The Tycoon Meets His Match (18 page)

“She probably will.” He buttoned the shirt, his movements as clipped as his tone. “But to lie to her, on top of this…I won’t do it. I won’t start my marriage that way.”

“Of course.” Trae was proud of how calm she sounded, how matter-of-fact, when inside, she felt as if she were dying. He was determined to marry Lucie. A brief little roll in the hay wasn’t about to alter his plans.

He studied the floor, intent upon finding his shoes. “Don’t worry,” he told her as he picked them up and slipped them onto his feet. “I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll explain it in a way that Lucie won’t blame you.”

“And how do you expect to pull that off?” Not liking how shrewish she sounded, she lowered her tone. “In her place, I’d never forgive me. If you were mine, I’d tear out the throat of any woman who came near you.”

He glanced up from tying his shoes, giving her a funny look. Trae waited for him to state the obvious. That he wasn’t hers, not by a long shot.

“Yeah, I bet you would,” he said instead as he rose to his feet. “But let’s face it, you’re not Lucie.”

That felt worse, so much worse. “Right,” she said stiffly. “Lucie’s the kind of girl a guy marries. Me, I’m just a party animal. A let’s-have-fun-and-not-bother-with-any-commitments kind of gal.” After a moment, she added, “A mistake.”

“C’mon, Trae, that’s not…”

“No, it’s true. Every word of it. Which makes my behavior tonight doubly reprehensible.” Biting her lip, she clutched the bedspread to her chest. “A quick, impulsive biological urge and ten years of friendship go out the window.”

“Biological urge?”

She waved a hand in the air. “You know what I mean. And so will Lucie. She’ll know, Rhys, no matter how you try to sugarcoat it. And I don’t see how she’ll ever be able to get past it.”

“Biological urge?” he repeated, towering over her. “Is that what just happened between us?”

All at once, she got angry. “You tell me. You see us going anywhere with this?”

“How can it? I’m getting married.”

The words shouldn’t have hurt—she knew they were coming—but it was all she could do not to flinch as he flung them at her face.

“Then I rest my case,” she told him, hoping to sound flippant but tending more toward petulance instead.

An uneasy silence filled the room. They faced each other, suddenly strangers, the stark, brutal truth driving a wedge between them. He belonged to Lucie, and that, folks, would always be that.

“As you said, it’s late,” she blurted out, unable to bear the strain a second longer. “We’ve got a lot to deal with in the morning so maybe it’s best that we both get to sleep.”

“Trae, I never meant…”

She waved her hand to stop him from saying more. The last thing she wanted was his version of her own usual exit line. None of those poor guys in her past had cared what her true intentions were, she now realized. All they’d known, all she now knew, was that it hurt like hell when you weren’t the one leaving.

“Good night, Rhys. It’s been a blast, really, but I’m about to drop from exhaustion.”

He raised a hand as if to reach for her, but just as quickly lowered it. He had to agree, didn’t he, that there was no sense in pursuing this? That nothing he could say or do now could ever make anything better?

But he was Rhys Paxton. And a Paxton would go to his grave trying.

“Good night, Trae,” he said gruffly as he headed for the door. “I’m sure things will seem less…complicated in the morning.”

Lame, Paxton,
she wanted to shout at him, but how could she trust her voice?

Instead, she let him go, listening for the click of the lock before facing the awful emptiness he’d left behind.

Emotionally drained, she sat on the edge of the bed, marveling that she’d managed to remain upright this long. Was it true, what she’d told him? Had making love to Rhys been merely a biological urge that she could easily forget and move on from?

Without Rhys there, getting in her face and disturbing her equilibrium, she should be able to think straight. She should be able to get back to her own love-’em-and-leave-’em self, the Trae Andrelini she’d been before she’d ever met him.

Trouble was, she could still feel the rasp of his beard on her cheek. Bringing her hands to her face, she traced her fingers up her chin to her mouth. His scent lingered, haunting her with the memory of all they had done.

Lord help her, she was in trouble.

Forcing her hands to her sides, she marched to the window. She knew it was sad, pathetic really, but she had to catch one last glimpse of Rhys before he vanished into his room.

She found him standing in front of his door, staring at his key, the flickering light from the Fill-Er-Up sign lending a surreal note to his hesitation. Watching him, Trae felt a spurt of hope. Was he, too, regretting the words they’d exchanged, wishing for the chance to do it all over?

“Come back to me,” she heard herself whisper, knowing it would be oh-so-wrong, yet praying he’d do it, anyway.

As if he heard, he turned to glance at her window. She ducked back out of sight, not wanting to be caught mooning after him. From a safe distance, she watched him look first at his door, then hers. Everything seemed to stop—even Trae’s breathing—as he cupped the key in his hand and headed in her direction.

She had thirty glorious seconds of hope, but at the last moment, he veered to the right, striding with a visible sense of purpose into Irv’s office. Through the big window, she watched him hand over the key, then march in the same determined manner toward the huge trucks parked in the distance.

He’s leaving, she thought in a daze. And chances were good that she’d never see him again.

All in all, it was a hell of a time to discover she loved him.

He winced, but not from the pain in his forehead. One of the hardest things he’d ever done was walking out of that room and leaving her behind. But, really, what choice did he have? Lucie was waiting for him to come rescue her.

At first, he’d been angry at Trae for not telling him sooner, but deep down, in that place where he could still be honest with himself, Rhys doubted the knowledge would have made much difference. Could anything have given him the good sense, much less the strength of will, to keep from tumbling into bed with Trae?

