Читать книгу To Love A Stallion - Deborah Fletcher Mello - Страница 8

The drive to the magnificent Preston Hollow estate on Audubon Avenue would have taken Marah’s breath away had she been breathing. But Marah felt as if she’d been holding her breath since she and her father stepped into the vehicle, the patriarch chatting away as if this was something that they did every day. Edward didn’t seem to notice that Marah was twisting her fingers together nervously, anxiety flushing her face with color. She was nervous and excited about seeing John Stallion again and she couldn’t ever remember being nervous or excited about any man.

The driver stopped at the entrance to the grand home. Constructed of Austin stone with copper accents and a tile roof, the European-style residence easily encompassed some fifteen thousand square feet of living space. It sat on some sizeable acreage as well, and Marah took in the expanse of landscaping that boasted a putting green, an Olympic-size swimming pool and tennis courts. It didn’t, however, begin to compare to the ranch.

Edward barely blinked as they made their way to the iron-and-glass entrance, moving as if this was all an everyday occurrence. At the door he depressed the button for the doorbell, tossing Marah a quick wink as they waited for someone to answer.

Their wait was brief as the receptionist Marah had encountered that morning at the entrance to the Stallion conference room opened the front door. The woman smiled warmly as she greeted them both by name and then leaned to kiss Edward’s lips.

The gesture took Marah by complete surprise, and the expression across her face showed her displeasure. In all her life she had only seen her mother kiss her father like that and so the moment did not sit well with Marah at all. She could feel herself bristle, tension adding to the stress she had already been feeling.

The other woman’s voice intruded on Marah’s thoughts.

“It’s very nice to finally meet you, dear. I’ve heard a lot about you and your sisters.”

Imagine that, Marah thought to herself. We’ve never heard anything about you. Marah forced a smile onto her face. “Thank you,” she said. “How do you know my father?”

His eyes avoiding hers, Edward answered the question, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Juanita and I are old friends.”

It was on the tip of Marah’s tongue to ask how old “old” was, but the moment passed as Juanita Hilton escorted them into the formal living space of the home, her arm now looped through Marah’s father’s arm.

Conversation stopped as Marah and her father stepped from the foyer into a handsome study that was complemented by Brazilian cherrywood floors, wall-to-wall built-in bookcases and a beamed ceiling. The four Stallion men had stood in deep discussion, debating the merits of a mutual fund portfolio when their attention was diverted in her direction. Those four pairs of eyes were appraising her for the second time that day. And Marah stared back, meeting each gaze one by one, noting the expensive tuxedos each wore to perfection. Black suits adorning picture-perfect, rock-hard physiques. She suddenly felt like a kid with a sweet tooth in a candy shop.

Matthew Stallion greeted them first, extending his hand toward her father before formally introducing himself to Marah.

“We’re glad you and your father could join us this evening, Marah.”

“Thank you,” she responded politely.

Edward shook hands with each of them in turn, an easy camaraderie obvious between them all. Marah suddenly had a long list of questions she intended to ask the old man before the evening was over.

John Stallion was the last brother to step forward to greet them.

“Let me take your wrap for you,” he said as he stepped behind her, his fingers grazing hers as she allowed the garment to slip from her shoulders.

The man was awestruck. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Marah. He was held hostage by bare skin, her attire screaming for attention. Her entire back was exposed. She wore just the hint of a forest-green silk dress, a triangle of fabric that draped into a valley of deep cleavage and stopped mere inches past her southern quadrant to wrap around the shelf of her buttocks. The halter-style dress was tied with a wisp of silk ribbon at the neck and waist.

John found himself dazzled by the expanse of tattoo that painted the woman’s back. Starting just below her hairline, an intricate depiction of scrolls and flowers was detailed in magnificent color against her warm complexion, seeming to stop somewhere past the curve of her buttocks. He marveled at the tattoo’s intricacy, having never seen such a display of artwork on a woman before. Not one other blemish marred her skin, the tone so smooth and even that one could only imagine how soft and sweet she might be in a man’s arms. He resisted an urge to draw his finger against her bare flesh.

He wasn’t used to the sensations sweeping through him, his blood surging as it simmered through his veins. Since their brief encounter in the elevator and their abrupt introduction in his boardroom, John felt as if his whole world had changed and John wasn’t one to like a whole lot of change. But everything felt different. He felt different, as if some piece of that woman was crawling just beneath the surface of his skin, pleasant but irritating. With her suddenly in his presence, standing so close that the fragrant scent of her perfume was teasing his nostrils, it was almost too much for him to take. He suddenly pondered whether or not a shot or two of straight scotch might calm his frazzled nerves. John shook his head, trying to clear the rush of confusion that threatened to consume him as he still stood staring like he’d lost his mind.

