Her Royal Bed (7 page)

“And you're bigger than most, Bobby,” Rita said encouragingly, Daya now sans tears in her arms.

“No, you're the biggest,” Jane amended, and the two women smiled at him affectionately.

Releasing a breath, Bobby shrugged. “All the com
pliments in the world can't make up for being rejected by a two-month-old, but I suppose I'll just have to take what I can get.”

Jane smiled at him as he gathered the packages. Poor guy, she mused as she followed him and Rita out of the department store and into the parking lot. She knew it was a ridiculous notion, but she couldn't help wondering if the animosity Sakir had for Bobby might have somehow infected his daughter.

 

“Do you wish to torment me, my love?”

“Always,” Rita said lovingly, sitting in her husband's lap, her arms around his neck.

Sakir pushed the leather captain's chair away from his desk and around to face the office's floor-to-ceiling windows. Holding his wife tightly, he looked out at the unending land of his backyard. “So, Callahan shows up at the shops, and you allow him to hold our child?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He eased her away a few inches so that he could look into her eyes. “You know how I feel about the man.”

“And I know how Jane feels about the man,” Rita said, strength in her tone. “And how he feels about her.”

Sakir shook his head. “He is toying with her.”

“I don't think so.”

“What makes you so certain?”

Her hands cupped his face. The sun, hanging low in the horizon, bathed his handsome face in a reddish glow. “I know what need and longing look like in a man's eyes.”

A slow grin worked its way to Sakir's face. “Yes, it would seem you do, dearest.”

She leaned in and kissed him, warm and slow. “We had our struggles, too, Sakir,” she said against his mouth. “But we overcame them and look at us now. Happy, in love, our beautiful child sleeping upstairs.”

“Yes. I am a most fortunate man. I am proud of what we are and what we have. But Jane is my family now, too. She is Al-Nayhal.”

“Jane is a strong woman with a great head on her shoulders.”

“She will always be my little sister, dearest, and I would die before I let anyone hurt her.”

“I know.” Rita wrapped her arms around him, kissed him deeply, passionately. “That's why I love you so much.”

“And I love you.” His mouth covered hers hard then, his hands fisted her sweater.

“What can I do to take your mind off this?” she asked against his mouth.

“Off what?” he muttered, lifting her up and placing her on his desk. A sinful smile tugged at his mouth as he eased her back and lifted her skirt.

“W
hat's the big idea?”

The playfully gruff tone of voice made Jane grin. Poised at the stove, towel over her shoulder, she glanced over at Bobby, who was wearing a sexy pair of black jeans, a white shirt and a bewitching scowl on his handsome face. “Is there some problem, Mr. Callahan?”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded at the steaming pan of chicken marsala she was working on. “Here I thought my eggs and bacon—”

“And toast,” she teased. “Don't forget about the toast.”

He rolled his eyes. “And my slightly charred toast…”

She laughed.

“Well,” he muttered darkly, “I thought my meal was pretty damn impressive.”

“It was,” she assured him, turning back to the stove.

“But look at this.” He gestured to the steaming pan of chicken and mushrooms in a wine and butter sauce. “It looks…professional.”

“I did happen to mention that I am a chef, right?”

“Well, sure, but you didn't say what a big show-off you are.”

She turned to glare at him, even tried to look shocked, but the sexy twinkle in his eyes had her busting out laughing again. “You won't care when you taste this, along with the penne and pine nuts.”

“What, no dessert?” he said sullenly.

“I saw that ice cream in your freezer, Callahan. Ice cream trumps all other desserts, even the fancy ones.”

He tossed a stray mushroom into his mouth. “I didn't know that.”

“It's a chef thing.” The late-afternoon sun settled over the house, bathing the spacious kitchen in a friendly, yellow light. “You know, some of my fellow chefs back in California actually prefer a hot dog with the works to sea bass and pesto butter.”

“Yeah, well, who wouldn't?” Fork in hand, he stabbed a tender piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth. He groaned, and tossed her a hungry look. “I don't want this to sound sexist, but damn, lady, your place
is
in the kitchen.”

Feeling incredibly close to him in that moment, she smiled a little shyly. “Thank you. I think.”

Upon Bobby's insistence, and the fact that they were both starved and didn't want to wait until the food was plated, they stood side by side at the stove, eating
chicken marsala and penne with pine nuts right out of their respective pans. As a chef, it was a fairly normal thing to do—skip the table and just go for the good stuff. But she'd certainly never tried it with a man before.

And such a man.

Bobby made no secret about his feelings—well, for her food anyway. He ate with gusto, showering her with praise after every bite. Pleasure coursed through her at his words and his passionate expression. This was why she'd gotten into culinary arts in the first place. Good food for people who really enjoyed it.

