The Tycoon and the Texan (6 page)

One glimpse of him and suddenly she wanted to turn skirt and run to escape his disturbing presence. But she couldn't lose sight of her goal. Get him to break his promise, so she'd have a reason to cancel their date. If all worked in her favor, she'd be home in time to catch the midday weather report.

Nick stood at the end of the pier, khaki Dockers turned up to his calves, boat shoes with no socks, a baby-blue shirt opened to his waist, and a smile that closed the distance between them. The mid-morning sun, coupled with the reflection from the water, made every ounce of his muscular frame look crisp and refreshing.

Increasingly uneasy with his perusal, she looked away.

“Mac, this way,” Nick hailed. “I'm glad you came. Let me have that.” He reached for her bag and tugged it off her shoulder. Slipping one hand on the small of her back, he led her toward the stairs. “Watch your step.”

After a quick tour of the lavish boat, he settled her on a barstool in the galley and poured two goblets of wine.

Knowing the kitchen was called a galley exhausted her knowledge of boating.

“I have lunch about ready, and afterward we can do whatever you want. We can swim, do some exploring, or just relax and enjoy a beautiful day. It's your call, McCall.”

“An adventurer, a cook, and a poet. What more could a woman want?” She smiled with an air of pleasure. “Better than what I had to offer.” She took a sip of the familiar tasting wine. Peering over the rim of her glass, she eased into a deliberate shy schoolgirlish smile.

“Not to insult you, but vinegar would be better.” Nick whacked on the greens laid out on a chopping board like he was trying to cut down an oak tree with a Bush Hog.

“Can I help?” She watched his intensity as he chased a sprig of chickweed, trying to behead it. “I mean, since you worked all morning preparing such a lovely lunch. Can I help by making some iced tea?”

“Sure. That would be refreshing.”

McCall filled the kettle and turned on the heat. She slid against the counter, watching Nick as he scraped together a sampling of leaves and twice tried to transfer them on the flat edge of his knife.

“I'm just about finished.” Nick made a final stab at gathering the greens.

Thud!
The knife hit the cutting board.

Vegetables splattered on the counter.

A string of profanity slipped through Nick's lips. He clamped his mouth over a bloody hand.

McCall rushed to his side, led him to the sink, and held the wound under the faucet. Cold water blended with the red, making it look as though a pint of blood whirled toward the drain. In reality, if she used a magnifying glass maybe—just maybe—she could detect the actual wound.

“Hold still,” she directed.

“But I'm gushing blood.”

“You're not going to die. Nick, I've seen you come off a job site with blood all over you like you'd had a run-in with a pit bull and never complain. It's just a little cut.” She lifted his hand. “See, it's almost stopped. A clean cut will make you bleed like a stuffed pig, but it isn't serious.” She wrapped a paper towel around his hand and looked up into his pallid face. “Nick, you look peaked.”

“I just don't like blood.”

“Sit down a minute.” She slid a chair under him and patted his hand like a school nurse.

Seeing that his color returned and the bleeding had subsided, she turned to the stove and lifted the lid on a pot of soup. “Smells good. What's in it?”

“Well, it's a family recipe, but it has”—he shot her a confident smile and tossed the bloody towel in the trashcan—“Uh, lily pads in it.”

“Lily pads?” McCall wasn't a wiz at gourmet foods, but she was no slouch in the kitchen. She'd heard of using lily
buds
in Chinese cooking, but never lily
pads
. Oh well, the rich enjoyed exotic spices. “May I taste it?”

“Sure.” Nick crossed the room, slid next to her, and handed her a spoon.

Standing so close that she felt the heat from his thigh pressed against hers, he boxed her in as he reached for a clean paper towel and dabbed away some blood seeping from the wound.

She spooned out a little of the soup. The salty liquid burned her lip and reminded her of Nick's kiss. But if she wanted to make her point, she had to forget and pretend the kiss had never happened. In reality, she silently prayed for another one.

“Very good.” She kept a steamy gaze locked on his face, while suggestively flickering her tongue over the warm stainless steel. “Want a taste?”

“Sure.”

She took a clean utensil, dipped up some broth, and blew to cool the liquid. Leaning forward, his fingers closed over hers to steady the spoon and he accepted a taste. “Ummm, it's, well, uh good. Really good.”

“You sound surprised. Aren't you confident with your own cooking?” She smiled, lifted a questioning eyebrow, and sensually ran her tongue along the back of the spoon then tossed it in the sink.

His expression changed. Seriousness clouded his brow. “There's something I need to tell you.” Nick tossed the second towel in the trash basket.

