The Tycoon (27 page)

“Well, you know what they say in the real estate business. Location, location, location.”

He gave her an arch look across his shoulder.

“Something tells me you don’t really want to see this home,” she said.

“Why not? Especially if it’s warm inside.”

She hesitated. Did she really want to go inside a vacant house with him and let herself in for God knew what? From his demeanor, she couldn’t guess his state of mind. She couldn’t even

define her own.

Resigned to whatever came next, she finally said, “The builder leaves the thermostat on low. I guess we could go inside.”

She led the way and unlocked the front door. After the cold outdoors, the house’s interior felt too warm. She untied and unbuttoned her coat and started for the thermostat, but as if he had installed it himself, Drake walked toward it and reached it before she did.

“It’s set on sixty-five,” he said. “Tropical.” He unzipped his coat.

He switched on the lights and turned around and she saw he had on a yellow button-down shirt with a tiny white pinstripe. A perfect color for his tanned complexion and brown hair color. Damn him for being so good-looking. She spotted a tiny blue embroidered logo on his shirt at about nipple-level. A tingle passed through her as she recalled licking and kissing his nipples and the tiny mold beside one of them.

Determined to be professional, she began her pitch. “As you can see, the living room has a panoramic view of the lake.” She strode toward the kitchen, wanting to get this over with ASAP. “The builder was careful to make sure the lake can be seen from both the dining room and the kitchen.” Her voice sounded too high and quivery, but she carried on.

She circled the kitchen, her boot heels clicking against the wooden floor and led him up the hallway toward the master bedroom end of the house. “It has a split bedroom arrangement. The master is—”

But before she could get more words out, he took the lead, switching on lights as he walked up the hallway. Fingers tucked into his tight jeans pockets, he strolled through the master suite, looking around, taking in the lake view and all of the extra features Jim King had added to the sleeping area and master bath.
Hell.
He probably knew more about new houses than she did.

She followed him, saying nothing. She couldn’t keep her eyes off his taut butt in tight-fitting Wranglers, flaunted by his short coat.

They changed directions, moving back toward the living area. Tension stretched between them. Sooner or later, he was bound to get around to what he really wanted to say.

He stopped in a wide archway leading from the dining room to the kitchen and looked up. At the construction, she presumed. “Nice” he said. ”Local builder?”

Pleased for a question she could answer with confidence, she pasted on a smile, slipping into her professional persona again. She still doubted he was interested in this house, but perhaps she was wrong. “Absolutely. Hometown boy. He’s been building homes like this one for years.”

He walked back into the kitchen. He stopped at the gray slab-granite cooking island and turned to face her so abruptly, she nearly collided with him. “Oh! Excuse me.” She stepped back.

He planted a palm on the cooking island, a fist on the opposite hip and gave her a direct look. “So why the charade?”

Seeing him standing beside the cooking island set off another erotic memory and her heart began pounding so loudly, the entire county, the world, the
universe
must hear it. She might forget many things, but sex on that cooking island in his condo would not be one of them.

She gathered herself. “How did you find me?”

“Babe, if you’re hiding out, you probably shouldn’t have your life-size picture plastered on billboards on a major highway.”

She bristled at him calling her
babe
. “What are you doing in Camden? Somehow, I can’t believe you’re planning on settling down in this quaint little community. From what I saw, it doesn’t fit your lifestyle.”

“Ahh,
fit
. I like that word. I think I’ve heard you use it before.”

…Oh, wow….It fits….

Oh, hell.
A blood rush heated her face. Speech failed her. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

“You’re right. I’m not interested,” he said, “though it does have some charm.”

She opened her eyes in time to see him smooth his hand over the cooking island’s glossy surface. “I like the cooking island.” He looked up at her and grinned in that devilish-little-boy way she had found so charming at first.

She let out a shaky breath. “Okay. I get it. I
get
it. You came here to rub my nose in it.”

“Now, darlin’, your nose is too pretty to risk harming it. But you know what? Your reaction tells me you’ve got a fondness for the cooking island yourself.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

“Honey, that’s exactly what you said the other night. And more than once, as I recall. I did my best to oblige. I’m even willing to do it again.”

She drew in a controlled breath. “I do not appreciate your calling me babe and honey and silly meaningless names. It’s insulting.”

He continued to grin. “I haven’t gotten used to your real name yet.
Shannon.”
He chuckled, obviously amused by her distress. “But to answer your question, I’m passing through. I’ve been down with the family in Drinkwell for a few days. A blind man couldn’t miss your billboards. And I couldn’t control my curiosity.”

“Oh, really? Should I be flattered?”

His expression changed from smirky to earnest, a look she had seen on his face before. “I don’t know. Are you?”

More memories of that Saturday night flooded her mind: …
It’s never been this good….Why do I think you say that to all the girls?...I don’t say things I don’t mean.

