s licensed.”

“So? You just told me he can’t steer.”

“The Grand Canyon’s a pretty big place. We’re sure to happen across some of it. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I left it on the jet.”

His face suddenly tightened with concern. “Hey, you’re not still freaked out from that, are you?”

She shook her head. Then she stopped. Now that he mentioned it, it was sort of unsettling to be going back up in the air again.

“Good.” He took her at her word, increasing their pace. “This is going to be fantastic.”

FROM THE moment they lifted off the ground, Kristy had to admit, Jack was right.

The trip was better than fantastic. There was nothing quite like being above the ground, yet out in the open air. The balloon was slow and smooth. She was glad she’d worn a long-sleeved blouse, but with record high temperatures, the breeze was soft. Between the pilot’s narrative and Jack’s questions and jokes, she completely forgot to be frightened.

They soared the breadth of the canyon, dipping between layered cliffs of red, green and brown stone, nearly kissing the brittle, scrub-covered valley bottom, only to rise again and wend their way between spires of sculpted rock.

“With this wind, I can put you down at Narin Falls,” said the pilot.

“Perfect,” said Jack, giving Kristy’s shoulders a squeeze. “Feel like a picnic?”

She nodded, relaxing back against him, content to be marooned and forget about the world for a while longer.

His arms wound briefly around her, his khaki-covered legs brushing against her new jeans, and the hard planes of his chest and stomach giving her a sense of security and certainty. She savored the feelings as long as she dared.

And then the balloon descended, following the steep drop of a cliff. It floated over a dusty plain until they came to a winding river with sprinkles of green lining either bank.

Then, in slow motion, the plain fell away. The river plummeted into a waterfall, burbling white and blue on its long drop to where it crashed into a turquoise pool surrounded by trees and shrubs and grass.

Kristy gasped at the sight.

“Hang on,” said the pilot.

The balloon quickly lost altitude, the basket scraping along the sand, bumping to a stop several hundred feet from the oasis, the balloon canted over to one side.

Jack jumped out of the basket, steadying it with one hand, and all but lifting Kristy out with the other.

The pilot quickly handed him the cooler, then tossed a blanket over the side.

“We’re clear,” Jack called, his arm firmly around her waist, backing them both away.

The pilot poured on the heat, and the balloon reinflated.

“He’s leaving,” Kristy stated, trying to get her footing sorted out on the soft ground.

“He is,” Jack agreed, keeping her clasped next to his side.

“How are we going to get out of here?” She’d seen the view from the air. They were miles and miles away from anything.

“He’ll give the helicopter pilot our coordinates.”

“We’re getting picked up by helicopter?”

“Sure.” Jack nodded, giving the pilot a final wave.

Kristy blinked up at him, the reality of the excursion suddenly hitting home. She was alone. Really, really alone with a man she’d only met yesterday.

She wasn’t scared, exactly. What were the odds Jack had brought her by hot air balloon to a desert canyon to ravish or murder her? Plus, the balloon pilot was a witness. If Jack was a closet ax murderer, he’d be pretty stupid to let the only witness to the planned crime fly away.

Jack was a businessman, and an incredibly busy one at that. He was running an international conglomerate. She wondered, not for the first time, why he would take time out to entertain a virtual stranger. Taking her on an impromptu picnic didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t get it,” she told him.

He glanced down at her. “What’s to get? They’ll send a helicopter. It’s part of the tour.”

“But—”

“Don’t tell me we have to have the burro discussion again. Because I don’t think they could even get burros in here. It’s too far—”

“What I don’t get—” she interrupted.

He snapped his mouth shut and gave her a chance to speak.

She took a breath. “Is why you’re doing this.”

“I’m doing this because I don’t want to spend ten hours walking home after our picnic. We have tickets to Cirque du Soleil tonight, remember?”

The man was being deliberately obtuse.

“I mean all of it.” He could easily have dumped her at the airport last night and gone about his business.

“All of what?”