Carrying two plates of salad, she swaggered to the table, surrounded by Cocobolo rosewood captain's chairs. “Shucks, Nick, there's nothing that can't wait until we've eaten.”

Nick's surprise at the success of his soup, along with his sudden need for confession, sealed his fate. An experienced chef could never prepare such a scrumptious soup without tasting. Then along came the vaudeville act in preparing the salad, definitely orchestrated by an inexperienced man's hand.

McCall watched him fumble with a box of tea until he succeeded in unwrapping and depositing several bags into a crockery teapot. Maybe she should let up on the pressure. Make way for him to admit he wasn't the chef. But she had become intrigued with the idea of him groveling.

Damn.
No way was she that intrigued with the man. Maybe a bit inquisitive, a little captivated with a touch of charm, but never, never intrigued.

Come to think of it, she was so not into Nick that a little bit of flirting couldn't hurt. Besides, she had to fill her time while she waited for him to kiss her. She might even hasten the kiss to break their deal. And all for the right reasons; certainly not for pleasure.

She couldn't help but watch Nick. God, did he ever exude masculinity. Simply sexy and steamy hot.

The teakettle whistled. A bellow of mist hovered overhead.

Hot and steamy like Brad Pit in
Troy
.

Hot and steamy like a hot tub at a spa.

Hot and steamy like the visions traipsing around in McCall's head.

Purely business, girlfriend,
she reminded herself.
Purely business.

As the harbor disappeared behind the
Belle Poule Princess,
McCall stretched out in the lounge chair. “Nick, the lunch was really nice. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. I enjoyed doing it for you,” he basically lied. Well, he had done
some
of the preparation.

Nick settled back on his chaise lounge across from her and nursed a bottle of Penta. He took a deep breath as she lifted a leg, squirted suntan lotion in her hands, and ran them up and down her calf. His gaze slipped slowly up her body, while his mouth felt like he'd taken a drink of sand.

The boat eased to a stop. Waves lapped against the hull.

Nick redirected his attention toward the sky and imagined which bathing suit would glove her body best. It would definitely be animal print, one of the requirements he had made when he called the boutique and placed his order for bathing suits, all two-piece or bikinis. He swallowed hard and drew his attention back to her face. Turning toward the ocean, he shut out the smoldering flame in her eyes.

McCall was definitely an animal print type woman. Just as dangerous, agile, and exciting as a wild lioness in a jungle. Anson had pegged one part of her body correctly. Strong, sexy legs that went all the way up to her . . . at least as far up as Nick could see beneath the flimsy zebra striped coverall.

McCall broke the silence. “Thank you for a lovely day.”

“You're welcome, but you didn't eat much.” He watched a seagull dip, tilt, and soar upward toward a bank of clouds.

“It was wonderfully delicious, but I wasn't all that hungry . . . for lunch,” she said in a low, silky-smooth voice.

“Next time, I'll see that it's more to your liking.”

“I didn't realize you'd gone totally vegetarian.”

“I haven't. Just like to eat healthy. Have you ever seen what your aorta looks like clogged with grease?” Enough! He better steer away from anything having to do with food before she asked questions about his cooking that he couldn't answer.

“Look off to the north. That's what I've been waiting to show you,” he said.

Nick took a quick glimpse at McCall, strolled farther down the deck, and pointed toward an exquisitely manicured island hunching out of the ocean like the back of a beautiful tortoise. In the distance, beyond mesmerizing aquamarine waters, palm trees shaded a beach enveloped by mounds of ivory sand dunes. Red and violet vines laced the tree line.

“Oh Nick, it's beautiful.” She came up behind him and locked her arms around his waist. “Absolutely breathtaking.” Her sultry words lingered against his neck.

Nick took in her smell of melon and citrus flowers, mixed with the crisp salty ocean breeze. Covering her hands with his, he tried to swallow the hot ache in his throat before it added to the already out-of-control throbbing way down south. He wished he hadn't changed into his swimming suit. No doubt, if he turned around there'd be no hiding his interest.

“The island belongs to my family. When I was young, my mother's servants would take me out here to play pirates of the Caribbean, complete with swords, an eye-patch, skull-and-crossbones flag, and even a gangplank. Stanley would be the sea wolf, and I'd walk him down the plank. Then we'd change roles and he'd chase me around the deck until I jumped overboard to escape.” Nick took a deep breath. The heat from her hands and the rise and fall of her breast against his back became torture.