Marah could feel his eyes burning over her flesh and she smiled slyly. Working her assets came naturally and she paused just long enough for him to get a good look before she spun slowly in his direction to face him. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, accentuating the curve of her buttocks and the narrow line of her thin waist. “Cat got your tongue, Mr. Stallion?”

John blinked, forcing his focus back to her exquisite caramel-colored eyes, the forest-thick lashes batting in his direction. “I’m sorry. You were saying…?”

“I was admiring your home,” Marah said, a soft smile brightening her face. “Have you lived here long?”

“We built the house back in 2002, right after the company started doing well.

Marah’s smile widened. “And you all live here?” she asked, her gaze skating from one to the other.

Mark shook his head, the appendage waving from side to side. “Not anymore. Luke and I are the only two still here at home. John and Matthew both have their own places.”

“Interesting,” Marah said, nodding slowly.

John shrugged. “Not really. We entertain clients here and occasionally a business associate or two might stay here if they need to be in town for an extended period of time.”

“We like to make our guests feel at home,” Juanita chimed, her gaze resting on Edward’s.

Marah couldn’t help but note the look that passed between them. Her discomfort did not go unnoticed as John looked from her to the older couple and back again.

“Miss Hilton has been our surrogate mother. She lives here as well and keeps us in line,” he said.

“Now that’s right,” the woman chimed, a warm chuckle passing over her lips.

“Do you have any other family here?” Marah asked curiously. “Your parents?”

The man shook his head. “No. It’s just us four,” he said, an air of tension rising from his center. Marah sensed that she had struck a sensitive nerve and immediately regretted having asked the question.

Luke changed the subject. “Why don’t we move this conversation to the dinner table. I’m starved.”

“I second that,” Mark echoed.

Juanita Hilton moved ahead of them. “I’ll let the kitchen know you’re ready to be served,” she said, shifting into assistant mode.

John took the seat at the head of the table, guiding her to the seat at his side. Her father was seated at the other end, Juanita taking the seat on his right side as the Stallion brothers occupied the remaining chairs. The table was set immaculately, the Stallions displaying their finest china and crystal. Eden, with her pretentious airs, would have been duly impressed, Marah thought to herself.

The conversation was casual as they all chatted easily over a meal of prime rib, glazed carrots and garlic mashed potatoes. Marah knew that her father was truly comfortable when he starting telling a few of the many cowboy jokes he’d become famous for.

“Okay,” Edward was saying, everyone’s eyes on him. “This old cowhand comes riding into town on one of them hot, dry, dusty days. Now the local sheriff is standing at the front of the saloon watching as the cowboy climbs on down off his horse and ties the mustang to a rail a few feet from the entrance.

“The sheriff, he says, ‘Howdy, stranger.’ and the old cowboy gives him a ‘Howdy, sheriff’ right back. The cowboy then goes to the back of his horse, lifts its tail and places a big kiss on that horse’s ass end. He drops the tail, steps up on the sidewalk and heads through the swinging doors into the saloon.

“Now, the sheriff can’t believe what he’s just seen and he says, ‘Hold on, mister. Did I just see what I think I saw?’ And the man says, ‘Reckon you did, sheriff. I got me some powerful chapped lips.’ The sheriff is still floored by what the man did so he asks him, ‘Does kissing that horse’s ass cure them lips of yours?’ And the man says, ‘Nope, but it does keep me from lickin’ ’em.”

The men bust out laughing. Marah could only shake her head having heard that joke and most of her father’s others more times than she cared to count. As the evening wore on, Marah was beginning to think the night was about everything except the acquisition of her family’s homestead. Throughout the evening she could feel John stealing glances in her direction, his timid behavior reminiscent of an adolescent in the cusp of a first crush. Marah figured she would be well served to take full advantage of the situation.

She leaned closer in his direction, her eyes widening with intrigue as she gave him a wry smile.

“Mr. Stallion?’

“Please, call me John. Too many Mr. Stallions for us to know which one you’re looking for,” he said, tossing a quick wink toward his brothers.

“John, about the ranch…” she started.