A profound yearning wrenched her insides.
Oh, dear God.
She had to get control of herself. And the situation. “You’ve seen the house,” she said anxiously.
“
You said you aren’t interested. We should go now.”

“Let’s go to dinner,” he said. “Talk a little bit. We were talking the last time I saw you.” His eyes bored into her again. “Before I fell asleep and you skipped out.”

Was he angry? Why should he be? He surely wasn’t upset over her leaving when he had probably walked out on more women than most men knew. “Wrong word choice, Mr. Lockhart. I didn’t skip out. I merely left. I told you I had to get home.”

She tried to walk past him, but he clasped her arm, his touch like an electrical shock to her system. “Don’t get so excited,” he said. “There must be a good place to eat in Camden.”

She stepped away from his grasp. “I don’t have time to go out to dinner. Someone’s expecting me.”

“Call ’em up. Tell ’em an old friend dropped in. Believe me, sugar, I won’t take no for an answer.”

He was angry, all right. She had no idea what he might do if she didn’t agree to eat with him. She was worse off than a bug caught in a spider web. The smartest plan would be to walk away from him and never look back. But the easiest was to just go to dinner and get it over with.

And then there was that lustful, out-of-control part of her that wanted to be with him.
Oh, dear God.
Get thee behind me, Satan. Please.

Her mind darted through Camden’s limited list of restaurants as she tried to think of one that would get them in and out quickly and afford the least privacy. She was sure he would not go for McDonald’s. “Do you like Mexican food?”

“This is Texas. Who doesn’t like Mexican food?”

“There’s a café in the shopping center.
Casa Familia.
We can go there. It’s on your way out of town.”

His brow arched. “Shopping center?”

She gave him a flat look. “This is Camden.”

“Okay then, shopping center it is.” He held out his arm, gesturing toward the front door. “After you, sugar.”

She swished past him, giving him a defiant glower. “You can follow me.
Sugar
.”

She heard him laugh behind her.
Damn him.

Once she got in her SUV, her shoulders sagged and she let out a breath she felt as if she had been holding thirty minutes. She should just speed away, but since he seemed to be determined to torment her, he would probably chase her down.

As she drove toward Camden’s only shopping center, she called Grammy Evelyn and told her she would be late. Her heart kept up a drumbeat in her ears. Such a huge spike of adrenaline had flooded her system she might never calm down.

Reaching the strip mall, she drove behind
Casa Familia
and parked in the darkest corner of the employees’ parking lot, where she hoped no one would see her Sorrento. She had expected him to park out front with the other customers, but he followed her and brought his pickup to a stop beside her.

He walked over and opened the SUV’s door. “Are you sure it’s dark enough back here? Maybe we could park in the alley.”

She scooted out, ignoring his smart mouth and pulling her hobo bag behind her. They walked toward the front door.

“Why are you parking in the employees’ parking lot?” he asked.

“Because I want to. And I know the owners. Their daughter and I were friends in high school. Why do you ask?”

“It’s pretty dark is all I’m saying.”

“You’re concerned for my safety?”

Before the conversation could become more confrontational, they arrived at the entrance. She had suggested
Casa Familia
for a reason. It was a popular, colorful haunt that held happy hour at this time of day. A loud crowd was always present

They stepped inside to a roar of conversation and earsplitting
Tejano
music, just what she had hoped for. The place was brightly decorated for Christmas and the crowd was larger than usual. Drake asked the hostess for a table for two, his voice almost a yell.

Inwardly, Shannon smiled.

“Right this way,” the hostess shouted. She led them to a booth at the back of the dining room a few steps from the bar’s wide entrance. They were surrounded by noise and bodies passing in and out of the bar. The din of many voices combined with the blaring music made conversation impossible.

“Do you have a quieter spot?” Drake asked the hostess in an elevated voice.

“Nossir,” she yelled back. “Somebody just left or we wouldn’t even have this.”

Shannon looked over the crowd, still smiling inside. Though she couldn’t see Drake’s face, she heard him grunt. He probably never got this kind of treatment in a restaurant.
Serves him right,
she thought.

“This is fine,” Shannon told the hostess, who was obviously eager to escape them.

Shannon shrugged out of her coat and claimed the side of the booth that would allow her to

watch the front entrance. She hardly ever came here that she didn’t run into mutual acquaintances. She wanted to know who might see her and call her tomorrow asking about her escort. Who knew? Someone might even recognize Drake.

Drake, too, shed his coat and cap and scooted into the booth. He ran a hand through his perfectly-layered hair, but it still looked mussed and sexy, just like that night at the Worthington. Shannon cautioned herself again about letting her focus be diverted and looked over the crowd for the cocktail waitress. A strong shot of alcohol was what she needed to settle her nerves.