Resisting the urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her luscious mouth was a lot harder than he first thought. He dug deep inside for control. Moving her hands away, he stepped aside. “It's pretty lousy when your mother sends the hired help to play with you,” he said, hoping she didn't detect the sadness that came with the memories.

McCall leaned her hip against the railing. “Can we go over to the island and play?”

“Auh, only if I can be the swashbuckling pirate and make you walk the gangplank.” He grinned, thinking how much more fun she'd be to play with than Stanley. Maybe he would capture the wench, rip off her bodice, and torture her. Hell, it wouldn't be much different than what she was doing to him!

“What if I jump overboard to escape your evil, tortuous ways?” A mischievous look returned to her violet-blue eyes, and sparkled like gems in a treasure chest.

“It's a long swim, so I think you'd better wait until we're closer to the island.”

McCall pulled her cover-up over her head. Dropping the gauze tunic on the deck, she lowered her eyes in the direction of his black swimming trunks. “Still like to play pirates, Slugger?”

She must have read his mind, or what was left of it. The prolonged anticipation from the time she lifted her arms above her head to remove her shirt to her standing before him barefoot, dark hair whipped by the wind, and a body as perfect as he had imagined in a zebra-print, two-piece bathing suit was almost unbearable. The idea of her lack of inhibitions and zest for life excited him. Why had he never noticed before?

“Mutineer?” He exchanged a smile with her and shook his head in amusement.

“You can torture me, but you'll have to capture me first, Blackbeard !” She shimmied to the side of the boat, stepped over the rail, and twisted back in his direction. A sensual, daredevil gleam came to her eyes.

Nick lunged forward, missing her by a breath.

McCall dove overboard with the grace of a seasoned synchronized swimmer.

“Dooon't!” He screamed, ripped off his shirt, and dove in behind her.

Surfacing, he shook water from his hair and hissed. “Son of a bitch, she'll never make it to shore.”

McCall hit the water headfirst, fought her way to the top, and heard Nick plunge in after her. By the time he resurfaced, she had gained a respectable distance on him. He yelled something, but the roar of the surf drowned out his words. She swam like a damsel fleeing a ruthless buccaneer.

Intending only to tantalize him, play a game, and provide a distraction from his obvious unsettling boyhood memories, she had jumped overboard, letting the water whirl around her before surfacing. She planned to swim around the boat, come back on board, and end the match. He would be happy that she was safe, offer a towel, and maybe help her dry off. Then they'd laugh about her antics, and he'd kiss her. That was the plan . . . a short-lived plan.

Obviously taking the game seriously, Nick dove in after her, turning the lark into a competition.

Feeling much like a true damsel in distress, she tried to put distance between her and the villain. She wasn't sure the challenge was all fictional, and should have seen this coming. Nick thrived on opposition, whether in business or recreation.

Well, if he wanted a contest, she'd be a worthy opponent.

Stroke after stroke, McCall eased through the water, stretching, gliding, skimming, until she secured a safe margin between them.

As a child, she had spent many hours swimming in the pond behind Granny's house. Riding horses, rounding up cattle, and baling hay left her with strong, powerful limbs.

During her senior year at Kasota Springs High School, all of the good times ended. She'd moved to California due to her parents' health and finished her education. A Texan transferring to a California school ranked somewhere below coming in midterm from a stint in juvie. McCall found comfort in kickboxing and enjoyed the sport as her recreation and a guarantee of self-defense. So what if the distance from the boat to the island was great? So was her strength.

No doubt in her mind, Nick had as much stamina for swimming as he did for everything else in life.

Hitting the beach like the first wave of an assault, McCall felt stimulated and refreshed. However, her legs complained and fought the soft ridges of sand, making her sink into what felt like a bed of wet concrete. Step after step tired, muddled legs sank into the hot gritty pebbles, causing her to stumble, holding her back.

Glancing over her shoulder, she spied Nick rise from the depths below. A bronzed phoenix pushed the water aside with his strapping arms and ascended out of the surf. She needed to make it to the line of trees to continue the game. After all, she had given him consent to torture her, but only if he caught her first. Actually, she'd given the pirate Blackbeard permission, but somehow she doubted Nick saw it that way.

Nick closed the space between them. After swimming God only knew how far, and trudging across the sand, she felt like she'd chased a mirage. Short of breath, heart beating out of control, she fell to her knees.

McCall looked over her shoulder. Dang, wasn't he a remarkable spectacle? Like a copper-toned warrior, forceful strides carried him closer. Stopping to enjoy the devilishly handsome sight cost her time. She dragged upward and set her legs in motion.