Fine. She’d play along and spell it out for him. “Dinner. A balloon ride. A picnic?”

“Would you rather do something else?”

She pulled back from the arm that was still loosely around her waist. “You act like we’re dating.”

He let her go, fighting a grin. “Dating?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Did I say we were dating?”

Okay, now she was embarrassed. “No, you didn’t.”

“Good. We’re together on that at least.”

She scowled at him. “You’re wasting your time.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m having a picnic.”

“You should have left me at the airport.”

“That would have been rude.”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

He glanced around. “Why are we discussing this now?”

“Because—” She paused, following his lead, giving a quick check on the desert around them. He made a good point. What was she hoping to accomplish by standing here arguing with him in the hot sun?

Answers, she supposed.

Like, what was he doing here? What was she doing here? She wasn’t the kind of person to fall into adventures with rich, sexy, exciting men. Her life simply didn’t work that way.

After a minute’s silence, he lifted the blanket from the sand, gripping the cooler firmly in his other hand.

“We’re here,” he explained, “Because sightseeing is way more fun than hanging around an airport for two days. You know, you really have to lighten up, Kristy. You want to stand here and argue until we get sunstroke, or find some shade and break out the wine and sandwiches?”

At the mention of the food, Kristy realized she was starving. Her attention turned to the little cooler. “Sandwiches?”

He gave a sharp nod of approval and started for the oasis, tossing a final volley over his shoulder. “There. I knew you’d see things my way.”

She scrambled to catch up, sand creeping into the crevices of her shoes. “I didn’t see things your way.”

“Sure you did. And that means I won the argument.”

“There was no argument. And definitely no winner. We came to an amicable agreement involving shade, food and wine.” She fell into step with him.

He slanted her a knowing grin. “You agreed to relax and enjoy the picnic.”

“I did not.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

“I merely accepted the fact that I’m trapped here with you for now.”

“Poor baby.”

She jabbed him with her elbow.

He hunched over to protect himself, but he was grinning. “Just make sure you don’t have any fun. Otherwise, I’m the winner.”

Kristy struggled not to laugh along with him. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

He glanced down. “You sure? ‘Cause I think I see a smile in there.”

She shook her head and pressed her lips together. “No, you don’t.”

“Liar.”

She let herself grin, silently deciding to relax and take a breath. There really was nothing for her to worry about for the moment. Dee Dee was happy. She was having a great time with a concierge staffer named Randy and three other dogs staying at the hotel. A picnic beside a waterfall definitely beat an airport waiting room, even if it did mean Jack won the argument.

Maybe it didn’t matter that today didn’t reflect her real life. Fact was, it was happening to her. Against all odds and previous life experience, she was stranded in Vegas with a sexy billionaire who wanted to entertain her. She should enjoy it.

“What kind of wine?” she asked.

“Ha. Getting fussy are we?”

“No. I’m taking your advice and lightening up.” On impulse, she covered his hand that held the cooler and gave it a squeeze. “This is incredibly nice of you, you know.”

“I’m an incredibly nice guy.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She laughed, and then went silent as the ground turned from sand to sparse cacti, then to shrub brush and a few sparse pine trees. The roar of the waterfall intensified, and the spray cooled the air by several degrees. A brilliant glittering pool came into view amongst the rocks and willows.

“How did you know this was here?” she asked, glancing around in awe.

“The tour guy told me about it.”

They came to a halt next to the pool, beside a small tangle of mesquite.

“We lucked out,” said Jack. “Depending on the wind, we could have ended up at Lone Pine, Condor Point or Dead Man’s Gulch.”

He set the cooler down on the grass to spread the blanket.

Kristy kicked off her shoes. “Dead Man’s Gulch? Now I’m picturing alkali residue and bleached cow skulls.”

“Not exactly romantic.”

She did a double take. “Why would we want romantic?” Then she immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut. They weren’t dating. They’d been particularly clear on that point a few minutes ago. She should have let the comment pass.