When Bobby'd had enough, he leaned against the counter and raised a brow at her. “You're amazing.”

She flushed happily. “I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

“I'm enjoying a few things lately.” He gave her a wink. “You ready for a ride?”

Her breath caught in her throat as a mental image popped into her head that had nothing whatsoever to do with horses.

“Only take a minute to saddle up a couple of ponies.” He pushed away from the counter.

And just as quickly, the sensual image faded. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. She really was growing desperate. Sad but true. She wanted to know when that kiss was coming—wanted to know why they had to take things slow when they'd started out so gloriously fast. She hoped he wasn't playing with her….

Sakir's warning was always there, under the surface of her skin, making her second-guess herself and Bobby.

“C'mon,” he said, taking her hand and leading her
away from the kitchen and toward the front door. “The sunset can be real shocking it's so pretty.”

“But we just ate,” she warned, humor lacing her tone.

He chuckled. “It's not like swimming, Jane.”

Any thread of worry she'd had disappeared and she laughed with him. “All right, lead on, cowboy. Into the barn and onto the back of the oldest and slowest horse you got.”

 

A man and his horse were a sacred thing.

Bobby Callahan had always ridden solo. It was sort of a rule he had. No females behind him or in front of him. But tonight he had a woman sitting behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, tight and warm, her thighs pressed against his, and she felt damn good. Lucky for him, Jane hadn't felt all that comfortable on Frankie, the horse he'd originally picked out for her, and Bobby wasn't about to walk the whole property alongside Ol' Dolly Parton, an aging blond mare who walked as though she were stepping in and out of a bucket of molasses, so he'd suggested riding double.

Beneath him, his gray stallion, Rip, tore up the ground while his gait remained as smooth as an ocean wave. The Texas landscape whizzed past, the air growing cooler with every dip of the sun into the horizon.

When Bobby had reached his destination, he slowed and let the stallion walk. “The sun's falling fast.”

From behind him came a sigh, then the words, “It's beautiful.”

“The land or the sunset?”

“Yes,” she replied, a smile in her tone.

He chuckled. “Careful. Or you'll get bit.”

“Bit by what?”

“The Texas bug.”

“Oh, that.”

“Think you could live here?”

The question was a basic one, simple actually when they were discussing sunsets and pretty scenery, their mood light and humorous. But the question also held a dot of intimacy that made Bobby real uncomfortable. Things were hopping around in his mind as of late, poking at his heart and gut over this woman. He liked her, liked her mind, her up-front way of talking. He was over the moon for her cooking, and those full lips and long legs….

Sweat broke out on his neck.

He had to keep reminding himself why he was pursuing her or there would be some real trouble ahead.

“Texas is already growing on me, Bobby. For many reasons.” Jane shifted against him, her arms loosening slightly. “But in the end, I believe the place picks the person.”

He snorted. “That's a bunch of bull, you know.”

She laughed, let her head drop against his back. “Yeah, I know, but with a philosophy like that I don't have to make any decisions for myself.”

“Looking for someone to make decisions for you, are you?” He hated the race of thrill and tension that snaked through him. And before she could answer him, Bobby twisted to the right, scooped her up and planted her in front of him on the horse.

Another rule broken, he mused. But hell, it was all
in the name of revenge, wasn't it? The darkly sarcastic thought made his gut twist, as did the hot look she sent him.

Her eyebrow arched over her left eye. “Is this standard horse protocol, Mr. Callahan?”

“No, but I wanted you in front of me, and instead of asking, I thought I'd make the decision for you.” He kicked the horse forward into an easy walk.

With a grin, she wrapped one leg over his and inched herself closer. “So we're just going to keep riding this way?”

“Nope, we'll stop at that tree and turn around.”

“Why?” She glanced over her shoulder, saw the massive tree, then turned back and curled into his chest. “Amazingly, I'm really enjoying this. I'd like to go farther.”

“We can't.”

Emotions were shooting off inside him like out-of-control firecrackers. With the center of her snuggled into him, fitting him perfectly, he wanted her, any way he could get her. Desire warred with an irritating wash of chivalry. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest. Was she excited, was she nervous? He wanted to protect her. But how did he protect her from himself?

She looked up. “Why can't we go farther?”

“Beyond that tree…” The words weren't as easy to speak as they were to think.

“What?” she asked, concern etching her features.

“That's your brother's land, darlin'.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, then she nodded. “But I'm sure he wouldn't mind us—”

“I mind,” Bobby said firmly, his gut tight now. “I've
never passed this boundary since the day the land was sold, and I don't intend to trespass now.”