Nick's fingers seized one ankle, and she tumbled forward cushioned by the softness of the beach. She scratched and clawed, but came up with nothing to hold on to except a sand dollar that quickly crumbled in her fist. As though caught in an undertow, she couldn't stop being pulled back to him.

She found herself under Nick, eating sand. His chest pressed against her back, crushing her breasts into the beach. She stretched her arms over her head, only to have his huge calloused hands seize her smaller ones. Twisting, she lifted her head up. In a not so ladylike fashion, she dislodged grit from her mouth.

“What in the hell were you trying to do? Kill yourself and take me with you?” he lashed out between labored breaths.

Not giving her a chance to answer, Nick rolled her over and pinned her beneath his full length, keeping her hands above her head. Palm to palm, they locked fingers. Every inch of their bodies melded together like solder on hot red iron.

“Nick, I didn't ask you to come after me. I was only playing with you.” She struggled, but he had her pinned too tight. Minute grains of sand clung to her skin, stinging, filling every crevice, creeping under her swimsuit.

“Playing with me is right. Hell, you could have been killed,” Nick breathlessly whispered.

“Why do you have to make everything into a competition? You didn't have to save me.” She stared at him, feeling exposed and defenseless in the face of his anger.

“Damn it, I thought you were going to drown.” He groaned and ignored her question.

“I'm a big girl.” McCall struggled to get loose, very conscious of his enticing wet flesh touching hers. “You just can't stand something happening that you can't control, can you?”

“Not when it's someone I care about.” Releasing her hands, he anchored long fingers in her wet tresses, clutching a fistful of ringlets. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” Nick moved his thumb, lifted her chin, and ran his fingertips along her jawline. “So very beautiful.”

Transported on a wispy, supple cloud, his words sent her thoughts into a whirl. She wanted to squirm from beneath him, away from his words, but she could only breathe.

His warm, moist breath embraced her face, making her heart race.

Resting on one elbow, Nick shifted his weight, pressing her deeper against his hot pulsating body.

Tenderly, he studied her. “You have the eyes of an angel. When you look at me, I can feel it way down in my soul. A place I've never allowed a woman to venture.”

“Nick, why do you continue saying these things? I'm not pretty, just an unsophisticated, lanky, country girl that—”

“Don't.” Nick's hushed her lips with his finger.

His eyes blazed like glassy volcanic rock as he moved his hand to touch the side of her face. “Don't ever say that. Please, Angel Eyes, don't let me hear those words again.” His thumb traced a line to her lip.

His words weren't totally absorbed as she fought the awareness of his body pressed into hers. Blood rushed through her veins like a wild awakening river. Her mind bellowed to resist her urges. But her body did not.

On gossamer wings, the word
beautiful
floated through her mind. She ached to have him repeat the word. The word she had heard little in her life. But if she asked him to do so, it might end the fairy tale. She'd have to return to a clown-like puppet in a box waiting on someone to come along and wind it up, so she could spring to life again.

Feeling wild and daring, she refused to return to her secure, complacent life. The thought of coming out of her private box never to return frightened her. She felt like an inquisitive butterfly that had just escaped its cocoon. “You avoided my question. Why does everything have to be a competition?” she asked.

“I like a challenge, and you sure as hell are one. Never has a woman intrigued me like you, and I like”—he shifted his body—“the feel of your body under mine. Your long, graceful throat.” He nudged the hollow of her neck with his nose, running his lips down its length, but never kissing. Only nuzzling. Touching, while his hot breath and the light stubble of his chin caressed her like blades of scrunch grass nestled against forget-me-nots. “I can lose myself when I'm with you. You make me want to be a better person.”

 

Damn.
Nick wanted to make her see herself as he did. Kudos for Mother. His pigheadedness had kept him from seeing McCall as a beautiful, exciting woman beneath the layers of self-imposed dowdiness. He wanted to chisel away at the facade until he exposed the true beauty.

“Your breasts . . .” His voice trembled, but his gaze did not. “They're nice.” Easing his hand lower, it stilled atop her shoulder for only a moment before moving over her collarbone and settling near the valley between her breasts. “Look at me, Angel Eyes.” His lips were so close that he felt the beat of her heart. “They are magnificent, enough to make a man ache. Make him fantasize about how good they would feel in his hands.”

Beneath the thin wet fabric of her bathing suit, her nipples stood in rigid knots, exciting him more.

Nick knowingly issued a smile at her responsiveness, her breasts that he longed to touch, taste, enjoy. If only she'd give him permission to explore.

“Nick, you can have any woman you want. Why me?”

