Mad About The Man (3 page)

He was intent on something outside the window. Gaby looked beyond him, but saw only the quiet street and the hair salon opposite, its stucco walls
turned gold by a low, October-afternoon sun. A Jeep,
in shades of army olive drab, was parked at the curb.

There was something about his stance: alert, poised
as if ready to pounce…
or strike. Gaby's stomach went into a dive. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.

Rita Nagel had said she thought Gaby was angry. Perhaps she'd persuaded Ledan she was right, and now they'd sent someone to make sure Gaby would
be more enthusiastic about Leprechaunville in the fu
ture.

He turned his head slightly, showing a high cheek
bone and hard jaw. The tip of his eyebrow flared up
ward and a faint nimbus formed about slightly low
ered lashes. His thick curly hair reached his collar and
was as black as Gaby's; maybe blacker. A black shirt hugged a muscular back and biceps and fitted, hand-
tailored close, all the way to the black belt at the waist
of snug black pants.

The stomach dive became a loop. Nothing about him moved.

A shiver ran up Gaby's spine. She crossed her arms
tightly. Once before, she'd felt an instant aura of raw power emanating from a man, but on that occasion it
hadn't happened until she'd seen his face.

She took another step into the shop. At the same
moment a truck rumbled by, and the man watched its
progress, turning until she saw his full profile. His
nose was straight, his bottom lip fuller than the upper.
Even in repose, the corner of his mouth tilted up and
a
vertical groove showed in his cheek. The sleeves of
his shirt were rolled back over tanned, muscular fore
arms, and a slim gold watch glistened at his wrist where he rested his hands on his hips.

Gaby slowly shifted a hand to her stomach and pressed. Once before. Never again. And she was being foolish. This was a total stranger who probably wanted nothing mor
e complicated than to ask direc
tions.

So why wouldn't he choose the gas station over a millinery shop?

He flexed his spine
and looked over his shoulder…
directly at Gaby.

Her hands slid slowly to her sides. His eyes, in a deeply tanned face, were dark, dark blue. Full-face,
the uptilted mouth—so very seriously set—was wide
and firm. The vertical lines rose to his cheekbones, and there was a definite cleft in the center of his square chin. A black tie had been loosened and the
top buttons of his shirt undone. Black hair, the same
sun-gilded hair that covered strong forearms, showed
at his neck.

Gaby swallowed and passed her tongue over her
lips. She noticed
his attention go to her mouth…
and
his chest, his broad chest, with every muscle deline
ated beneath the perfectly fitted shirt, expanded with
a deep breath.

She changed her mind. She'd
never, ever, felt
any
thing like this before. Her skin tingled. Somewhere deep inside her belly a burning contraction hit and sent a tense ache into her thighs.

At the instant when a bolt of warning finally
sounded in her numbed brain—he smiled. A marvel
ous smile, lazily sexy and feral, that drove dimples
into lean cheeks. The vague shadow of a beard dark
ened his jaw.

Gaby walked to the center of the shop.

The man transferred his hands from his hips to his
pockets and approached until he stood only feet from
her. There were chips of black in those deep blue eyes, and his lashes were thicker than any man's ought to be.

He'd stopped smiling.

"Is there something I can do to help you?" Gaby asked, all too aware of the crack in her husky voice.

A ghost of a smile showed strong, white teeth. "I'm sure there is."

Gaby nibbled her bottom lip and swallowed with
difficulty. Any suggestiveness she felt in this man had
to be imagined
…
didn't it?

He looked at her mouth again.

She wasn't imagining a thing. This was the sexiest man she had ever come within a mile of, and he was
standing only grabbing distance away
…
staring straight at her mouth, her breasts, her hips. He was assessing her all the way to her bare, sandaled feet.

"Are you lost?" she asked, feeling inane and hot and afraid he'd leave
…
and equally as nervous that he'd stay.

"Lost?"

"Did you need directions?"

"No."

A faint scent of warm musk and clean skin almost
closed her eyes. "How can I help you?"

Tipping his head to one side, he studied her all over
again, starting at her toes and finishing at her eyes. "I'm not sure anymore. Not as sure as I was when I walked in here."

His voice was deep and warm, a voice that flowed along a woman's nerves like heated honey with a dis
guised bite.

Gaby breathed in deeply again—and saw his atten
tion flicker away from her face.

He pulled a long, broad hand from his pocket and
held it out. Gaby slipped her own graceful fingers into
his palm and found herself held as surely as if he'd embraced her.

"Are you Gaby McGregor?"

She frowned. "Yes."

"I thought so. I'm Jacques Ledan."