He brought the horse to a stop beneath the tree. They sat there, Rip shifting his weight beneath them. Bobby stared up at the massive trunk and pale-yellow leaves as though it was something to revile, wondering, as he always did, just how long it would take him to chop it down.

Jane's soft voice cut through his black thoughts. “Bobby, I've heard one side of this story. I'm smart enough to know that there's a lot more to it than just one side.”

“'Course there is.”

“You want to tell me?”

Bobby stilled. Sure, he wanted to tell her, every last bit. From his father's phone call telling Bobby in a miserable voice that Callahan land no longer belonged to the Callahans, to Bobby's nightly agony over a promise he wished he'd never made. But he couldn't say anything about that last bit, could he? Just like he couldn't change what was promised. He'd made the vow, and what he said here would need to work in his favor with regards to wooing Jane Hefner Al-Nayhal.

“You had to come home, right?” she prompted, “Leave your work when your father…”

“Had his land ripped from him?” Bobby finished for her. “That's right. Working the rodeo circuit was the best life a young man could know, but Dad needed the help. He was starting to really lose it. And with Kimmy…well, they both needed me.”

“So you put your own life aside for your family.”

He sniffed. “It's not as benevolent as it sounds, I promise you.”

“Sounds like a sacrifice to me.”

Admiration lit her eyes, and the sweet, honest smile she gave him nearly undid him. Why couldn't she have been a cold, unfeeling liar like her brother?

He looked away, looked deep into the land that would never again be his and begged to feel the comforting wave of anger. “Family takes care of family, simple as that.”

“This whole thing sounds anything but simple.” The wind blew over them, and Bobby tightened his hold on her. She released a weighty breath. “Have you ever thought about going back to the rodeo circuit?”

“My life is here now,” he answered, his voice ripe with an acceptance he'd come to terms with long ago.

“And you never regret the sacrifice you made?”

“Hell, no.” He didn't altogether believe the bold statement himself. Sure, he missed the circuit, the traveling. “How did we get on this subject? I thought you wanted to hear how your brother swooped in like a ravenous hawk and snatched up my father's land. You know, this property had been in the family for over fifty years.”

“Did your father have to sell the land?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Why?”

“Made some deal with a seedy oil company.” One that Bobby had always thought might have connections with Sakir Al-Nayhal, though he could never prove it.

“So Sakir didn't actually steal the land, he—”

Bobby interrupted caustically, “He tried to buy this land several times and my father told him to get lost. Your brother was proud and pissed off when he was rejected, and first chance he got, he took what he wanted.”

She pushed away from his rigid body. “Why do you think he wanted this land so badly?”

Bobby shrugged, gave a derisive snort. “He said the land had major environmental issues that needed to be addressed.”

“And that wasn't true?”

What was the point of this? Bobby thought angrily. With all the questions? It was like a damn inquisition. She was following a path that made Al-Nayhal look innocent, and Bobby wasn't going there with her. “It's getting dark, and so's my mood.”

Her face was filled with contrition. “I'm sorry, Bobby. I just want to get to the truth.”

“Why? Why do you care?” And didn't she know that the truth had many sides to it? Hell, if he really looked at the truth, turned away from supposition and what he believed in his heart, he might not be so quick to keep his word to his father.

“I care because I like you.” She bit her lip, but didn't look nervous, just desperate to understand. “And you hate my brother. That's a problem for me.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“I'm trying to build a bridge here.”

As Rip shifted beneath them, his muscular body ready to fly again after the short rest, Bobby snaked his hand behind her neck and pulled her to him. His kiss was hard and unyielding. When he eased back, he found her gaze and said in a hushed, though ultra-serious whisper, “Sakir Al-Nayhal and I will never be friends. No matter how close you and I get, that fact will never change. Understand?”

Tipping up her chin, she nodded. “Yes.”

“Can you handle that?”

“I don't know.”

His hand tightened possessively around her neck. He wanted to kiss her again, nip her lower lip with his teeth—brand her somehow before he was forced to give her back to her brother. But the rabid hunger he felt worried him, and he released her, lifted her up and placed her behind him once again.

“Put your arm around me, Jane,” he commanded.

Seconds after she wrapped her arms about his waist, he led Rip into a half turn, then kicked the gray stallion into a heart-jolting gallop toward the ranch house.

 

The sky had turned an eggplant color as the sun disappeared completely, giving in to the black night.

Jane sat beside Bobby on a white porch swing, a heavy quilt over their legs as they dipped spoons into a bowl of ice cream that Bobby held in his fist. Jane ate the sweet chocolate slowly, thinking about the passion that ran between her and Bobby. Not a romantic passion, but heat and walled-up anger and a need for redemption.