Rising Heat (47 page)

I needed to do what I did. While I couldn’t explain why exactly, it was part of who I was. As I reached the top of the stairs and headed for my room, I frowned. My thoughts kept drifting back to the woman downstairs. I felt confused, not only by my intense attraction to her, but by what I was going to do about it. What
was
I going to do about it? I shook my head as I entered my room and closed the door behind me. I wouldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t need the complications of any relationship right now.

She was here to do her job. Nothing more and nothing less. Then why had she allowed me… no, why had I practically seduced her last evening? Because I could? Because we had the place all to ourselves? Because she was nothing more than a convenient opportunity? No. I wasn’t some horny teenager. I knew better. As I sat down on the bed, I tried to examine my motives, but kept going in circles.

As I undressed, my thoughts went round and round. Did I want a relationship with Misty? No. I didn’t want a relationship with anybody. Hell, I wasn’t even officially out of my last one. Not only did I not have time for it, but I didn’t have the energy. At least not now. I tried to convince myself of that, but even I knew it was lame. Besides, I was wary about relationships following my breakup with Celine. Not the love part. I realized a long time ago that I hadn’t so much loved Celine as I was infatuated with her. Bedazzled by her beauty and her sexual experience.

But I wanted more from a woman. I wanted someone with whom I could feel completely free with, someone I could talk to about my most private thoughts. I wasn’t an especially emotional person, but one thing that I did find lacking in all of my relationships was that easy feeling of camaraderie, of friendship; that togetherness that I saw in other couples, including that of my best friend, Matt and his longtime live-in interest, Belinda.

I might be one of the richest men in the northwest and an up-and-coming billionaire and entrepreneur, but when you got right down to the nitty gritty, I envied my best friend and his relationship with his common-law wife. Would I ever find someone like that to share my life with, or was I doomed to superficial relationships that didn’t extend beyond the bedroom?

I muttered with impatience as I strode naked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Dammit, I didn’t usually bother with such musings. So what exactly was it about Misty that made me feel as if my life was suddenly lacking? I didn’t need a relationship to be successful. I didn’t need a relationship to make me feel complete. I was perfectly happy living on my own, doing what I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. I didn’t need a woman in my life to validate me as a man.

And if I ever found a woman I wanted in my life, she wouldn’t be arm candy like Celine, that was for sure. If I ever got involved with a woman again, I wanted her to share the same likes. Misty might be game, but she wasn’t an inborn adventurer, at least she didn’t give me that impression. Sure, she grew up in North Dallas, but what did that tell me? She fell off a damn four-wheeler! Well, that was partly my fault, but I also chalked it up to inexperience.

Not that I was blaming her, far from it. Why was I even contemplating whether Misty would make good companion material? I stepped into the shower, allowing the warm water to wash the dirt and grime of the rodeo arena and the smell of horse from my skin. I leaned forward, bracing my hands against the shower wall and dropped my head down, the water pounding on the back of my head, neck, and upper back. The water loosened the muscles of tension that had developed between my shoulder blades. Maybe it would also pound some sense into me.

As I glanced down, I also realized something else. Just the mere thought of Misty and the memory of her plump breasts and soft skin had given me a half-erection. Just the memory of the texture of her skin, the way she responded to me, the way she made me feel had my dick rising even faster.

I reached down and stroked my cock a few times, closing my eyes as I imagined her wrapping those luscious lips around it. I began to masturbate, my eyes closed, a half-smile on my lips, my penis fully erect now. That I could get a hard-on just thinking about Misty not only surprised, but confused me even more. Here I was, standing in the shower and I felt the need to jack off? Well, maybe doing so would prevent a repeat performance with Misty tonight.

Was she expecting something? Was I?

With every stroke, I remembered the feel of her hand wrapped around my cock, the firm pressure that was so gentle and stimulating at the same time. The sensation of her tongue as it slowly glided over my head, prompting exquisite responses of not only my genitals, but every cell in my body. She had gotten under my skin in more ways than one. I stiffened as I continued to stroke and then felt the release, the shower washing the evidence of my desire for the woman down the drain.

