Beauty's Kiss (2 page)

“
No
.”

“Although he is by far the best kisser—”

“Don’t care. Don’t want to know.” Taylor’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as she moved her foot from the brake to the gas pedal. “And you agreed after that last terrible set up that you wouldn’t put me through anymore blind dates.” She shot Jane a severe look. “I’m holding you to that promise, Jane.”

Jane slunk down in her seat. “I’m not asking you to marry him, just be his date.”

Taylor said nothing, her gaze narrowed and focused on the road.

“Normally I wouldn’t set him up. I wouldn’t want to see him with another woman but you’re not... plastic... and you wouldn’t be into him for his money...” Jane’s voice drifted off. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Silence followed.

Taylor clamped her jaw tight.

She was not interested in going to the Ball, and definitely not interested in being set up with gorgeous, rich, sexy Troy Sheenan, Jane’s ex-love, whom Taylor had heard
far
too much about over the past few months.

Good Lord. From everything Jane had said, Troy was a handsome, ruthless, self-absorbed playboy. Could anything be worse?

“You’d enjoy talking to him,” Jane said faintly, hands knotting in her lap. “He’s very smart—brilliant, really—and exceedingly well read. You should see his personal library—”

“
Jane.
”

“He’s just got his hands full with his break up, his dad dying, and hosting the Ball for us in his hotel. It’s a massive expense that he personally is underwriting.”

Taylor flexed her fingers against the steering wheel. “That’s not my problem, and it’s not yours, either.”

“I know, but I offered to help—”

“Wait. You offered to set him up? He didn’t ask you?”

“No.”

“Oh, Jane.” Taylor sighed. “You’re still in love with him.”

Jane’s head bowed. “I know we’re not going to be together. And I’m moving on, I am, but that doesn’t mean I can’t care for Troy, and it doesn’t mean I can’t want him to be happy.”

Taylor just shook her head. She’d been in Jane’s shoes once, back when she was in graduate school, and it was a bad place to be. Unrequited love was brutal. All those intense emotions, bottled up inside, making your feelings strong, too strong. “You need to let him go. Completely.”

For a long moment Jane said nothing, and then she sighed heavily. “So what do I tell Troy?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “To be a man and go find his own damn date.”

Troy Sheenan was glad to be on the ground, even if he was arriving in the middle of a blizzard. He was a seasoned traveler, accustomed to jetting back and forth between Montana and California to oversee the renovations at the Graff Hotel during the last couple of years, but tonight’s flight was rough. Seriously rough. Three endless, unrelenting hours of turbulence that kept him buckled into his leather seat, as the pilots of his private jet searched in vain for some smoother air.

They didn’t find it.

But at least he and his crew were safely on the ground and he was free to move, his long strides carrying him swiftly across the snowy tarmac to the Executive terminal.

His rental car, a big black four wheel drive SUV with snow tires, was waiting for him outside the executive terminal, the key already in the ignition, the interior still warm. The paperwork had been handled earlier by Troy’s assistant before he left San Francisco which meant he was free to go.

Troy tossed his bags into the back, and slid behind the steering wheel, noting that the snow flurries were coming down thicker and faster. In good weather it was at least a fifty five minute drive to Sheenan Ranch. And it wasn’t good weather. He wasn’t even sure if Dillon would have been able to get their private drive plowed, which meant he might be four wheeling it. Or stuck.

Any other night he’d just stay at the hotel. He had his own private suite on the fourth floor of the historic hotel, and the suite was always kept ready for him, but if Dad was doing as badly as Dillon said, Troy wanted to get to the ranch tonight and sit with him. Troy hadn’t been there when his mom died, and he was damn well not going to be MIA when Dad passed.

The snow was really coming down now.

Taylor sat ramrod straight in the driver’s seat, her hands set precisely at ten and one on the steering wheel, her heart pounding harder than she liked.

She wasn’t scared.

She’d driven through worse.

And the road seemed fine, not too icy. She just had to keep an eye on her speed and pay attention.

And yes, it was getting harder and harder to see the hood of her car, never mind the road, but she was a Montana girl. She had a good car, a reliable car, and her Subaru could handle the icy roads just fine.

The car would be fine, and she’d be fine, she silently insisted, even as she regretted that she hadn’t stopped in Bozeman when she had the chance.

She should have not pushed it. She should have played it safe. But Taylor had thought that maybe the flurries would lighten. She’d thought perhaps once she hit the highway the storm would ease.

She’d thought wrong and now she was driving through a blinding sheet of white, having to pretend her pulse wasn’t racing and her hands weren’t damp against the steering wheel.

Fifteen more miles, she told herself, checking the windshield wiper speed again. But they were already on their fastest setting and unable to clear her windshield quickly enough.

She couldn’t see.

