Rexanne Becnel (28 page)

“Don’t be a brat,” he murmured almost jovially as he tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm, then kept his hand quite firmly over it.

“Don’t tell me how to act,” she hissed back as she unsuccessfully tried to pull her hand free. But there was nothing she could do as he guided her down the stairs and into the lobby. There were too many people about for her to create a scene, she fumed. And his very nearness was already robbing her of her resoluteness. It took only the feel of his arm beneath her palm, the brush of his sleeve against her, the warmth of his palm completely covering her hand. As if her emotions were at his command, she felt herself grow warm and weak. Even her heart was pounding a new too-rapid rhythm.

Why, why was she so perversely drawn to him?

Dillon did not wait for the maître d’ to lead them to a table. Instead, he masterfully steered her to a partially curtained-off alcove. Before she could object, he seated her at a magnificently appointed table glittering with the finest china, crystal, and silver, festooned with a huge bouquet of red roses.

She glanced around nervously as he sat down across the small table from her. Candles shimmered in silver wall sconces, casting a warm glow over the cozy setting. The walls were exquisitely papered above an elaborately carved wainscot. Heavy velvet drapes with silk tassels were drawn open at the entrance to the alcove but she realized that it would take only one gentle tug of the pulls to close off the remainder of the restaurant. Within the alcove, they would then have complete privacy.

The faint smell of roses wafted sweetly around her as she contemplated that possibility. Privacy was the last thing she wanted where Dillon was concerned. Privacy was too threatening. It could lead nowhere but to total disaster.

“I don’t want to eat in here.” She stood up abruptly, sliding her chair back on the black-and-pink-silk Tabriz rug.

“The curtains will stay open, and I promise I won’t bite you.” He grinned and gestured toward her chair. “There’s no reason to be so jumpy, Lacie. Just sit down and relax.”

Sit down and relax? Lacie eyed him suspiciously. She would never be able to relax in his presence. Not now, not ever. Even the way he said her name…

“Sit down. There’s something I need to talk to you about, and I don’t think you want anyone to overhear us.”

In sudden resignation she sat down, although she deliberately avoided the smug expression that surely covered his face. She wanted to know what he was up to but not for a moment would she relax her guard.

“Do you provide roses every time you have dinner with a member of the board?” she asked caustically, flicking her napkin open.

“No.”

Lacie looked up at once, startled by his blatant honesty. But instead of smugness, she saw a disturbing frankness in his face. An unnerving perceptiveness. She looked away immediately, shaken more than she wanted to admit.

“I’d like to eat first,” he said. “Perhaps I can answer any questions you have about today’s meeting. Then we can go into the matter I mentioned earlier.”

“Just what is this matter?” Lacie challenged, facing him fully.

His warm gaze slipped over her face and he smiled quite openly. “Let it lie for now. We’ll get into it later.”

“If you think you can lull me into complacency again, it won’t work this time!” she blurted out. She was instantly chagrined by what her words revealed. But to her surprise Dillon’s face grew more serious and he glanced down at his plate before replying.

“In business lunches and dinners, it is common practice for the meal to precede the business. Both parties are more relaxed then, and more receptive to the other’s overtures—”

He stopped when she stiffened.

“Don’t read more into it than I meant, Lacie.”

But that only made her go scarlet. In desperation she glanced past the curtains to the main dining room and escape beyond. This dinner was a huge mistake, she told herself, a dreadful, dreadful mistake.

“I think it would be best if we dispensed with the meal and went directly to this business of yours,” she choked out through gritted teeth. It was then, however, that the dapper waiter intruded.

“Ah, Toby,” Dillon leaned back in his chair in obvious relief. “May I introduce Mrs. Lacie Kimbell.” He turned to Lacie. “Toby has been at the Denver Palace since its origins before the big flood.”

“It wasn’t called the Denver Palace then,” the graying little man told her with a sparkle in his eyes. “It was little more than a rowdy saloon with a few rooms. We’ve come up a bit in the world, don’t you know.”