Shit.

I was in trouble and I knew it.

*

I could tell she was proud of herself for having concocted a surprisingly tasty supper from the canned goods in the pantry. Breaded pan fried salmon patties, boiled potatoes with packaged gravy, and homemade biscuits. Impressive. I complimented her ingenuity and the fluffiness of her biscuits. She blushed.

“Thanks,” she grinned, popping the last bite of a biscuit into her mouth. Mine had nearly melted on my tongue.

She chewed a moment, then swallowed. “My mom taught me how to make biscuits when I was thirteen years old. Apparently, the recipe has been in my family for generations. Legend has it that it’s the same recipe one of my great-great-great-great grandmothers made along the wagon trail as they emigrated from Wisconsin down to Texas.”

“That’s where your family originally came from? Wisconsin?”

She nodded. “Yes, from what I gather, my ancestors came by ship from Germany and settled in Wisconsin. Then, after the Civil War, they relocated down to Texas.”

“Why?”

She glanced up at me. “Why what?”

“Why did they move from Wisconsin to Texas?”

She shook her head and made a face. “How the hell should I know?”

I laughed, until she asked her question. “Where did your family come from?”

“Kansas.” I leaned back in the chair I had pulled up to the coffee table in the living area.

“Always Kansas? They had to get there from somewhere, didn’t they?”

“Do I look like a genealogist to you?” I countered.

She wrinkled her nose at me. “I’m not asking for a detailed description, Blake. It’s an innocent question. You asked me, didn’t you?”

I was too touchy. Just because she asked a simple question didn’t mean she had ulterior motives. But then, what else could I expect? I knew I was extremely sensitive talking about my past, recent or the ancient. I knew that. Sometimes it seemed to me that my past was all anyone wanted to talk about. The only questions they ultimately wanted answered.

Was Misty like the rest of the journalists I’d met? Like the other women I’d met? I shook my head. I should know better than that. I was underestimating her. At least I hoped so.

“Sorry,” I finally said. “As far as I know, my ancestors came from Pennsylvania. Where they emigrated from, I have no idea. For all I know, they landed with the Mayflower.”

She made a face. “Doubtful, Blake, or you would certainly know that your family was listed in the lineage of the Mayflower Society.”

“There is such a thing?”

“Of course,” she said, sitting back on the couch. “You have to be able to prove lineage from a Mayflower passenger and be approved by a historian general before you can qualify to even become a member of the General Society of Mayflower Descendants. It was founded around 1900, give or take a few years, I can’t remember.”

“A pretty exclusive group, I imagine.”

“Not nearly as much as you would think. Today, millions of people are descendants of the one-hundred-two passengers that boarded the ship, or at least I think I read that in a magazine article a while back.”

“Interesting,” I said, standing. “I’ll go do the dishes.” I moved to collect the plates.

She nodded and then asked the question I’d been dreading. “Can I ask you more questions after you’re done? Or are you going to shut me down again?”

My hands clutching the plates, I glanced at her. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

She made another face. “I don’t see any reason to, Blake. We both know I’m here for a reason. If we just get it over with, then you don’t have to see me anymore.”

I didn’t say anything but turned toward the kitchen.
Get it over with so I didn’t have to see her anymore.
The thought left me feeling odd. I’d only just met her, but we’d spent every moment since together. Well, nearly every moment. Last night was an eye-opener, no doubt about it, and for the first time after an encounter with a woman, I found myself at odds with my feelings. I’d never felt such conflicts with Celine, or any of a number of other women with whom I’d enjoyed brief liaisons.

But Misty was different. I knew that. On some level, I knew she wasn’t to be trifled with. And I had no intention of using her, not like I had sometimes used women in the past, but no more than others had used me as well. I had meant it when I said I didn’t like one night stands. Nevertheless, other than Celine, none of the women in my life had lasted more than a couple of months, three or four tops. I grew bored, impatient, and often frustrated at their constant demands for my time.