“Because you are so down-to-earth and honest. But you still can't see your own beauty. I want to show you. Make you see.” He rubbed his cheek down the side of her jaw in a stealthy caress. “Feel it.” A throaty groan escaped from deep inside his chest.

“I know I'm not beautiful, but you make me believe that I am.” She buried her face against his chest and he took in the intoxicating smell of the ocean mixed with suntan lotion, as he rested his chin on her head.

His fingers slid down to her waist, along curvy hips, and stopped near her firm stomach. With palms tucked beneath her hips, he lifted her against him. Against a very obvious show of desire. He held his breath, waiting for a response, praying he didn't frighten her.

She stiffened, then relaxed, raising her violet-blue eyes to meet his. “McCall, a blind man could see your beauty. Any man would want you,” he whispered. She tilted back her head and arched upward, allowing him access to the cleavage between her breasts.

Slowly, deliberately he maneuvered first one, then two fingers up and down the valley. Covering one breast with a palm, he tortured her nipple with his thumb. God, he wanted to kiss her.

Her ragged breathing made her breasts rise and fall, tantalizing him beyond words. She began to soften beneath him, her body supple and warm. He took in her scent. All woman, layered with almond-musk suntan lotion and sea salt. He dipped lower, running his mouth over the upper part of her chest. The salty taste of the ocean lingered on his lips, and he imagined how wonderful it would be to kiss her completely, passionately. He imagined that she breathed only for him.

“Don't do this to me, Nick. Please.” Her gaze was clouded with tears. “Please don't . . .”

At her plea, Nick jerked back to reality. The reality that she had zapped every ounce of his willpower when she snuggled her hot, sensual body against him on the boat. Her warm, silken flesh destroyed the self-discipline he had sworn to uphold. Her nearness had driven him crazy. He had let himself lose control and was on the brink of taking what he wanted without asking.

Damn, he had accomplished exactly what he did not intend. Scared her off. He desired her in the worst way, in all the ways a man wants a woman, but he had to keep his word, and could not take her until she was ready. Until she gave him permission. He wanted to kiss her, but she was like a newborn kitten, cuddly and innocent. He had to protect her. But from whom? Him? Nick knew what he had to do.

Drawing to his feet, he grasped McCall's trembling hand and tugged her upward. “You are beautiful, Angel Eyes. Don't ever let anyone make you feel you aren't.” He brushed sand from her cheek and stroked a damp curl from her face. “We need to talk about our feelings.”

“Yeah, we do,” she said warily.

He shot her the most understanding smile he could conjure up, hoping she'd find it sensual as well.

“First, I need the closest thing to a cold shower I can find. Want to come?” He started across the beach. “But, don't expect an apology,” he called over his shoulder. “You won't get one.”

By hitting the waves, he hoped to clear his hazy mind, quiet the turmoil in his heart, and defuse his full-blown arousal. Then they could talk.

McCall watched the ocean breeze whip Nick's dark hair, making it ruffle from his face in a short crest. He waded through the surf, dove in, and disappeared beneath a breaker.

He had just said he had no intentions of apologizing. Technically he could be right. He hadn't actually kissed her, but she needed to double-check the definition of a kiss. All the elements were there. His mouth. His lips. His tongue. And her flesh. The key words were mutual touching. A very thin technicality.

Sinking to the ground, McCall hugged her knees. “No, Nick. You can't do what you just did and walk away to, uh, cool off.” She didn't want to talk about her feelings, because she couldn't allow him into her heart. Couldn't take a chance on revealing something she didn't want him to know—the part of her personal life she had kept a secret for years and planned to keep that way.

From the tight fit of his swimming trunks, no doubt Nick needed a cold shower. She didn't know how long it took to cool off, but he had been swimming long enough to put out a forest fire.

To give him some privacy and her some time to think through her plan, she decided exploring the island might be a good distraction.

What had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours? She wasn't sure, but was certain she could learn to enjoy the reinvented woman she felt clawing to get loose.

A cool ocean breeze quickly replaced the warmth of the day. Hopefully, he wouldn't be much longer since the sun was slowly sinking over the horizon.

Beyond Nick, she saw the boat. She expected that the captain would send a dinghy for them at sunset. She definitely wasn't up to another strenuous swim. There were not that many backstrokes left in her, not today. Not after the way Nick touched her.

To the west, she spied a rundown shack. Nick motioned for her to join him in the surf, but she waved toward the small hut, indicating she planned to go exploring. The wooden structure overgrown with purple and white vines intrigued her. A dilapidated screen frame hung by one hinge much like someone hanging on for dear life.