Betting the Billionaire (8 page)

She looked up, her wide, brown eyes unsure but hungry. “Gabe,” she whispered.

A man could get drunk off her voice. Shit, he felt like he already had. His hands glided over her voluptuous curves as he lowered her to the ground, unable to let go even when her feet touched the floor. Anticipation buzzed in the air between them, holding them in place like magnets.

Neither of them spoke.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even remember his own name as want barreled through him like a runaway train. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He hadn’t come to Salvation for revenge, not completely. When he’d pulled his Aston Martin onto the interstate, he’d come for her. This woman—
his
woman, his body demanded—she undid him.

“Baby Girl, are you okay?” Dell wheezed as he rounded the corner, suspicion and worry drawing crevices in his forehead.

It was the face of a concerned father, not a villain. Gabe hadn’t gotten as rich as he was by ignoring the sixth sense that weeded out the truth from the facade.

Whatever had transpired between his real dad and Dell hadn’t caused the accident. He knew it in his gut as surely as he knew the attraction between himself and Keisha was more than just about fucking a hot chick. With her sass and her savvy she’d shown him over the past six months, she challenged him and kept him coming back for more.

Carlos had been right. About all of it.

Gabe shoved his hand through his hair with enough ferocity to yank out more than a few strands. God, he’d fucked this up on so many levels and had no clue how to set things right.

Keisha blinked. Finding her equilibrium around Gabe was turning into an ever constant struggle. For the past six months, she’d dreaded his calls, all the while experiencing a little thrill of excitement each time her phone rang. Now that he was here in Salvation, the draw was palpable.

She had to have the worst taste in men, ever. First the fiancé who wasn’t done playing the field, and now the man trying to ruin her father’s life. Keisha sighed. She needed an intervention.

“Baby Girl?” Her dad shuffled over, concern crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Struggling to break Gabe’s mental hold on her, she stepped back and smiled reassuringly at her father—at least she hoped it came off that way.

“I’m fine, Pops. Just being a klutz.” She glanced over her shoulder at Gabe, a shiver working its way across her skin. “He saved me before I could face plant on the floor.”

Her dad’s gaze volleyed between her and Gabe. Shrewd as a timber rattlesnake, her dad rarely missed anything. The chances of him missing whatever it was sparking between her and Gabe was about as slim as a Smartcar beating a Ferrari in a street race.

“Uh-huh.” He gnawed his bottom lip and gave Gabe his best father-with-a-shotgun eyeballed warning. “That was mighty nice of him.”

“Really, it was my fault.” Gabe poured on the practiced charm that had made him a tabloid darling in Harbor City. “I startled her when I came in.”

“Uh-huh.” Her dad sucked his teeth and laid a heavy palm on the bare workbench, no doubt to balance himself since the stubborn man had insisted on leaving his cane in the truck. “Here’s how this’ll work. You’ll have twenty-four hours, until Sunday night, to build a piece of furniture. What you make is up to you. It doesn’t have to be fancy, but it does have to be functional and not a piece of shit. A real family is going to use these pieces, hopefully for a really long time. We’ll move the furniture into the Beauchamp’s new Habitat for Humanity house Monday morning. The family will vote for their favorite piece. Whoever gets the most votes wins. Questions?”

For a crazy-ass bet, he sure made it sound reasonable. Damn, did that mean she was joining the ranks of the nut job army?

“What happens if one of us backs out or doesn’t finish in time?”

Her dad shrugged. “Then you lose.”

Thanks, Pops. No pressure there.

“Questions or concerns, Baby Girl?”

She shook her head. “I’m good.”

“All right then. I’ll leave you two here.” He turned for the door, but paused before he could make the full rotation. “I expect excellence, out of both of you.”

Keisha watched her dad make his way out the door, studiously ignoring the man standing next to her and the fizzy, giddy excitement running roughshod over her body at his nearness. And the way their breaths had automatically synced. And the way her skin still tingled where he’d touched her as he’d held her close. Nope. She deserved a medal for ignoring all of it.

Or an Oscar for best self-delusional actor in a film playing only in her head.

