License to Thrill (8 page)

“Hang on a minute.” Lila was practically panting. She tore off a scrap of paper from the yellow legal pad on her desk, jotted something on it, and slipped the note into Mason’s hand. “Call me.” She winked.

Charlee rolled her eyes, wagged her head, and mocked the awestruck clerk by silently mouthing, “Call me.”

See. Precisely why she didn’t trust wealthy, long-legged, brown-eyed, handsome men any farther than she could toss ‘em. They would do anything to get their way. Completely shameless, the lot of them.

“Bye.” He wriggled his fingers at Lila, and took Charlee by the elbow. “Let’s go, sis.”

“What’s up, Slick?” Charlee untangled herself from him the minute they were out of earshot. “The gossip rag queen gave you her phone number?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes.”

“You gonna call her?”

Mason frowned and tossed the woman’s number in a nearby trash can. “Of course not.”

Charlee shook her head. “Cruel bastard. You trifled with that woman’s affections.”

“All for a good cause.”

“And by the way, what was that remark about my being your sister?”

“Hey, it got us what we needed.” He guided her through the concourse, which had grown more crowded since they’d first arrived. “Do you think she would have opened up to me if she thought you were my girlfriend?”

“I’m not your girlfriend.”

“I know that and you know that, but Lila didn’t know that.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“Sounds like sour grapes to me.”

“What are you talking about? Sour grapes over what? That Lila was drooling on you?
Puh-leeze,
I could care less.”

“You’re just testy because my method worked and yours didn’t. You can catch more flies with honey, sweetheart. Remember that.”

“Hmmph,” Charlee mumbled under her breath while at the same time her pulse revved to realize he’d inadvertently called her sweetheart. Oh, this was completely disgusting. How could she let herself get all flustered and fluttery over some pretty boy?

Perturbed at her reaction, she searched for something rude to say. “Honey my ass. You snagged her with the matinee-idol smile and your sultry brown-eyed stare.”

“Pardon?” He lowered his head to hers, those very eyes in question twinkling with a mischievous light. “I didn’t quite catch that. Did you just compliment me?”

“Ahem. I said, the red and white camper is only a few hours ahead of us. If we pick up the pace, maybe we can overtake them before they reach Tucson.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Really, Charlee, you’ve got to learn to express your opinion more often,” he teased.

“Leave the sarcasm to me, Slick. It doesn’t suit you. Stick with your forte.”

“And what is that?”

“Conniving women.”

“Ah, so that’s my forte. I always wondered what it was.” He ran a hand over his beard stubble. The soft, rasping sound knotted her stomach.

“Smart aleck.”

“So tell me, Charlee, if tempting women is my forte, how come my charms don’t work on you?”

What in the hell was wrong with him? Mason berated himself. He didn’t flirt. He wasn’t a hound dog. He respected women. Considered them his equal in every way. He was about to become engaged. Daphne trusted him and Mason honored that trust. He would not allow something as insignificant as sexual magnetism orchestrate his downfall. Not when he was so close to achieving everything he’d ever wanted.

Maybe the impending engagement was the problem. Maybe, somewhere deep down in his subconscious, since he was out of town, away from his normal surroundings, he was simply letting himself go one last time before settling down.

You’re just flirting with Charlee, not seducing her. What’s the harm? You flirted with the rental-car woman and that doesn’t bother you.

Charming the rental-car clerk was business. He had needed information. He turned on the charisma. He’d gotten what he wanted from Lila.

And what about Charlee?

What did he want from her?

Stunned, Mason paused. Nothing. He wanted nothing from her. He only wanted to find his grandfather, bring him back home, and get on with his life. If things went according to plan, bright and early Monday morning, he’d walk into his father’s office to close the Birk-weilder account, successfully wresting his deal back from Hunter.

At the thought of the look on his brother’s face when he showed up to overturn his competitive coup, Mason smiled.

And the sooner he and Charlee got on the road after that camper, the better. Even if it meant throwing himself into the nerve-wracking crucible of Charlee’s hot rod Corvette and enduring her gawd-awful driving for the next several hours. Whatever it took to achieve his goal, he would do it.