“It is a wonderful hotel,” Lacie offered as the man uncorked a bottle of wine, then filled their glasses. When he outlined the evening’s choices on the menu, she felt compelled to make a selection despite herself. She just could not find it in herself to be anything less than gracious to as enthusiastic and efficient a fellow as Toby. Once he left, however, and she and Dillon were again alone, she turned her attention toward her cut-crystal wine goblet. She was jumpy and on edge, and certain that Dillon took profound pleasure in it.

“So how is Neal doing?”

Lacie looked up cautiously at his seemingly innocuous words.

“His head wound healed well. And his broken arm was doing much better when I left.”

“I suppose he’s getting the best of care if Ada and Mrs. Gunter have anything to do with it.”

Lacie nodded a silent confirmation as she peered curiously at him. Making small talk was not what she expected of him. Chattiness was hardly his style. Up to now, she’d learned to be careful of everything he said. Every word had seemed loaded with implications and innuendos. But this bland conversation…

“He seems quite enamored of your friend Ada.”

“Really? I thought he was just following your orders,” she replied cattily, pleased by the quick frown her words evinced.

“Always looking for a way to paint me black, aren’t you?” he snapped. “I hope you haven’t poisoned Ada against him with your unfair accusations.”

“If I’m unfair in my assumptions about you and your cohorts, it’s only because I’ve learned the hard way how disastrous it is to give you the benefit of the doubt.” She brought the wineglass to her lips and took a rather unsteady sip as she waited for his response.

To her surprise, however, Dillon did not rise to her challenge. Instead, he also tasted his wine. But his clear-green eyes never left her face. The silence stretched out as they stared at each other. Between them the air was fraught with tension, yet the silence held steady, threatening to undo her completely.

When she could bear it no more, she took another drink, concentrating on the glass she held tightly in her hand.

“So, is Neal Camden sincere or not?” she asked, if only to break the dreadful stillness.

“Very sincere. In fact”—he paused and twirled the pale amber liquid around in his glass—“in fact, he tells me he plans to marry her.”

“Marry her!” Lacie leaned forward in consternation at this unexpected news. “He’s going to marry her? Take her away from Sparrow Hill?”

“I should think, as Ada’s good friend, that you would be pleased for her. She could hardly do better than Neal for a husband.”

Lacie had no answer for that. She’d been around Neal enough to know that he was indeed a nice man and would probably make a good husband to Ada. In truth, it was only his association with Dillon that cast any shadow upon his character. His attention toward Ada had been unmistakable. But to marry her! That was an eventuality she had overlooked. Now her happiness for Ada was overshadowed by a sudden sense of doom for herself. It was hard enough to maintain her farce with Ada’s support. She would never be able to do it alone.

“Ada and Neal,” she murmured softly, her eyes focused somewhere in space. “Yes, I suppose he will be good for her.” Then her gaze sharpened to take in Dillon’s watchful expression. “But you’ve no doubt already determined that their union can only help you in your greedy little plan.”

“I think it’s a lot more accurate to say that it will hurt you in yours,” he replied tersely.

She gave him a bitter smile, then shrugged in forced nonchalance. “Only time will tell. But I’m not really interested in this idle chitchat you’re manufacturing. Why don’t you just tell me what it is you want to say?”

So she could get away from the overwhelming pressure of his nearness, she added silently. So she could shake off the terrible confusion he created in her. It only made things worse to hear him speak of such things as love and marriage.

“Quite the businesswoman, aren’t you?” He gave her a skeptical look. “And here I’d always thought that women loved nothing more than talk of weddings and true love. Of happily-ever-afters.”

“I’ve learned the hard way not to believe in such foolishness,” she muttered, then immediately regretted her words.

He was silent a moment. “I presume the implication is that I bear the blame for your cynicism, not Frederick.”

Lacie could not reply. Her throat had suddenly tightened, as too many emotions competed for dominance. She had meant to be angry and resentful, but it was sorrow and longing that overcame her. His casual reference to true love and happily-ever-afters depressed her dreadfully. She wanted those things, too, but she knew her love would never be returned. Dillon would never love anything but power and money.