The unmistakable sound of a diesel engine roaring to life sounded, followed by tires splashing in the storm’s leftover slush and then silence. They were alone, fighting for control of the company her dad had founded, nurtured, and loved. She had to pull her shit together, or she’d ruin everything for her parents.

Ever since the main factory on the other side of town had opened, only her dad had used the original Jacobs Fine Furnishings workshop—and that had slowed considerably since his stroke. But he still insisted it be kept in tip-top shape. Something for which Keisha was grateful, because winning this ridiculous bet wouldn’t get any easier if she had to magically get over her fear of spiderwebs or her unfortunate attraction to Gabe.

“So this is it?” Gabe’s voice sent a delicious shiver up the back of her neck…and other places.

Hoping distance would lessen the desire thrumming through her system, she strutted over the power tool cabinet. “Yep.”

His footsteps echoed in the quiet space, stopping close enough that she could feel his nearness as surely as a touch. “What’s the set up?”

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she fiddled with the cabinet door knob. “Lumber storage and the plywood rack are in the back. Upfront are all the basics: table saw with router table, a combination table-saw shaper, a bandsaw, edge sander, wide belt sander, miter saw, jointer, metalworking mill, drill press, and a massive cabinet filled with power tools. There’s an air-filtration system with suction throughout the barn.”

Gabe chuckled, his breath caressing her skin. “You must spend every day here to rattle all that off without even looking around.”

Enough, K. Time to find your spine, girl.

She pasted her best tough-chick expression on her face and whirled around, ready to go to battle for her family. “Nope. I’m either behind a desk or shopping for interior decorating clients. But I grew up in this barn. I was working the sander as soon as I was old enough. Before that, my Barbies had fabulous adventures in the lumber storage area.”

Seemingly unaffected by her hard tone, Gabe pointed to the open air loft above the main floor. “What’s up there?”

She glanced up, grateful for a place to look that didn’t include his wide shoulders or model-handsome face. “The hayloft was remodeled into living quarters. When my parents fist got married, they lived there.”

“Your dad a workaholic?”

“No.” The word came out too sharp, but she didn’t care. She needed to push him away or risk losing the bet, her family’s business, and her sanity. “He was determined to make a go of the company and give his children something more than a farm weighed down with debt, and you’re dead set on taking that legacy from him.”

Gabe flinched as if she’d struck him. “I take it the truce is over.”

“For such a successful guy, you catch on slow.” She enunciated each word so the sarcasm would create the wall between them she so desperately needed. “The truce ended the moment you accused my dad of murder.”

He slipped his black-framed glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was wrong.”

Shock struck like a whip, slicing through her defenses and leaving her breathless. “So why are you here?”

He looked up, piercing her soul with his bright, aquamarine eyes. “Because of you.”

Chapter Nine

Gabe hadn’t been this unsure of himself since…well, since ever. But he’d made a fortune from following his gut, and he hoped like hell he wasn’t wrong this time.

“This whole clusterfuck happened because I thought I was doing the right thing for the right reason.” Now wasn’t that the irony? He had the Midas touch when it came to money, but people? Yeah, not his strong suit.

Nervous energy ate away at him, making his glasses shake in his hands. He slid them on before he dropped them, bringing Keisha into clear focus. Standing before him, with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed, she couldn’t have looked any more suspicious of him if she tried. And who could blame her? He’d practically submarined Jacobs Fine Furnishings with the careless hurt of a child.

Now it was time to man up.

“I went off half-cocked.” He paced the length of the workbench. “All I knew was that my dad and your dad had been partners, and things had fizzled. Your dad went on to build Jacobs Fine Furnishings. My dad ended up playing chicken with a highway overpass. He lost.”

The images from the grizzly, full color accident photos flashed in his mind, and he flinched. Twisted metal. Blood on the windshield. A single tire lying in the middle of the road. He wished like hell he’d never forced Carlos to show him the pictures.

“I’m sorry for your loss, but what the hell does that have to do with my father or me?” Keisha asked.

Though sympathy softened her words, he couldn’t miss the anger and confusion underneath.

“With you? In reality? Not a damn thing.”

“So why?”

She deserved a real explanation, and he didn’t have one. He realized it now. But if he could just make her understand why he’d done what he’d done, maybe everything wouldn’t be lost.