What about the Bentley?

What indeed? The idea of leaving his baby in the airport parking garage gave him hives. He would insist Charlee follow him to the Bellagio to drop off the Bentley before they headed for Tucson.

He turned to her, but she’d already sprinted ahead of him, running through the automatic doors to the passenger loading zone where she’d parked.

“It’s gone!” she trilled and threw her arms in the air. “They towed my Corvette. Dammit!”

Mason opened his mouth to murmur a smug, “I told you so,” but before he could get the sentence out, she whirled around and shook a finger under his nose.

“Not a word. Don’t you dare say a word.”

He clamped his lips together.

“And stop smirking. I know a smirk when I see one.”

Mason shrugged and tried hard to stop smirking.

“Crap.” She paced and smacked a palm repeatedly against her forehead. “Crap, crap, crap. I don’t have the money to get it out of the police impound and both my thirty-eight and my cell phone were locked inside the glove box.”

She looked so distraught that his temptation to gloat disappeared. He had the strangest desire to haul her into his arms, hold her close, and promise her that everything would be all right. He had no explanation for the urge. She wasn’t the damsel in distress type and he knew she’d sooner poke him in the ribs with her elbow as thank him for his attempt to comfort her, so he sensibly kept his hands to himself.

“Calm down,” he said. “I’ll pay to get your car out of the impound.”

“No. I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve had bad luck when it comes to borrowing money from men. It never works out. When you owe men money, they have certain expectations.”

“Expectations?” He arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, don’t force me to spell it out for you.”

Startled, he met her gaze. “Do you mean sexual favors?”

“Well, duh.”

“There have been men in your life who have given you money and then expected sexual favors in return?”

The idea of someone treating her like a disposable sex object caused a ball of anger to clog his throat.

“I said men expected it from me, not that I did it. Jeeze, what do you think I am?”

“I didn’t mean…er…that’s not what I meant to suggest.”

Oh, great. Way to stick your foot in your mouth, Gentry. You basically called her a prostitute.

“So you can understand my reluctance to accept your offer of financial assistance.”

“Charlee, I am not other men. Besides, this is an emergency. We need to get on the road as quickly as possible if we have any hope of overtaking the camper before it reaches Tucson. They’ve got several hours on us.”

Hesitating, she pursed her lips and looked as if taking his money would literally kill her. “Okay. But the minute we find Maybelline, I’ll get the money from her and pay you back.”

“That’ll be fine.”

He reached in his jacket pocket for his wallet. Hmm. He almost always placed his wallet in his front left pocket. Maybe in the haze of hurrying to the airport he’d put it in the right pocket instead.

He patted the other side.

Nothing.

A sickening feeling sank to the bottom of his belly. He checked the back pockets of his trousers.

Not there.

No wallet. No credentials. No money. No credit cards.

Grinding his teeth, he recalled the two thick-necked men in black sunshades who’d bumped him as he’d come out of the security checkpoint.

Panic surged through him. It was an overblown corollary that didn’t match the circumstances. He could cancel the credit cards and wire home for money. He could call the police and report the theft. No need for alarm.

Except time was critical if he wanted to catch up with his grandfather.

And there was the niggling little voice in the back of his mind. The same voice that had been whispering negative messages to him ever since he was a kid trying to compete with Hunter for their parents’ attention.

If you’re not a Gentry, who are you?

Without his ID, he wasn’t a Gentry. Without his driver’s license he couldn’t even drive his Bentley.

How was it Charlee had so eloquently expressed herself? Crap, crap, crap.

Somehow crap just didn’t seem strong enough.

“Something the matter?” Charlee asked.

“My wallet,” he said. “It’s been stolen.”

“Give me your car keys.” Charlee held out her palm.

“What?” Mason stared at her as if she’d suggested sacrificing his firstborn child to Pele the volcano goddess. What in the devil was she yapping about?

“Give me your keys,” she repeated and curled her fingers in a “gimme” gesture he would have found cute if he hadn’t been so upset. “We’ LI have to take the Bentley.”

“No.”

“Look, we don’t have a choice. My ‘Vette’s been towed.”

