The Tycoon Meets His Match (16 page)

He looked up, tilting his head as he studied her. “Really? And here I thought that always annoyed you.”

Flushing to the roots of her hair, she wished he wouldn’t stare at her so intently. “Back then, everything about you annoyed me.”

“And now?”

“You’re not so bad now that I got to know you, okay?”

“Okay.” He gave a half grin, as if recognizing how much the confession had cost her. In truth, “not so bad” didn’t begin to express her opinion. Nor explain the sudden yearning welling up in her chest.

Stop it!
she told herself. This was supposed to be a safe topic. How had it strayed onto such perilous ground?

Not that Rhys seemed aware of any danger. “But enough about me,” he said, pushing his plate to the side and leaning forward. “It’s your turn. Let’s analyze
your
good and bad points to death.”

“I’m not the one getting married.”

“Fine, we’ll start with that, then. Let’s figure out why you’re so dead set against marriage.”

“I’m not.” She meant to sound flippant but it came out sounding defensive instead. Knowing better than to look at him, she pushed her fries around her plate. “I happen to find it a perfectly admirable institution. Provided people enter into it for the right reasons.”

“Meaning, there has to be love.”

“No!” she protested without thinking. She couldn’t think straight, not with him staring her in the face. “I mean, sometimes love makes you too crazy. You don’t think right, you act like an idiot. You’re so busy convincing yourself you’re in heaven, you totally overlook the possible hell.”

“Jeez, Trae, never knew you were such a romantic.”

Stabbing a fry with her fork, she held it up, waving it as she stressed her point. “Go ahead, laugh, but deep down, you know I’m right. How many times have you seen it happen? Love strikes—or, more accurately, lust strikes—and just like that, life’s a mess. Two otherwise intelligent adults get the hots for each other, and every sane, rational thought goes out of their heads.” She paused, painfully aware of how she could put herself into that category.

Setting the fork back down on her plate, she tried an example. “Look at my mom. She wanted to be a dancer, dreamed of seeing the world. But then she meets my father at a high school dance, and all of a sudden she can’t think of anything else. Married at seventeen, with two kids by twenty and one on the way. Her bright, shining future narrowed down to a brownstone in Brooklyn, filled to the brim with children whose needs will always supercede her own.”

“But they’re still happily married, right?”

How could he so stubbornly miss the point? “I won’t end up like her, Rhys. And I sure as hell won’t become another Joanna.”

He frowned. “Despite popular belief, not all men are pigs, you know.”

“I know that. But when those hormones start buzzing, everything gets hopelessly messed up.”

She looked out the window, sipping her beer, trying to hide the sudden color in her cheeks. All too vividly, she remembered the quagmire of sensation when lust had flared between them last night. Maybe that was because it was still flaring on her part.

And maybe his, too. He certainly seemed in a hurry to make his own protest. “In case you’re interested, hormones didn’t dictate my reasons for getting married. Lucie and I based our decision purely on compatibility, our shared vision for the future.”

“Wow, that sure sounds hot. I bet poor old Lucie goes all quivery inside at the mere mention of your honeymoon. Tell me, Paxton, have you ever given her more than that quick, brotherly peck on the cheek?”

“You’re contradicting yourself,” he said impatiently. “In one breath you tell me that marriage can’t be based on lust, and in the next you’re nailing me for not being horny enough. Make up your mind, Trae. You can’t have it both ways.”

“Yeah, well, neither can you. How can you expect to make Lucie happy if you treat her like a little sister? A girl needs more than an occasional arm draped on her shoulder, or a quick squeeze of the hand. When was the last time you backed her up against the wall and kissed her until her knees went weak?”

She regretted the outburst the instant it left her mouth. She imagined they were both only too aware of how her knees had buckled last night.

“Okay,” he said with an edge to his tone. “When we find Lucie, I swear I’ll sweep her off her feet and declare my undying devotion. Will that make you happy?”

“Yes,” she said emphatically, but, mesmerized by his gaze, she realized the prospect didn’t please her at all. For the first time in their friendship, she found herself envying Lucie.

And resenting her friend for taking Rhys for granted.

Watching Trae’s expressive face, Rhys knew she was right. Lucie did deserve passion from the man she married, but over the years, he’d fallen into the habit of acting more like her older brother, and in truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed her.

Fine, he’d take care of it. The instant they found her, he’d knock her little designer socks off. He knew damned well how to effectively kiss a woman. Forgive him for boasting, but he’d pretty much proved that to everyone’s satisfaction last night.

Against his better judgment, his gaze went to Trae’s lips. As if aware of his thoughts, she looked down, blushing profusely.

Case closed.