2

F
ive minutes ago he'd have said he wasn't in the
mood. Now he was definitely in the mood and, if he
had to guess, he'd say the woman whose hand still
rested in his and who showed no sign of wanting it
to be anywhere else, was feeling more than a twinge
of the same sexual charge that had just hit him.

"I thought
…
" Her eyes—green, shimmering eyes
flecked with yellow, like those of a sleek cat—slid
away toward the window of her shop. The black straw
hat that she wore tipped forward over her brow could
only be worn by a woman with such dramatic looks.
"Two people
just left. A Rita Nagel and… I
thought
that man was Jacques Ledan."

Jacques shook his head. "Rita's my assistant. The
man with her is Bart Stanly. He's working on plan
ning and development for my project in Goldstrike."

The cool hand was quickly withdrawn. "Yes. Your
project."

So, Rita's instincts had probably been right. There
was less than enthusiasm here. "I understand Rita
mentioned the work I'd like you to consider doing for
me."

Gaby McGregor's full mouth turned down. "She
mentioned it." A wonderful, sensual mouth. A mouth
that would move so well beneath the lips and tongue
of a man who was an expert in such matters.

Jacques stared into her eyes once more and met
pure hostility. Bart was definitely no judge of reac
tions. "Overwhelmed," he'd insisted. Gaby Mc
Gregor was "bowled over" by the generous offer of
work. Well, she wasn't, Jacques knew, but he was
damned if he could begin to understand why. He'd
noted a general air of sluggishness pervading Gold
strike every time he'd driven through on the way to
his house in the foothills beyond.

"How much do you know about my plans, I won
der." Perhaps it was time to explain more to the lo
cals. He'd hesitated to do so while so much was un
certain, but now everything was set to go.

The woman moved next to him and stared out of
the window. "You intend to bring Goldstrike into the
twentieth century. That's what your assistant told
me." The brim of the hat shaded her face, cast
rounded shadows beneath her high cheekbones. Her
skin was smooth and pale with the faintest peachy
blush on her cheeks.

"Rita has a somewhat
…
individual way of putting things sometimes." No, Gaby McGregor was not delighted with whatever picture Rita had painted. "I've
been coming through this valley for almost fifteen
years now—since I was a teenager—"

"To your house. Everyone here knows about it."

Did everyone here also feel as hostile about the
subject as Gaby McGregor did? "Have you seen La
Place?"

She gave a short laugh. "La Place. No, I haven't
seen it."

"You sound as if you've decided you wouldn't like
it."

She looked at him and shrugged. "I'm never likely
to see it, and it really doesn't matter whether or not I'd like it."

Jacques made no attempt to ignore the fact that the
shrug had allowed t
he wide neck of a lacy red over-
blouse to slip from an ivory shoulder. "I hope you will see it," he said with absolute honesty. "It's a beautiful house. You'd look good in it."

She blushed slightly and wonderfully and ran her tongue over her
lips, leaving the skin moist…
and driving the dart of desire ever more sharply into the part of him that made his pants suddenly too tight.

"Rita spoke to me from the phone in the limo.
Since I was coming through town, anyway, I decided
to stop and talk to you myself." There was some other element here, something completely different
from anything he remembered feeling. He was prob
ably reacting to the unusual sensation that he was
being confronted by a will as strong as his own. "Tell
me what concerns you. There is something?"

The breath she drew raised her full breasts again.
Through the loose, lacy blouse he could see that she
wore a strapless red top. Between the top and the
waist of slim pants there was the suggestion of slim,
bare midriff.

He checked her left hand. No rings. What did a single woman, one who looked and sounded like Gaby McGregor, do for diversion in a sleepy town several hours' drive from civilization?

One thing she didn't do was talk a lot.

"Isn't it pretty quiet here?"

"In Goldstrike, you mean?"

He could watch that mouth form words for a very
long time. "Yes, in Goldstrike. Don't you get
bored?" Now he sounded as if he was coming on to her.

"I never get bored."

Strike one. He looked around the shop. To his in
expert eye her merchandise appeared completely out
of place for the area. "You make hats." It could be
that she'd bought all this stuff somewhere just to use
for decoration.

He caught Gaby's eye and winced. "Did I say something wrong?" She was staring at him with something close to green hatred.

"Didn't you send Rita here because you knew I 'made' hats, as you put it?"

"Yes." Realization dawned. She felt threatened by
him. "I really did mean that I'd like you to fill an order for
me.
I don't usually deal with these things myself, but—"

"Rita told me how carefully you avoid the little people."

"As I was saying. I usually leave the people I hire
to deal with such matters. Goldstrike is special to me.
I want to be personally involved." He would only
take just so much unwarranted antagonism. "Do you
feel threatened?"

She stared. "Threatened?"

"By me."

Her laugh made his spine tingle. "Men don't frighten me, Mr. Ledan."