“It was towed because you recklessly disregarded the passenger loading zone sign and, I might add, my advice not to park there.”

“Oh, here we go.” Charlee sank her hands on her hips. “Mr. Uptight-by-the-Rules is giving me a lecture. Go ahead, let me have it, get it out of your system.”

She was looking to pick a fight, but he refused to give her one. This wasn’t the time or the place. “Chastising you isn’t part of my agenda. I’m more concerned about the loss of my wallet. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make a phone call to the authorities.”

“Well, while you’re calling the cops, I’m going after our grandparents before Elwood does something truly stupid. Hand over your car keys and I’ll be on my way.’”

“You’re out of your ever-loving mind if you think I’m letting you take off across the desert alone in my Bentley.”

“You really have a problem relinquishing control, you know that?”

“Me? You’re saying
I’m
a control freak?” Incensed, Mason splayed a palm over his chest.

Easy, you know she’s just gigging you because she’s mad at herself.

“Do they drink tea in China?” She jerked her chin up, the look in her eyes challenging him.

“I’m the control freak? You’re the one who refused to move your car simply because you didn’t want to take my advice.” Okay, so he couldn’t keep his mouth shut about the damned car.

“That’s sooo not the reason I didn’t move the ‘Vette. And just look at you.” She waved a hand at him. “Your clothes are perfectly pressed. Not a hair out of place. Your friggin’ shoes are even shined. Only a control freak is that put together at six o’clock in the morning.”

“Or someone who happens to take pride in the impression he creates.”

“Yeah, the impression of a control freak.”

A plane took off overhead, drowning out his reply, which was probably a good thing. The woman could try the pope’s patience.

“You can’t even let the wallet go, can you?” he heard her say after the plane had cleared the airport. “Gotta run to the police.”

“My driver’s license is in there. And my credit cards. My triple A card. Not to mention eight hundred dollars in cash.”

“It’s gone, Mason. The cops won’t be able to get it back for you. Be realistic. But you can’t let anything go, can you?”

He gritted his teeth hard. Calm down. Breathe deep. “You don’t understand.”

“Control freak.”

“Woman,” he ground out and sent her a don’t-mess-with-me warning, “you have a talent for pushing a man to the limits of his patience.”

“I’m trying to get you to quit your yammering and get on the road before something serious happens to our grandparents. We’re wasting precious time.” Charlee tapped the face of her wristwatch.

“I’m not so convinced a crazed trip through the desert is the most prudent move. How do we know for sure that’s where they’re going?”

“We don’t, but do you have a better idea?” She cocked her head and spread her arms wide. “I’m open to input.”

He paused, then admitted, “I don’t have any better ideas.”

“Okay then, Slick. Let’s hit the highway.”

Thirty minutes and twenty-five desert miles later, Charlee was seriously regretting goading Mason into the road trip. He’d been on his cell phone to his secretary, instructing her to report his credit cards stolen and wire money to him in Tucson.

He had also talked briefly with his father but Charlee noticed he didn’t give many details about what had happened. He just told him that he had discovered Nolan was on his way to Tucson and he was following him. He never mentioned either Maybelline or herself.

It was strange listening to the one-sided conversation. She had the feeling Mason tiptoed around a lot of hot button topics with his father. Like stolen wallets and Elvis impersonator kidnappers and sassy lady private investigators who didn’t drive to suit him.

He had hated giving her the keys to his Bentley, but when she suggested he go ahead and take the wheel even though he didn’t have his license, he had actually lectured her from the highway safety manual.

She could tell by the way he had painstakingly pulled the keys from his pocket he would much rather have a tooth extracted without Novocain than let her behind the wheel of his vintage vehicle. But apparently his sense of right and wrong was so deeply engrained he couldn’t conceive of driving without a license.

Too bad for him. Nice for her. She got to pilot a Bentley.

Ah, but at what cost.

“Slow down,” Mason demanded, his face the color of a yucca in full bloom as Charlee took a bump in the road at seventy-five miles per hour. The Bentley glided through the dip on marshmallow shock absorbers—smooth and sweet. “What’s the speed limit through here?”