Or was it? Yes, he’d given her a good kiss, a great kiss, but if he stopped to think about it, what had he accomplished besides proving her theory? Guess who had let lust get the best of him? Talk about acting crazy.

And here he was, unable to take his gaze from her, waiting for any opportunity to go crazy again.

He felt a sudden need to get out of there, put distance between them.

“It’s been a while,” he said abruptly, gesturing out the window as he rose to his feet. “I think I’ll go out and ask Jerry what’s holding things up.”

“Jerry?” She looked up, startled.

“The mechanic,” he explained. “That’s what it said on his shirt. You’ll be okay here while I go try to move things along?”

“Yeah, sure—” she made a shooing motion with her hands “—take your time.”

She seemed anxious for him to go, which, irrationally, annoyed him. What did he hope, that she’d make a grab for him, cling to him, make it impossible for him to leave?

Yes, that was exactly what he wanted, he realized as he strode to the door. She’d been smart not to comply. Even now, his blood was pulsing double-time. Had he stayed with her, had he gazed one minute more into her deep, emerald eyes…

For an instant, he let himself imagine the possibilities. Touching Trae, holding her, tasting her—would that be so great a crime? Lucie had run out on
him,
after all, and it wasn’t as if she’d made any attempt to make amends.

But do you love her?

Realizing that he could no longer determine which one was the “her” in that question, he shook his head and shoved through the door. Only one thing was clear. Love—no, make that lust—really did screw up everything.

If he couldn’t trust himself in a bar, with people around them, he had better avoid her. Maybe he’d just take his time, chatting with Jerry.

She certainly hoped so. Out on the road, one or the other of them was always too busy driving. But here, well, who knew what would happen….

Funny, how weird it seemed without Rhys there. You’d think she’d breathe easier with him gone, but she kept glancing out the window, hoping he’d return. How could she feel so lonely already?

Then again, maybe she just felt alone. With the young couple leaving and a group of truckers coming in, the atmosphere in the bar had shifted noticeably. Armed with beers, the newcomers had taken the stools at the bar, calling out jovially to the man who’d been drinking alone in the corner. “Yo, Clay, you buying again tonight?”

Picking up his bottle of tequila, the man they’d called Clay wove toward the bar, listing seriously to the left. She couldn’t help but notice how little was left in the bottle. “Sure, why not,” he slurred in a slow, Texas drawl.

She realized she was staring, and worse, Clay was staring back. She smiled faintly, half in apology and half as a polite, impersonal greeting, but his answering wink glittered with lascivious intent.

Trae was no stranger to horny lotharios, but this one was huge, and he’d had far too much to drink. Sitting unsteadily, Clay saluted her with a tug on the brim of his Stetson. He elbowed the trucker next to him and they both began to laugh.

Aware of their continued scrutiny, Trae shifted uncomfortably on the bench as she repeatedly consulted her watch, then the window. Where was Rhys, anyway? How much longer could she sit here with that cowboy watching her every move?

She decided this was as good a time as any to pay a visit to the restroom.

She picked up her backpack and followed Max’s directions to a narrow, dimly lit hallway, littered with discarded furniture. Turning sideways to squeeze past a broken table, she found two doors, one predictably labeled Gals and the other Gents.

After washing her hands, she dug into the backpack for a comb. While she was at it, she might as well brush her teeth, check her makeup, file the chipped nail. Essential tasks, she tried to tell herself, but deep down she knew she was hiding.

Eventually, she ran out of things to do and could stall no more. Crossing her fingers that Rhys would have returned by now, she ventured into the hallway.

“Hey there, pretty lady.”

Leaning against the wall as if it propped him up, Clay seemed to fill the narrow, dingy space. He’d spilled tequila on his jeans, she noticed. And she didn’t even want to guess the source of the stain on his blue striped shirt.

Peeling himself off the wall, he teetered toward her, his unfocused leer all the more threatening in the confined area. Huge? The man was monstrous, and he was coming her way.

“Been watching you all night, sugar. You’re one hot little mama.”

Hot little mama?
“No, I’m not,” Trae said firmly, stepping forward. “What I am, actually, is tired. Beat. And in absolutely no mood for this. So please, do us both a favor and move out of my way.”

Planting his feet firmly, looming larger and a good deal steadier than he’d seemed earlier, Clay shook his head. “C’mon, you know you want it,” he said with another leer. “You want it bad.”

“Not that bad.” Trae tried to push past him, but she might as well have tried to move the wall.

“That guy you’re with,” he wheezed, leaning closer. “Ain’t never gonna get it up for you, sugar. You’re wasting your time on him.”

Had she been that transparent? Embarrassed, and annoyed at Clay for catching her in an unguarded moment, she pushed harder.