She blinked hard and looked down at the linen napkin now twisted in her hands. Love had nothing to do with how she felt, she admonished herself. But the thought would not be beaten back. She loved him, although for whatever perverse reason she did not know. But she did love him, and the realization made everything even worse than it already was. It was bad enough to be embroiled with him in this battle for Frederick’s properties. It was worse to be drawn so unwisely to him, to be so desirous of his kiss and his touch. But love! To feel love for him was unthinkable! It was madness!

In a panic she looked around, desperate for an excuse to leave the table, to flee his presence, then to hide someplace where he would never find her, someplace where she could rid herself of this irrational compulsion. But her way was blocked by the beaming Toby, carrying a huge silver tray upon which myriad covered dishes were arranged.

As he unloaded the tray, spreading a veritable feast upon the table, Lacie could do no more than sit there, watching the waiter with an unwarranted interest, and dreading his eventual departure.

After Toby left, to her surprise and enormous relief, Dillon did not resume the conversation where they had left off. For reasons known only to himself he seemed bent on keeping their meal pleasant, at least superficially, and he carefully skirted any issue that might lead to the real problems between them—either business or personal.

Dillon filled the uncomfortable silence with comments about the wonderful meal and the cook they’d lured away from a fancy San Francisco hotel, then proceeded on to the popular—and financial—success of the Denver Palace. Despite Lacie’s complete disinterest in eating, she could not help paying attention to his astute comments about Denver’s rapid growth. Without realizing it she slowly began to pick at the salad of fresh greens. The tender new potatoes in delicately flavored cream sauce were next, and she even tried the juicy filet mignon surrounded by local mountain mushrooms in a superb butter sauce.

“…gold mine was marginally successful. But it was the mine tailings—the discarded ore left over after the gold was removed—that proved the most valuable. They were full of silver.”

“And that’s when Denver’s boom times began?” she asked in spite of herself.

“Its second boom,” he answered. “We’re well on our way to being the most important city between St. Louis and San Francisco.”

He reached over and filled her glass, all the while smiling warmly at her. It was enough to send her heart racing, and Lacie averted her gaze in confusion. She had no idea what he was up to, or why he was deliberately being so charming. But she was vitally aware that it was working. He was giving her his undivided attention, without being overtly complimentary—he was far too smooth for that, she told herself. Yet the way he leaned toward her, the way he listened carefully to whatever she said and kept his eyes constantly upon her, and the way he smiled so sincerely at her seemed to strike a responsive chord deep within her. She could not ignore the tingle that had started in her stomach and that now had every least portion of her humming in tense anticipation.

She knew the color was high in her cheeks, but try as she might, she could not counteract the effect he was having on her. Her hand trembled as she reached for her glass. Then she thought twice and decided that more wine would only weaken her resolve further. She pursed her lips as she leaned back in her chair, and with an effort she raised her eyes to his handsome face.

“I’ll admit that Denver is much larger—and more civilized—than I had anticipated.”

“It hasn’t come overnight, but bit by bit we’ll get there. We need to build an opera house—”

“And more schools.”

Dillon paused at her interjection. “We have a school, down on Champion Street.”

“A city this size should have more—especially if it’s growing as fast as you say. More people coming in means more children. And they’ll need more than just the most rudimentary skills. Do you want people to have to send their children off to San Francisco to get a good education?” She shot him an arch look. “Of course, we both know that you don’t consider proper schools very important. They don’t make very good investments, do they?”

She knew she’d touched a vulnerable spot then, for his eyes darkened and his smile faded somewhat. But he was clearly more determined to have a pleasant meal with her than she’d suspected.

“Perhaps you should consider opening a school here.”

Lacie was taken aback by that unexpected suggestion. For a moment, she had no reply. Then she tossed her napkin down on the table. “With the full financial backing of you and the rest of your cronies?” she asked caustically.

In the long angry silence that followed, she told herself that she was three times a fool. Despite the charm he could turn on at will, he was as trustworthy as a rattlesnake. She was about to get up and leave, unable to take any more of his cat-and-mouse games, when he leaned forward, his elbows on the table.