"I didn't mean physically."

"Neither did I."

Jacques walked behind her and stood, looking
down at her neck. "You're hostile." Let her decide
what to do next.

"Am I?"

"I think so. I came here to be pleasant. You're
giving me the brush-off and I want to know why."

"You're imagining things."

"I don't think so." His height had many advan
tages, not the least of which was his vantage point on
her now. Her neck was smooth and slender, a dra
matic contrast to the heavy braid of black hair that
fell to the middle of her back. And between the pale
swell of her breasts lay deep and enticing cleavage.
"I have no intention of doing anything that won't be a benefit to the people of this town
…
to you. Do you
think
you could help me make that understood?"

"What exactly are you proposing that I make un
derstood?"

He bent a little to see the side of her face. "That
I don't intend to take business away from them. You
do know that? I certainly don't intend to undermine
your business, Gaby." Not that he could imagine her
having any business in Goldstrike.

"I thought your business was candy, Mr. Ledan.
Do you make hats, too?"

He smiled. "Very amusing. I
think
you know what
I mean."

Gaby looked up at him and his breath stuck in his
throat. She was beautiful—completely unexpectedly
and absolutely gorgeous.

"Could we get together, Gaby? Maybe for dinner
at the house?"

Her arched brows rose. "I doubt it."

Only with difficulty did he stop himself from
touching her. "Think about it and I'll get back to you.
What I'd like to do is explain exactly what I have in
mind for this town. It's evident from our first direct
contacts that some people may have the wrong im
pression. You could help me change that."

"I really don't think so."

Didn't think so, or didn't want to think so?
"What
I've observed in the past few years—since I've spent
more time at La Place—is the almost total absence of young people here. They're moving out, and who can
blame them? There has to be something for them to
do, something to get excited about. With an infusion
of money into the area and opportunities for good-
paying jobs, the younger generation will stop leaving,
and some who have already left will come back."

Gaby walked away. When she reached a desk on
one side of the shop, she faced him. "Is that the carrot
you intend to hang in front of us?"

"Why
—
" He advanced, then stopped. This lady
was sending mixed signals. Her words said she didn't
trust him and didn't want anything to do with him—
something he couldn't begin to figure out. Her body
language spelled a very different message. She wasn't
any more unaffected by their meeting than he was.
"Revitalizing Goldstrike is my aim. I do plan to lure
the younger generation back—or encourage them to
stay, whichever is appropriate. And I intend to bring
new people into the area. Isn't that already understood
here?"

"What's understood is that you have plans to open
a resort hotel and buy up any suitable properties for
shops."

He nodded. "That's part of it."

"And you're trying to design some sort of displays
with
leprechauns."

"Roughly." He narrowed his eyes. "Do you know
everyone around here?"

"Yes, I do."

"Are they worried about what may happen?" He'd
never intended to do anything but help. All that would
be necessary would be to gain the people's confi
dence.

Gaby McGregor wasn't saying anything.

"Rita said you were thinking over the idea of mak
ing caps for us."

Still she didn't speak.

"She told you we'd have to move to a bigger outfit
when we need to produce in large numbers?"

Gaby averted her face.

"Look, it won't be the end of the world. When that
happens I'm sure arrangements could be made for you
to have the exclusive sales outlet for the caps here."

She made a strangled noise.

Damn.
"Everything will work out for the best.
Leave it to me."

"Will you excuse me?" She turned her brilliant
eyes on him once more.

What could he say? "Of course. But I'm not giving
up on that chat."

"You should."

In the soft afternoon sunlight streaming through the
window, she was cast in gold tints. Slender, yet all
woman, Gaby McGregor sent a clear message to
Jacques, one admittedly received most strongly by his hormones, but not entirely so. She was sharp and sexy
and he would want to find out just how sexy.

He remembered what he'd been heading into town
to do and suppressed a smile. "We're bound to be
seeing each other frequently, anyway."

"Why?"
she asked baldly, planting her feet apart.

"Oh, because I've decided I need to have an office
in town during the heavy planning phase. It's always
best to be in the middle of things where business is
concerned." Not that he'd ever been in the middle of
the business he'd headed, up till now. Ledan' s clicked
along very nicely with little more than his presence
at board meetings and his signature on a never-ending
heap of dotted lines. "Yes, I'll be in Goldstrike a
good deal of the time in the months to come."

"I'm always very busy," Gaby said. "I don't get
around town much."

Jacques made a decision, one of the few he'd ever
made in quite such a hurry. "If I'm not mistaken, you
won't have to get around to see me." He pulled out
the list he'd been carrying in his shirt pocket and
pretended to study it. "I'm
…
You're not going to
believe this, but unless you're planning to move your
business—"