Her father interrupted, clearing his throat to draw their attention in his direction and away from whatever it was Marah was about to say. “John, my boy. I didn’t get a chance to tell Marah about your hobby. She’s quite the art collector. I was thinking that she might like to see your studio one day.”

Marah turned back to face the man, her annoyance dispelled by her curiosity. “You’re an artist?”

John shrugged his shoulders, a shy smile filling his face. “I dabble on occasion.”

“He does more than dabble,” Juanita interjected. “He’s quite talented.”

“Quite,” Mark teased, elbowing Luke. The two men chuckled and John rolled his eyes. Marah smiled.

“I have two sisters,” she said with a warm laugh. “I understand perfectly.

“Where do you fall in the lineup?” John asked, leaning his chin into his hands, his elbows propped against the tabletop.

Marah met his intense gaze. “I’m the youngest. My sister Eden is six years older than Marla and me, and Marla is ten minutes older than I am.”

The man nodded. “I’m the oldest. Matthew’s next and there’s a two-year age difference between us. Then comes Mark who is one year younger than Matthew, and Luke here was the family accident.”

Luke snarled. “I was too planned!”

“Like a heart attack,” Mark joked. “I was six when Mom got pregnant with him. He wasn’t planned.”

The table chuckled as Luke flicked a carrot at his brother’s head.

As if reading her mind, John answered the question that had been on her mind. His tone was edged in emotion that seemed to pierce straight through Marah’s heart.

“Our parents died in an automobile accident when Luke was eight.”

For a brief moment, all the men grew quiet, a hushed silence dropping down over the table.

Matthew continued the conversation, breaking the awkward moment. “John stepped in and took responsibility for us. Big brother here became our parent.”

John clasped his hands together, looking from one brother to the other.

“He did a fine job with all you boys,” Juanita interjected, her head bobbing up and down. “A fine job.”

“Your folks would be very proud,” Edward said.

Marah nodded, sensing the man’s discomfort talking about losing his parents and hearing the accolades for all he’d accomplished. She smiled sweetly as she focused all her attention on him. “I imagine it wasn’t easy for you,” she said softly. “When my mother died I don’t know if my sisters and I could have gotten through it without our father.”

Marah turned to meet her dad’s stare, the man watching her intently. “I know how you must feel because our mother was everything to all of us,” she said, her eyes shifting to meet Juanita’s. “Everything.”

As dinner came to a close, the group savoring the last bites of a New York cheesecake with a strawberry rum sauce, John tapped Marah against the back of her hand, his thick fingers sending a current of heat up the length of her arm.

“Care to walk with me, Ms. Briscoe?”

“Only if you drop the Ms. and call me Marah, John.”

He nodded his head, and they excused themselves from the table. “So, now that we’re on a first name basis, what was it you wanted to ask me earlier?” he asked, guiding her out the room, his large hand pressed lightly against her elbow.

“This evening wasn’t what I expected. You said the executive board would be discussing the purchase of our ranch. This doesn’t seem like your typical board meeting to me.”

John chuckled as they maneuvered their way toward the rear of the large home and then down the length of a short corridor. As he turned the knob on the door at the end of the hallway and gestured for her to enter first. “Nothing that my brothers and I do is typical, Marah. And, we are all the executive board that we need.”

Marah stopped short, turning abruptly. “Why are you taking advantage of my father?”

John smiled, the motion brightening his face. “I wasn’t aware that I was. Your father has been very eager to negotiate the sale of that property.”

“That ranch has been his whole life. Since my mother died that ranch is all he has.”

“He has you and your sisters. That’s more important to him than that land is.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Marah said, exasperation tingeing her voice.

“I think I understand your father better than you do. He’s ready to shake things up a little,” John said matter-of-factly. “He wants to make some changes in his life while he still can.”

Marah crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing sharply. “What do you know about what my father wants?”

“He and I have become good friends over the last year or so. We’ve spent a lot of time together talking.”

A look of confusion washed over Marah’s expression. “How did you two meet?”

“Aunt Juanita introduced us.”

At the mention of that woman’s name Marah bristled, even more baffled by the relationship Juanita and her father appeared to share. The moment passed as she was suddenly distracted. She took in the space surrounding them, John stepping in behind her. The room was a Victorian conservatory, a light-drenched glass chamber that looked out over the landscape outside. The afternoon sun had disappeared, replaced by the brilliance of a full moon and a flood of flickering stars that lit up the dark sky. It was an intimate retreat surrounded by a wealth of vegetation and blooming flora. The glow of nightfall was enchanting and Marah found herself mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the moment. It also helped that they had polished off a bottle or two of bubbly at dinner and she’d been feeling warm and mellow in his company since they’d finished dessert.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as she tilted her head skyward. She turned to stare at him, a coy expression painting her face. She leaned against the back of a wing chair, her arms resting on the edge, her gaze sweeping around the room. She was lean and elegant, temptation standing on two legs and every ounce of her body was beckoning him to her.

