The Tycoon and the Texan (7 page)

As she wandered along the beach her mind soared, swooping around like seagulls attacking anything that moved. Nobody had ever said she was pretty, much less beautiful. Could she tell Nick what his words did to her? How she felt? Deep in her heart, she dug for the answers. Did she dare open up to him and be honest? What would happen if he only spoke the words out of emotion, on an impulse, in the heat of passion? Okay, so maybe heat of passion was a bit strong, but what if . . . what if he actually meant what he said?

The whole idea of getting Nick to break his promise with a kiss had blown up in her face, unraveled as quickly as a bad alibi. Dern his hide for being so resilient, trying to prove his point. Refusing to kiss her had sent her right into a quagmire.

Thinking back to the night of the auction, Nick had said he would have paid more than the thirty thousand dollars to keep her out of the clutches of Anson. She guessed she owed Nick big-time. After all, that was a lot of money, even for Nicodemus Dartmouth.

Last night, she had felt like a rich boy's toy, but today for some reason she didn't feel that way at all. There was something about the attention he bestowed on her. A suaveness she had seen a glimpse of previously covered his rough exterior.

The last thing McCall wanted was to return to the woman she shimmied out of the day before. She liked the new version of the feisty Texan she never knew existed. Out of obligation, she had forfeited the fun side of her life to care for her mother, and suddenly she was ready to see what she had missed.

By dern, that son of a gun wasn't about to force her to go back to that cautious, boring life. She wasn't sure she had ever dealt with a man who was totally honest with her.

Why couldn't she simply settle back and let Nick prove himself?

McCall stopped in front of the hut.

The sand-covered wooden steps to the shack creaked with pain, and brought her back to earth. She stared at footprints leading to the door. Someone had been here and not too long before. Yet, Nick said the island was uninhabited.

Big . . . man-sized footprints.

Who else could be on the island?

She inched forward.

Creak
. . .
squeak.
She slid the old wooden door open, then stepped back in surprise.

McCall stood in the threshold of the hut very shaky, but soon the surprise turned to amusement. She had truly let her imagination run wild.

On the table sat an enormous wicker basket topped with towels and a quilt. The shelf-lined walls held cases of water and canned foods. A hot sunbeam illuminated the edge of a stark-white envelope sticking up out of one side.

She leaned down and fingered the elaborate, yet manly, initial
D
embossed parchment paper. “Master Dart? Hmm?” Not the type of paper a simple note is scratched on, but one that cries urgent com-muniqué. The salutation indicated familiarity, yet formality. Tapping the envelope against her palm, she considered reading the note and putting the envelope back where she'd found it. After all, the envelope wasn't sealed, so it must not be too personal.

But it wasn't hers to read.

She tucked the envelope into the basket right where she got it from, between the fabric lining and the wicker side, and would tell Nick of its existence later.

Within minutes, McCall had toted the items back to the beach, and ventured out to hunt firewood. Thanks to a tin box of matches found in the basket, a campfire soon roared.

Whoever left
Master Dart
the refreshments, and she suspected it was someone from the boat, knew exactly what a woman liked. Champagne packed in ice, chocolate-covered strawberries, and caviar with toast points. The delicacies certainly did not represent a beach bum's idea of beer on the surf. She picked up marshmallows and squeezed the bag.

Perfect for roasting. Perfect. Just plain perfect to work right into her plan.

Digging a hole in the soft sand with her fingers, she screwed in the bottle of chilled champagne.

Looking up, she noticed Nick watching and waved. Thoughts of his roughened chin caressing the valley between her breasts and his thumb stroking her nipple flooded back to her. Double dog dern, if she wasn't having those funny feelings all over again.

“Well Slugger, it's payback time.”

 

Nick flipped over and backstroked away from the beach, keeping his eyes peeled on McCall as she strolled toward the water.

His time in the surf had not only served to cool him off, but also made him do some heartfelt soul-searching. Just the thought of how mouthwatering her skin felt crushed against his, how tempted he had been to ravish her and to hell with the consequences, sent him into a heightened state of excitement. The rushing water quickly dampened the visual effects.

Cutting his eyes sideways, he caught a glimpse of his boat. At sundown, per his explicit instructions to Stanley, he'd have the captain send a rowboat their direction as soon as the campfire died down. But, which fire? The inferno within Nick or the blaze roaring on the beach? Hell, he should have helped her build the campfire but enjoyed watching her domestic side way too much. Domestic?
Damn! That's pretty close to thinking in terms of a commitment, big boy.

McCall waded his direction, lunged forward, and caught a breaker, letting it draw her under. She surfaced right before his eyes—right between his legs.