“My cousin, Carlos, is a computer genius and works at a security company in Harbor City. He was doing work on a case and ran across police records listing my mom as a surviving widow. He did a little digging and discovered the accident report with your dad’s name as a witness. There was bad blood between them, according to what Dell told the cops, something about a business deal gone bad. And I decided that someone needed to pay for what had happened to my dad. I couldn’t go to my mom, dredge up the past she’d kept hidden for so long. Instead, I went gunning for your dad.”

The whole thing sounded so ridiculous when he said the words out loud. Shame and embarrassment twisted inside him like an F4 tornado, leveling everything in its path.

“So what changed between this morning and now?”

“Carlos found the medical examiner’s report. My dad had a BAC that was almost twice the legal limit.” The words left a foul taste in his mouth. “It made me realize that there was a lot about the accident I don’t know and a lot about my real dad I’m totally clueless about. I came here to tell your dad the whole bet was off, but I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Confusion had replaced the suspicion in her dark brown eyes.

Wasn’t that the question that kept zinging around his brain? He searched the barn’s rafters for the reason that eluded him. It wasn’t there, but he found it as soon as his gaze lowered to Keisha. “Because tonight might be the last time I get to see , and I’m a selfish bastard.”

“You don’t even know me,” she whispered.

“I know you take your coffee with an ungodly amount of cream. I know you chew on the inside of your cheek when you’re mulling something over. I know you would do just about anything for your family. But I want to know more.”

“We never even met face-to-face until yesterday.”

“You think I wasn’t paying attention during all those months when I’d call two or three times a week?” He brushed his thumb across her full bottom lip that quaked just the tiniest bit. “Last night wasn’t a mistake. Let me prove it to you.”

She hesitated but didn’t move away from his touch. “How?”

“Instead of competing against each other, let’s build something together.”

She laughed. “That’s not the offer I was expecting.”

“It’s the best one I’ve got right now.” But by this time tomorrow, he’d have a lot more on the table.

A fine layer of saw dust covered the concrete floor like fairy dust. Or should it be elves? They seemed the more industrious sort. Keisha shook her head. She must have ingested some of the dust, because her brain had gone on vacation with thoughts like those. Of course, it was better than the alternative. That being a near constant awareness of Gabe, who had stripped down to butt-hugging jeans and a sleeveless undershirt.

The muscles she’d gotten the briefest hint of last night had been enough to tempt her straight into a fiery pit of desire, but actually seeing his thick biceps slick with well-earned sweat? She was just dancing in the flames and not giving a damn that her toes—and other parts of her anatomy—were getting singed.

Gabe flicked a switch, and the roar of the table saw eased to a dull muffle and then silence. As long as she ignored her heart thundering in her chest. Watching his muscles bulge as he carried the freshly cut oak uprights for the dining room table was enough to give her a hot flash or twelve.

He laid the uprights on the worktable and grinned. It was infectious.

“I’m sorry for doubting that you knew how to use the table saw.” She grabbed a bottom brace and placed it against the upright to form an
L
.

He had the drill out and made two holes lickety-split fast. “Woodshop was my favorite class in high school. Next he used wood glue and two six-inch lag screws to attach the bottom brace and the upright. “I even joined a woodworking club in college.”

She flipped the L-shaped wood over, and they worked together to attach the bottom brace and then the top brace. “Your university had a woodworking club?”

“They did after I started it.” He grabbed the glue and lag screws, then joined one end of the middle upright to the center of the bottom brace.

Enjoying the camaraderie of working together after so much discord, she took the other end and joined it to the center of the top brace. “And how many members were there?”

“Usually one, but he had crazy good skills.” He spun the drill like a six shooter.

She couldn’t help her laugh. “Good to know.”

After creating the vertical support, they attached the long supports to what they’d already completed. It wasn’t hard work, but it reminded her of working on her Thunderbird. Glancing down at the screwdriver in her hand, she realized she had the same make and model in her toolbox at Fix ‘Er Up. Astonishment had her shaking her head. She’d spent so much of her life trying to get away from the woodworking shop, and yet, she found solace in working with her hands using many of the same tools she’d played with as a child in this very building. She’d never made the connection between metal and wood before.