“Yes, you are,” he answered, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks, his gaze still locked on her as he fought the urge to move to her side. “You clean up nicely,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Marah cut her eyes in his direction. She suddenly couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her as intently as John Stallion was watching her now. She shook her head, disturbed that she was being swayed so wantonly when it was she who was supposed to be doing the swaying.

“Thank you,” she muttered, turning an about face to stare out through the wealth of glass that separated them from the gardens outside.

She could feel John step in closer to her, his gaze boring a hole straight into her soul. Marah felt warm, too connected to the moment, and she shook the sensation from her mind. She jumped as he drew a hand down her back, the pad of his index finger outlining the ink coloring her skin.

“Did it hurt?” he asked, stepping in even closer to exam the design.

“A little. Not much,” she said, trying to contain her breathing. She closed her eyes, sensations sweeping like fire through her body. All of his fingers were gently caressing the expanse of her back.

“It’s absolutely exquisite,” John said, his own breathing coming in short, quick gasps. “What possessed you to do it?”

Marah paused, relishing the warmth of his touch, the sensation distracting her from any coherent thoughts. “I…I…liked…” She was unable to form the words to explain the edge to her personality that allowed her to take risks and do things other people wouldn’t. She stepped away from his touch, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso.

“Look,” she said, taking a deep breath and holding it for a quick minute. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, John, but I’m not interested,” she said, her tone everything but convincing.

“Aren’t you?” he answered, that smug smile pulling at the line of his mouth.

Marah was suddenly overcome with emotion she didn’t like. No, she didn’t like how she was feeling at all. “No, I’m not,” she said firmly, a bald-faced lie slipping past her lips. “All I want is to know what it will take for you to let go of this deal and leave my family alone?”

“Is that all?’ John asked, taking a step toward her, the look he gave her overwhelming.

Marah was consumed with emotion, her mind and body suddenly doing battle for control. The expression across the man’s face was edged with something that Marah could only describe as wicked. The man was playing her, she thought suddenly. John Stallion was trying to beat her at her own game. She nodded her head slowly. A slight smile blessed her face. If he wanted to play, then she would pull him into a game that would surely leave him wishing he’d found someone else to play with.

“Maybe not,” Marah said, lifting her coquettish gaze to stare into his.

There was a moment of quiet hesitation as both stood contemplating each other.

“I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to kiss you,” Marah said softly, taking a step toward him.

John stepped in to meet her, a torrent of heat flooding his senses when she pressed a perfectly manicured hand against his chest. A large hand fell to the curve of her waist as he snaked his arm around her body to pull her close. When her pelvis met his, John felt like he might explode right there. Marah gasped, her own body awed by the intensity of his touch.

“What’s stopping you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he moved to lower his mouth to hers.

Marah paused, smiling sweetly, then took two steps back, her hand falling down to her side as she slipped out of his grasp. “The urge passed,” she answered, her eyes flickering with amusement.

John laughed, a wide grin filling his face. “You’re a tease, aren’t you?’

“Not at all, Mr. Stallion. I’m just tired of brothers like you who think they can get over on their good looks and smooth lines. This deal is nowhere close to being done. Believe that. Now, either you want to take this to the table or you don’t, but I guarantee you that my father will not be signing any time soon, if—” she paused, allowing her gaze to meet his evenly “—he signs at all.”

John nodded, still smiling smugly. “Tomorrow afternoon. Two-thirty. I think you know where the conference room is, Ms. Briscoe.”

“I do, but then you know where the ranch is. Meet me in the stables, Mr. Stallion. Shall we say three o’clock?”

“Three o’clock,” he responded, nodding his agreement. “I look forward to it.”

As she disappeared in search of her father, John turned to stare out to the starry sky. The image of Marah lingered in his memory as he replayed the evening over in his head. Picturing the woman’s sweet smile made him hard with wanting. Picturing the length of her lithe legs made his stomach hum with appreciation. Picturing her sparkling eyes made him hungry with desire. As he imagined what could have happened between them, he couldn’t help but picture what kissing her could have been like.