He bent over the cooler, swinging open the lid. “I mean in the generic sense.”

There was a generic sense to romantic?

Nope. She wasn’t going to ask.

He retrieved a bottle of wine. “Oh, look,” he announced. “The hotel packed Chateau Le Comte merlot. Now that’s hardly generic.”

He gestured for her to sit down on the blanket then took a seat beside her. The wind waved its way through the mesquite trees, while birds twittered from branch to branch. Jack rustled through the cooler, retrieving two long-stemmed glasses, a corkscrew and a plastic-covered platter of cheese and wafers. Making quick work of the cork, he poured them each a glass of the wine.

He smoothed back his dark hair and held his glass up for a toast. “To us,” he said, his eyes going silver in the brilliant sunshine. “In the generic sense.”

Everything inside Kristy relaxed. There was something so reassuring about his expression. It told her they were okay. They could go ahead and goof around, drink wine, see the sights, and it didn’t have to lead anywhere.

She clinked her glass against his. “You know, this is about the strangest thing I’ve ever done.”

He took a sip. “Yeah? Well, for me, it’s not even close.”

She tasted the fragrant wine. It was smooth and light, the flavor bursting in her mouth. Then she eyed him up. “You do realize that absolutely begs the question …”

He grinned. “It does, doesn’t it?”

She nodded encouragingly.

He thought for a moment. “Let’s see. If I had to choose, I’d say it was the fire.”

That definitely got her attention. “You lit something on fire?”

“Hunter lit something on fire. I was only along for the ride.”

Kristy took another sip of the merlot. “It was Hunter’s fault. Of course.”

“It was definitely Hunter’s fault. He was upset. Still, if it wasn’t for the gypsy and the elephants, we’d have been fine.”

“You’re making this up.”

“I swear it’s true. We were maybe fourteen and fifteen. We all went to the circus. Dad being Dad, and Gramps being Gramps, we got a special pass to go behind the scenes.

“Hunter decided to get his fortune told. But special pass or not, the wrinkled old gypsy made us pay twenty bucks. Trouble was, back then, we weren’t as grounded in reality as we are—”

Kristy scoffed, practically choking on her wine.

“What?”

“Grounded? Your private jet has mechanical trouble, so a helicopter is picking us up after a bottle of Chateau Le Comte at the Grand Canyon. You call that grounded in reality?”

His eyes narrowed. “You want to hear the story or not?”

“Absolutely. Sorry.”

“At least now I know I have to pay for the helicopter and the jet,” Jack muttered.

“You’ve made amazing progress,” she allowed.

“I have. Anyway. I told Hunter to keep his money. But he wouldn’t listen. He paid her, and the gypsy gave us the standard someone-close-to-you-has-suffered-a-loss spiel.”

Kristy had seen con artists at work before, testing basic questions until the subject engaged with one of them. “It could be an economic loss or a personal loss,” she mused aloud, attempting to put the right quavering note in her voice. “Or maybe ‘he has dark … no, light hair.’”

Jack jumped back in. “‘He’s old … no young … no maybe middle-aged …’”

“‘Wait a minute,’” Kristy cried. “‘He might be a she!’”

“You definitely get the drift,” said Jack. “But Hunter was pretty impressed. The gypsy ‘saw’ that he’d cheated on a test and stolen his father’s Jamaican rum, and he was convinced she could tell the future.”

Kristy leaned back on her elbow and took another sip of her wine, trying to picture Jack and Hunter as spoiled teenagers.

“Which would have been fine,” said Jack, gesturing with his glass. “Except she laid out the tarot cards and told Hunter he was about to meet his destiny. Tragically for Hunter, his destiny wasn’t to become a rock star, it was to marry a young redheaded girl who would give him twin daughters.”

Kristy started to laugh, not sure whether to believe Jack or not.

“You laugh now,” he said. “But Hunter was convinced it was in the cards. So he decided he needed to steal her cards to change his destiny. We waited until she left the tent, then snuck back in. He paused for effect. “And that’s when the elephants showed up.”