And bounced back like a ping-pong ball, which seemed to amuse him further. “Now, now, where ya going in such a hurry? Stay here with good ole Clay and let him show you how a real man appreciates a woman.”

She was supposed to trust a guy who spoke of himself in the third person?

Thanks to her older brothers, Trae generally knew how to handle lecherous drunks, but as they’d so often cautioned, some jerks never listen to reason. When you run up against one of those, they insisted, your first best option is to run away.

Excellent advice, except she was in a dead-end hallway with Clay blocking the exit. Glancing quickly behind her, seeing the door to the ladies room, Trae decided to duck inside and pray for the lock to hold.

Unfortunately, Clay noticed her backward glance. Clamping down on her wrist, he held her in place. “Whoa, sugar. Where ya think you’re going?”

Second course of action, she remembered, was to kick and scratch and bite, but Clay must have read the same manual as her brothers. Before she could act, he spun her around and clasped her in a viselike grip against his chest.

Heart pounding, she tried to remember her self-defense classes. What had the instructor said to do in this situation? Right, stomp down on the perp’s foot.

Stomp hard.

But again, Clay proved remarkably agile. Not to mention one step ahead. Lifting her off the ground before her heel could do much damage, he brought his face close to hers for a sloppy kiss. “Relax,” he hissed in her ear. “We ain’t near to finished yet.”

“I beg to differ,” said a deep voice behind her. “This is where a wise man knows to cut his losses and run.”

The words got him little more than a bark of derision, but Rhys hadn’t expected the man to respond with anything close to reason. According to Max, this guy had been drinking all day, and even at the best of times, was not what you’d call a rational fellow. The main objective, Rhys decided, was to divert the drunk’s attention from Trae, and to himself. And, with any luck, get them all out of this hurdle-strewn hallway before the punches started.

“You should know…” Rhys went on in the same even tone “…I’m well trained in three different disciplines—boxing, wrestling and martial arts.”

“Well, ain’t you a regular James Bond. Go away, fancy man, or I’ll knock you three ways from Sunday.”

“You could try. But here’s the thing. If I’m not back at the bar in three minutes, Max plans to call the state marshals. And from what he tells me, you don’t want to be talking with those people again.”

As hoped, this got Clay to relax his grip. Seizing the opportunity, Trae pushed away, catching her captor off balance, sending them both staggering backward. Since there wasn’t a lot of wiggle room behind him, Clay crashed into the wall with a loud, reverberating thud.

His cowboy hat went flying, revealing a shiny, prematurely balding head.

Surprised, he bounced back off the wall to grab his quarry. Twisting and turning, Trae squirmed to get free, but Clay maintained a death grip on her arm. Intent on reeling her back in, he never noticed Rhys easing closer. He did, however, notice the quick right jab to his chin.

Howling, Clay let go of Trae to cover his lower face with both hands.

Frustratingly enough, his solid bulk was planted with Trae trapped behind him. “Why’d you go and do that for?” Clay whined, eyeing Rhys with a perplexed expression.

“I warned you to release the lady.”

“That ain’t no lady.” Clay glared at Trae. “She’s a cold, nasty bi—”

Rhys stopped him with a solid punch to the gut. Dropping his hands to his midsection, Clay doubled over. Trae picked up her backpack and raised it over her shoulder.

Rhys shook his head in warning. The last thing he wanted was Clay turning on her while she was still on the other side of him. “What’s the matter, Clay?” he taunted. He had to keep the man coming at him, toward the open barroom where no one would be impaled on broken furniture. “Can’t handle a little jab in the belly?”

Growling, Clay charged, an oversized fullback lowering his shoulder. With no room to maneuver, Rhys had to take the full brunt of his attack. Reeling backward, he crashed into the table. It broke apart beneath him, sending him toppling to the floor.

Staring up at the brute towering over him, Rhys mentally assessed the damage. No broken bones, though he’d hurt like hell in the morning. The most serious bruise, he figured, had to be to his ego.

Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled backward again, his goal still the open barroom. Clay followed, victory gleaming in his eyes. In his smugness, he failed to notice Trae swinging her backpack behind him.

Not until she caught Clay on the top of his shiny head.

Rhys braced himself. Not one to be publicly humiliated by a female, Clay grabbed a broken table leg and spun to face Trae. Backing away slowly, her face pale with fright, she seemed painfully aware that she was no match for the beast now looming over her.

Not waiting to see what Clay might do next, Rhys charged.

Hitting the man was like banging into the proverbial brick wall. No more seeing red; all Rhys could see now were stars. Staggering, he shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision.

“Rhys,” Trae screamed. “Watch out!”

Ducking instinctively, he took a glancing blow above his right eye. Not much impact, but it broke the skin, causing it to bleed profusely. Blinking away the dripping blood, he jabbed upward with his left and caught Clay under the cheek. This sent the drunk stumbling over a chair and banging into the wall.