Spewing water out of the side of her mouth, she shook her head like a wet cocker spaniel, and cocked a mermaid's smile.

An unexpected mammoth wave from behind caught her off guard, lifting her off her feet. Nick grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against his chest. Her legs locked around his hips for a moment before she dislodged herself and pushed away. Her strength and stamina were at odds with the fluid movement of her body.

“Thanks, Slugger. Saved me again.” She smiled and took a deep breath.

Just the feel of her body against his, if only for a fleeting moment, sent a quiver racing through his body. A quiver? No, more like an earthquake.

Pushing wet hair from his face, he flashed his most dazzling smile. “Anytime, ma'am.”

“I intended to wash off some of the sand and call you to supper,” she hollered over her shoulder. “It's ready. Catch me if you can.” Her words could barely be heard over a crashing wave that carried her to shore.

“Hell, she's damn near making this impossible,” Nick grunted beneath his breath, as he rose from the water and strolled toward the blanket, where he caught a flying towel with one hand. “Thanks.”

“You really are good.” Closing her eyes, she patted water from her legs.

“I told you I was good.” He dried off first his arms, then moved to his chest. “Need any help?” His eyes never left her face as he watched. He wondered about her thoughts. She seemed to enjoy the toweling off way too much. Meaning? She definitely intended to test his resolve.

“No. I've already told you, I'm a big girl. You're good at everything you do, aren't you?” She pulled the terrycloth around her shoulder and leaned back on her hands. The wind blew her wet disheveled hair into a waterfall of heavy ringlets.

“I'm
very good
. Especially when I put my mind to it.” Nick tossed the wet cloth toward her bosom.

“I bet you are.” She issued an innocent wide-eyed look, before turning her attention to the bottle of champagne. “If you'll do the honors, I'll get the glasses. Real champagne glasses. Not pimento and cheese spread glasses.”

“I see you found the picnic basket Stanley prepared.” After filling two flutes, Nick handed her one. “Toast?” He lifted his glass. “To the most beautiful and daring woman I've ever known.” His glass kissed hers. “May the remainder of the evening be even more adventurous.”

“And, to a very competitive man.” She eyed him covetously and took a sip. “And I presume Stanley also left you a note, which I tucked inside the basket. Who is he?”

“One of the people who has worked for Mother for years.” Nick gave her a pensive smile. “Stanley has been with Mother since before I was even born.”

“I see,” she said. “A very thoughtful person. You said you want to talk.”

“Yeah, I do. But shucks, Angel Eyes, it's not anything that can't wait until we've eaten.”

 

This bought McCall some time. Time needed to implement her new strategy.

“Okay, I can wait. Do you like marshmallows?” McCall picked up a tree-branch skewer and gingerly slipped on a marshmallow.

“Oh yeah. One of my favorite things in life.”

Slowly, she turned the limb from one side to the other over the flames, watching as the outside hardened and turned the shade of vanilla cream. “Did you ever play baseball, or did you buy a farm team just because you wanted one?”

“I played first base in high school, but didn't have any time for it in college. Too busy enjoying the nonscholastic life and learning engineering at UCLA. Then I was much too busy getting the business side of being an engineer pounded into my head at Berkeley.” He leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Guess that's what Madeline calls the softer side of the business?”

“Something like that. How about you?”

“Own a ball club? Naugh! But, if I put all of my CEUs together, I'd have a degree in how to get through college without seeing the campus in daylight.” She rolled the stick over again and allowed the marshmallow to darken to the color of caramel. “Unfortunately, I haven't always gotten everything I wanted. You have, though, haven't you?” Without waiting for his answer, she continued, “I can only imagine what Christmas was like at your house.”

“It was fun, and I pretty much got whatever I asked Santa for, but I didn't get everything I wanted, believe it or not.” His brows knitted together. A look she'd never seen before suddenly shrouded his face, as if the memories were too painful for him to talk about. “There are some things even Santa can't bring a child.”

McCall wanted to ask him more, but at the same time wished to respect his privacy.

As if changing the subject, Nick grasped the skewer. “Let me try my hand.” He touched the tip to an ember, allowing it to catch fire. Blowing out the flame and cooling the mushroomed sweet concoction, he pulled the crispy shell off and held the treat up to McCall's lips.

“Umm, goood!” She licked her fingers and watched as Nick put the soft inside back into the fire, repeating the process. He ate it before putting two replacements on the stick.

After going through the process a second time, he leaned forward and fed her another toasty delicacy, then popped the gooey sticky center in his mouth. “Now that's what's good.”