“In her tent?”

He shot her a look of censure. “Of course not.”

Kristy made a small circle in the air with her wineglass. “Well, of course there were no elephants in the tent. Because there isn’t anything weird at all about this story.”

“The elephants were outside on the grounds. But they were heading somewhere, and they shook the ground when they passed. And then one of them trumpeted, and Hunter nearly wet his pants.”

“I’m sure he appreciates you telling this story.”

Jack snickered. “He knocked over an oil lamp, caught the table cloth on fire and burnt up the tarot cards, the table and the tent.”

“I wonder what that did to his destiny.”

“Nothing. Six years later, he met a redheaded girl.”

“No way.”

Jack nodded.

“Did she have twins?”

“Nope. They broke up.”

“That’s not a very good ending.”

“My uncle paid the gypsy thirty-five thousand dollars for the tent.”

“Now that’s a good ending.”

Jack stretched out his legs and propped himself on his elbow. “She thought so, too.”

Kristy followed his lead, straightening her blouse and jeans, then removing the plastic cover to snag a triangle of gouda. “What about you? Did the gypsy tell you your fortune?”

“That she did.”

“What was it?”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Your turn to share.”

“My life’s boring compared to yours. Did your fortune come true?”

“Not so far.”

“Well, what was it?”

He helped himself to a slice of havarti and a small, round cracker. “What do I get in return?”

“Twins?”

“Ha!” He nearly choked on the cracker.

“What do you want?”

He stared at her intently for a moment, while the waterfall roared, the breeze waved the mesquite trees, and the birds continued to twitter amidst the big, empty desert.

Kristy grew hot, then cold, and then very confused by her intense desire to kiss him.

“I’ll trade you for a secret,” he finally said.

She swallowed. “I don’t have any secrets.”

“Everybody has secrets.”

“Not me.”

Except maybe the fact that she wanted to kiss him. She hadn’t murdered anyone or knocked over a bank. She occasionally didn’t answer the phone when she knew it was her mother—especially if it was a Friday night, and she had a sappy movie on DVD and a pint of triple fudge chunk in the freezer.

But he wasn’t getting that one. No way.

Jack watched her expression for a long moment. “Your first lover,” he said.

Her throat went tight, and her voice came out as a squeak. “What?”

“Tell me about your first lover.”

She drained her wineglass, stalling for time. “I don’t think so.”

“How old were you?”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Really?” Despite herself, her curiosity was piqued, as was her imagination. She closed her eyes and gave her head a shake.

“How old were you?” he asked again, his voice husky against the birds and the breeze.

Kristy sighed. Fine. “Twenty.”

He reached behind him for the wine bottle and topped up both of their glasses. “Ah. Late bloomer.”

“No. An absolutely perfect bloomer.”

Jack grinned at her expression. “Who was he?”

“A boy I met in college. It was in his dorm room and completely unmemorable. Now, are you destined to cross oceans? Father many children? Fly to the moon?”

“Buy a golf course.”

He looked completely serious.

“What the heck kind of a fortune is that?” For this she’d told him about her first lover?

“The gypsy was a fake, Kristy.”

“She was right about Hunter.”

“The law of averages was right about Hunter. He’s dated a whole lot of women of varying hair colors.”

“But a golf course? That was all she told you?”

Jack hesitated. His eyes twitched, and he got a funny, faraway look in them. “No,” he said. “She also told me I was going to marry a woman I didn’t trust.”

“I suppose that’s better than having twins.”

It was Jack’s turn to drain his glass. “I suppose. You want to swim?”

“It’s too cold. And we don’t have suits.”

He came to his feet, placing the empty glass on the top of the plastic cooler. “There’s nobody around for miles.”

She stood with him. “You’re around.”

“I won’t look.”

“I might.” The thought came out her mouth before she could censor it.

“There it is,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Your secret.”