It’s okay.

She hated this.

You’re halfway home.

Her eyes burned as she fought panic. She wanted to pull over, get off the road but this was a mountain pass and it’d be suicide to pull over here. Another motorist or trucker could lose control and take her out.

No choice but to keep going. No choice but to finish what she’d started.

And so she sat tall and held her breath and focused very hard on the glow of white where the car headlights shone through the swirling flurries of snow, unable to reach as far as the yellow reflectors on the side of the road. Taylor only knew for sure where she was when she drove over one of the bumps.

Too far right. She was practically on the shoulder. Not good.

She corrected, steering a little more to the left, frowning hard, trying to see the road, knowing it curved somewhere near here, a fairly sharp curve which wasn’t a problem during the day but could be treacherous at night. She was concentrating very hard on staying off the reflector bumps and in the middle of her lane when suddenly red brake lights glowed in front of her.

She hadn’t even known a car was in front of her and Taylor slammed on her brakes to avoid rear ending it, which put her in a skid on the ice.

Braking hard on ice was the absolute wrong thing to do. She was supposed to pump the brakes, supposed to keep the brakes from locking. Too late.

Her tires spun, and her car spun, and she went careening off the shoulder before slamming violently into the metal side guard.

Her airbag deployed, the impact knocking the air from her.

Taylor knew she’d stopped moving when everything grew still and quiet. She sat for a moment, dazed, barely able to see over the airbag.

Cautiously, she opened her door and stepped out into the snow. She shivered as she inspected her car where it had slammed into the guardrail. The guardrail was twisted and bent, but it had stopped her car from going over the edge.

Good guardrail.

“That was close,” a deep male voice said from behind her. “You alright?”

“I think so,” she answered, swaying a bit as she turned around. A man was walking towards her, his big SUV parked just behind her car, his headlamps on high beams to illuminate the highway shoulder. “Just shaken up more than anything.”

The man walked past her, took a look at the guardrail and crushed hood, before returning. “That guardrail saved you.”

“I know.”

“What happened?”

“The truck in front of me slammed on its brakes, and I had nowhere to go.”

“You were following it too closely?”

“I didn’t even know it was there.”

He nodded. “It’s bad. Total white out conditions. None of us should be on the road.”

“I just wanted to get home.”

“Where were you heading?”

“Marietta.”

“That’s where I’m going. Let me give you a ride.”

Taylor glanced back at his big black SUV with the headlights shining on them. It looked like a new car, and expensive. She gave him the same once-over. He looked expensive, too. Clean cut. Attractive, with black hair, smooth hard jaw, strong, classic features. “Are you safe?” she asked, only half joking.

“Safer than the storm.”

“Not sure that’s hugely reassuring.”

He laughed, the sound deep, warm as well as very confident. “Sorry. Let me introduce myself.” He stuck out a hand and smiled down on her, white teeth glinting, and creases fanning at the corners of his eyes. “I’m Troy Sheenan.”

Chapter Two

Of course he was, Taylor thought, adjusting the seatbelt across her lap, and then crossing her leg at the knee, trying to make herself comfortable in the big black SUV’s passenger seat.

And of course it would be Troy Sheenan who’d plucked her from the side of the road, as if he were a gallant knight, instead of an errant knight.

A playboy.

A
rake.

It felt satisfying to silently hurl names at him, but it wasn’t helping make her more comfortable. She couldn’t relax. Couldn’t catch her breath.

It was his fault.
Troy Sheenan.

Taylor’s fingers curled into her palms. She stared blindly out the windshield into the night with the thick swirling snow, her chest tight, aching with bottled air.

Of all people to stop...

Of all people to offer to help.

Why did it have to be him?

And worse, why couldn’t he be arrogant, and rude, and absolutely despicable?
Dislikable
? Why did he have to be almost... charming?

Nice.

She shuddered inwardly, thinking that he might even be quite nice, if he weren’t, well, so impossibly, ridiculously good looking.

Because he was.

Tall, handsome, black hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw, dimples.

A man with all those attributes couldn’t be nice. Truly handsome men were never nice. They were spoiled, overly confident,
insincere
. They were accustomed to women falling to their feet and throwing themselves at men, bosoms heaving... and so forth.

Taylor’s lips compressed and she lifted her chin a fraction.

She couldn’t place all the blame on handsome men. Women had to accept some responsibility for their behavior. Just because a man was gorgeous and charming it didn’t mean a woman needed to fall for him...

Taylor would
never
fall for someone like Troy Sheenan.

At least, she’d never fall for someone like Troy Sheenan again.

Back in graduate school she’d fallen for a Mr. Charming, and it had broken her heart and damaged her confidence and self-esteem. She’d vowed to never go down that destructive, confusing path again. And she hadn’t.