Roasting marshmallows had turned more sexual than she had envisioned. Nick began to soften much like the gooey centers he roasted. “If you don't quit eating those things, you're going to get soft like . . .” She blinked and shot him a seductive smile. “I mean, your abs will get all soft and, oh gosh, I meant to say—”

“I know what you meant.” He pulled another piece of goo off and aimed for his mouth only to have a thin thread of cream form over his lips and run down his chin. His tongue reached to lick it off.

“You've made a mess, and I don't believe your tongue is that long.” McCall leaned into him closer and closer until she forced him back on his elbows. Close enough to taste his sweetness. Slowly, deliberately taking full advantage of fate, she licked off the sugared cream. In the process, her glass accidentally tilted until champagne slowly dribbled down onto his chest. The cold liquid ran over his body, pooling near his flat abdomen.

McCall watched Nick's eyes betray his ardor.

“You might be surprised how far my tongue can reach when I want it to.” He closed his eyes and let out a soft groan.

Time stopped.

Seagulls quieted.

Palm trees whispered and ruffled their leaves as an ocean breeze picked up. The rolling waves hummed in faint laughter, and the smell of lavender, wild roses, and ocean spray created exquisite perfumes only for Nick and McCall.

Nick broke the silence. “I think you've made a mess of your own.” His mouth twitched in amusement. Lightly, he fingered a loose tendril of hair on her cheek. “Wanna clean it up and see for yourself just how hard I really am?”

“By all means.” McCall lowered her head and lapped up the droplets of champagne that ran down the center of his chest.

“I mean that my abs are firm.”

“I know.” Moving lips over his taut skin, through the mass of dark hair, she worked her way back up before kissing each shoulder.

“I believe you're kissing me.” He let out a throaty, needy groan and stretched back on the quilt. Closing his eyes, he left no doubt he was savoring the attention she bestowed on him.

McCall eased her gaze upward and watched his features turn from lighthearted teasing to a shadowy pained expression. “I never promised that
I
wouldn't kiss
you
.”

Another moan escaped.

Waves of rapture cascaded through her as Nick threaded both hands through her hair and guided her mouth down until her lips touched his chest.

Taking a nipple between her teeth and gently nibbling, she teased it until the tip grew taut. She loved the way he responded, and never realized that a man's nipple could get as hard as a woman's. But then she had very little experience with the romantic side of a sexual encounter.

Only Nick's breathing and the roll of the surf penetrated the fog in her mind as her lips traced a trail of caresses from his chest to his abs.

Kissing one rib, she criss-crossed to the other side. Her breasts dipped and bounced against his arousal as she made her way to the triangle of hair disappearing beneath the waist of his bathing suit. The mere touch of him sent a warming shiver through her, making her slide down a dangerously, slippery slope of passion.

“Whoa, Angel Eyes,” Nick said in a thready, hoarse voice. “Don't go any farther unless you mean business.”

Ignoring his warning, she lifted her head and in a purely feline fashion ran her chin up and then down his abdomen, stopping only inches from the top of his swimming trunks.

“Enough, Angel Eyes! I'm hollering uncle.” He took a deep breath. “Another quarter of an inch, and it's an invitation and, baby, it's coming in loud and clear.”

Suddenly, McCall drew upright. “Nick, I don't know what overcame me.” She moved away and pulled her knees to her chest. “I, uh”—she bit at her lip and swallowed an apology—“don't know what to say.”

She didn't want to apologize. Heavens! What had gotten into her? A hot flush ran across her chest.

What had just happened? Nick had said that she brought out the best in him, yet he seemed to bring out the worst in her. If what she did was bad, then why did it feel so good?

Nick drew out feelings she had tried to ignore. Emotions, desires that a nice girl could only dream of with a handsome tycoon like Nick. She had wanted to do things to him that she had only read about in bodice-rippers and
True Confession
magazines she swiped from beneath her Granny's mattress, then snuggled under her covers on drizzly days in Texas and read until the rain went away.

The wild side of McCall itched to escape, but the Bible-thumping, verse-spouting side of her wasn't quite so willing.

“It's okay, Mac. I'd be a fool to say I wasn't enjoying your attention.” Nick eased next to her and dropped his arm around her shoulders. “But, I think I deserve the truth.”

“The truth? That I made a fool of myself?”

“No.” Nick tucked her into his side. “Tell me how you feel.” Nick propped his chin on her head and ran his hands down her arm then back up, stopping on her shoulder. “How I make you feel. About your plan to destroy my resistance, so I'd break my promise, and how it backfired?”