Reaching out, Rhys seized Trae’s arm and pulled her to him. By the time Clay could recover enough to focus, Rhys had her safely behind him.

“Why, you little…” Clay snarled as he came at Rhys, murder in his eyes. “I’ll show you what’s what.”

Rhys merely smiled, his fists poised and ready, his legs planted firmly. “You’re welcome to try.”

Before either man could land a punch, a gruff voice called out from the doorway.

“That’s enough, fellas,” boomed Max. “I suggest you both move it along if you don’t want any trouble. The law is on the way.”

The words had more power to stop the drunk than any punch Rhys could have landed. With a look of abject horror, Clay stopped in his tracks. “What’d you go and do that for, Max? You know they’re gonna lock me up this time.”

“Can’t have you busting up the place, Clay. Bad for business.”

Muttering curses, Clay pushed past them in his haste to get out of the bar. Rhys turned instantly to Trae. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Her low, raspy tone belied the assurance. “I’m more worried about your eye.”

“It’s just a simple cut.” Rhys reached up to his forehead, applying pressure to the wound to stop it from bleeding. “You should see the other guy.”

“It’s no joking matter. You could have been badly hurt.”

“So could you. Sorry, Trae, I don’t know what I could have been thinking, leaving you alone in a place like this.”

He expected her to argue, to protest that she was a big girl and could take care of herself, but the incident with Clay must have shaken her considerably. Laying her head against his chest, she let him wrap his arms around her. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “But there you were when I needed you most.”

His chest tightened, as did his grasp. Trae “I-can-take-care-of-myself” Andrelini had just said she needed him, a prospect that both soothed and exhilarated him. It felt right, somehow, as if it were always meant to be. Breathing in the sweet scent of her, he lost himself in the moment.

Until Max spoke out behind them. “Sorry about that, folks. Clay gets carried away sometimes.”

They broke apart, like kids caught making out in the basement. “What’s with that guy?” Rhys asked, trying to sound normal, while inside he felt shaken to the core.

Max looked over his shoulder, as if half expecting Clay to be eavesdropping. “Let’s just say things haven’t been going so well for him lately. Second time this week he went on the prowl. Been having troubles with the little woman at home.”

“Go figure,” Trae said quietly beside him.

“Yeah, well, he’ll sleep it off and not remember half of it in the morning. Though he’ll probably be taking his nap in the county lockup.”

“So you did call the police?”

“Hell, yeah. Business comes first. Speaking of which, you folks about ready to settle up?”

More than ready, Rhys thought. With all that had happened, he couldn’t get out of the bar fast enough.

Insisting on carrying the backpack after they’d paid their bill, Rhys led Trae outside, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. Once outside, he noticed with relief that the big red truck no longer sat under the Fill-Er-Up sign.

Looking up, he spotted the tow truck on the highway, their rental car attached to the back of it, making a hard right turn into the truck stop.

“Finally,” Trae said, echoing his relief aloud.

“I suggest we go over to the garage and light another fire under Jerry. Apparently, that’s the only way things get done around here.”

“While we’re there, let’s see if he’s got a first-aid kit.” She reached up to gently brush the hair off his forehead. “If we don’t do something to stop the bleeding, this ‘simple cut’ is liable to drain you dry.”

Hers was a simple gesture, one of caring and concern, but that didn’t stop the hot flash of desire. Gazing down at her, aware of how she continued to tremble, he marveled at how Trae needed him now. Far more than Lucie. All this time, not one cry for help from his fiancée, while here stood Trae, shaking like a leaf, trying to reassure him with false bravado. Overwhelmed by emotion, he reached out to shelter her in his arms.

“No,” she said suddenly, taking a step backward.

At the same time, a loud siren pierced his eardrums. Following where she pointed, seeing the flashing lights of the approaching police car, he realized Trae hadn’t been rejecting his gesture but rather reacting to the situation unfolding before them.

As the troopers wailed into the truck stop, a battered green pickup wove toward the same exit. Rhys didn’t need to see Clay’s angry face through the windshield to know it was the drunk. The zigzag pattern told it all.

Though there was sufficient space for the pickup and the police car to pass without incident, Jerry, who’d stopped under the sign, chose that moment to release the rental from its moorings.

The emergency brake isn’t up, Rhys thought in alarm, even as the rental car began to bounce into the path of the approaching squad car. Though the police swerved at the very last minute, Clay delayed his reaction by too wide a margin. Ramming into the car with a resounding crash, he sandwiched it between the front of his truck and the now blinking Fill-Er-Up sign.

“No,” Rhys echoed Trae’s protest aloud.

But, of course, it was already too late.