I knew I wasn’t being fair. Not all women were like my almost ex wife. While my mind was trying to convince me of that, my heart was something different. After Celine, I had developed a definite and what I considered healthy mistrust in the ulterior motives not only of women, but people around me. Not Matt, nor my media relations guru, Ruby Rutledge, or even my CFO. I trusted them explicitly. But that was it. Other than Matt, I had no real friends. I didn’t confide in Matt, not like one might expect with best friends, but Matt knew me well enough to give me space.

We’d been friends since our college days, but I had never spoken to him of my past, of what happened to my father, and Matt never asked. Not once. And that had me shaking my head, because I knew that once I went back into the living room and sat down across from Misty, the chances were that she was going to ask about my dad. And like last night, I would refuse to answer.

By the time I strode back into the living room, Misty was exactly where I thought she would be; curled up once again in the corner of the sofa, notepad on her lap, pen clipped onto the edge of it. I glanced at the fireplace. “Let me build a fire before we get started on tonight’s interrogation, all right?”

She protested. “It’s not an interrogation, Blake, and I don’t want it to seem one.”

I stepped to the fireplace and began to place the kindling. “Kind of hard not to,” I said over my shoulder. “I feel like I did at the police station—” Shit. I hadn’t meant to say that. To her credit, Misty didn’t pounce on it.

After I lit the fire, I turned to find her watching me with a contemplative expression. Her chin balanced on her upright palm, she shifted her gaze down at the burgeoning flames. I could feel the tenseness forming between my shoulder blades, the defensive walls beginning to go up. Like last night, I sat in the chair in the corner of the room, between the coffee table and the fireplace, but tonight I didn’t pull it closer to the coffee table. I wanted to keep more than an arm’s distance from her. I didn’t want to repeat what happened last night, not because I didn’t find her attractive and alluring, but because… well, just because.

“Tell me about Celine,” Misty said suddenly.

The question took me by surprise. “What?”

“Are we going to do that again?” she exclaimed, exasperated.

“Why do you want to know about her?”

“Off the record, Blake. See?” She gestured to her pen, still attached to the notebook.

“Why do you want to know about her?” I asked again. I couldn’t help but feel suspicious. Was she setting me up, trying to get me distracted, to pounce on me unawares?

“Why is she slandering you?”

At first, I didn’t think the question was serious, but she continued to stare at me, a perfectly a serious expression on her face. “I have no idea,” I finally replied.

“Didn’t she get a generous prenup? Alimony?”

“Rather personal questions, don’t you think?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the purpose of this entire interview?”

I sighed. “Again, I’m not sure why, because she already gets an alimony check every month, as agreed through our premarital contract.”

“Did you love her?”

Again I was taken by surprise. These were not the kind of questions I was expecting from her. Nevertheless, I decided that as long as she stayed away from the topic of my father, and though I needed to be careful of what I said, I didn’t mind answering the question. “I did, or at least I thought I did, but that was before she tricked me into a marriage by claiming that she was pregnant. She lied about that.”

Sympathy oozed from Misty’s face, then her jaw tightened. “Why?”

“How should I know?” I replied, frustrated. “Why would a woman claim such a thing? Because she wanted money? Because she wanted to rope me into a relationship that we both knew was doomed to failure from the get-go? I have no idea why women do some of the things they do.”

“And men don’t play games? Lead women on, make empty promises, have affairs?”

I frowned. Was she asking from personal experience or in general? “Did a man play games with you, Misty?” I asked quietly. “Neglect to tell you that he was married?”

“This isn’t about me.”

“We made a deal, remember?”

“I just don’t see what bearing my life has on this interview, Blake. I’m supposed to be asking you questions, not the other way around. You’re not working for a magazine on the side, are you?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Heaven forbid. But we did have a deal. You going to renege?”

“No, I didn’t have an affair with a married man, and no man has strung me along, making promises he couldn’t keep. Satisfied?”

Not hardly, I thought. “Are you involved in a relationship now?”