Even now, he burned with an overwhelming need to go back to her.

Which was crazy, he told himself, pointedly turning away from her door. Not to mention irresponsible. Lucie was his future, part of his Grand Plan. You didn’t throw away nearly twenty years of dedication to someone because of some…some
biological urge.

All at once, he felt empty inside. Had he been so wrong, thinking that what they’d shared was something special? Something less lust and more…

It didn’t matter, he told himself firmly. All that should concern him was the fact that Lucie still needed him. The honorable thing, the
only
thing to do was to get to New Orleans as soon as humanly possible. He had to find transportation out of here, and Max should know the best way to arrange it.

Determinedly turning away from Trae’s door, he squared his shoulders and marched to the bar.

She blinked, trying to focus. It was still dark outside; it couldn’t be more than an hour since she’d fallen asleep. Was she dreaming? Or could that really be Rhys, calling her name?

She tumbled out of the bed, wrapping the sheet around her as she crossed the room. Sucking in a breath to steady herself, she opened the door.

Rhys stood before her, six full feet of walking, talking impatience in a black leather jacket. Behind him, idling loudly and just as impatiently, stood a huge, vintage Harley.

“What’s going on?” she asked, clutching the sheet tighter as she gaped at the motorcycle. “I thought you’d left.”

He grimaced. “I couldn’t. We have an agreement, remember? We stick together until we find Lucie. Now get dressed before I change my mind. You’ve got five minutes.”

He eyed the sheet, but quickly looked away, shaking his head. “Here,” he said, thrusting a second leather jacket in her hands. “Compliments of Max. He says you’ll be glad to have it out there on the road.”

Trae could already feel the predawn chill on her bare shoulders; she imagined it would be twice as cold on the bike. “Thanks,” she said in a daze, hugging the jacket. She remembered the bartender telling them that the truck stop had once been a biker hangout. “That from Max, too?” she added, pointing at the Harley.

Rhys nodded. “Used to be Clay’s, though. Max got it from him to pay off his bar bill. And all the broken furniture.”

“He must have run up quite a tab. I remember Max said it was Clay’s second incident this week.”

“Funny thing about that. Turns out Clay was pestering a cute little blonde while her boyfriend was passed out in the back of his truck. From the description, sounds like he must have gone after Lucie, as well.”

She’d been calling from
this
truck stop? No wonder she’d sounded so frightened.

“All things considered,” Rhys went on, “Max figured it was only fitting that Clay should help us out. However indirectly.”

Never having ridden on a motorcycle before, she felt suddenly uneasy about the prospect. “That bike looks awful big, Paxton. You sure you know how to drive it?”

“You think I’d risk our lives? Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

She did trust him. Enough to get on that monster behind him and drive off to whatever further mishaps might come their way.

“Get moving,” Rhys pronounced, giving her no time to reconsider her impulsive decision. “As I said, five minutes.”

He got on the bike, straddling it to wait the obligatory five minutes. Seeing that she hadn’t yet moved, he pointed at his wrist, then cursed as he no doubt remembered he no longer had a watch.

It was enough to get her moving, though. Shutting the door behind her, she raced around the room, gathering her belongings.
He didn’t leave,
her mind kept chanting. Only a fool would read too much into it, she knew, but even so, she couldn’t help but be elated. She felt like she’d just been given a reprieve.

Outside the door, the Harley gave a sudden roar, both bike and driver displaying their eagerness to get out on the road. Stuffing things into the backpack, she told herself she could straighten everything out later. Right now, she couldn’t take the chance that Rhys would leave her behind.

Heart racing, she was out the door in under the allotted five minutes. Not that Rhys acknowledged this or complimented her for the effort. “Put this on,” he growled, thrusting a helmet into her hands. He’d already donned his own helmet, shiny black with a tinted visor. He seemed mysterious, dangerous, now that she couldn’t see his features.

“What did you say?” she asked, putting a hand to her ear. She’d heard him fine, but before she got on that monster of a bike with him, she needed to see his face.

As she’d hoped, he flipped up the visor. “You need to wear a helmet,” he repeated slowly, as though conversing with the village idiot.

Oddly enough, his irritation reassured her. Smiling sweetly, she took the helmet from his hands. “Gotta say, this is certainly a new wrinkle. You’ve taken this road trip thing to a new level, Paxton. Talk about born to be wild.”

“That was my brother. Jack used to race motorcycles before he blew out his shoulder, but my bike was solely for transportation. We used to drive all over the place together when he came to visit in the summers.”

She liked the way his voice softened when he mentioned his brother. But then it did the same thing whenever Lucie’s name entered the conversation. Lucie and Jack, the two people he loved most in the world.

A timely reminder, she thought grimly, slipping the helmet onto her head.

“Give me the backpack.” Taking it from her, Rhys stowed it under the seat behind him. As he did, Trae did a mental inventory to make sure she’d left nothing behind. “Your clothes,” she said suddenly, turning back to look at Jerry’s garage. “They’re still in the plastic bag in the rental.”

He, too, glanced back at Jerry’s. “Forget it. I never liked that suit, anyway.”

Trae could only hope that Lucie felt the same about her jeans.

“Hop on, Trae. Time to hit the road.”

She didn’t actually gulp, but her throat tightened as she faced the immediate reality of being so up close and personal on the bike. She’d have to touch Rhys, lean against him, wrap her arms around his waist.

“What are you waiting for? Times a’ wasting. We’ve got to leave right now if we hope to catch up to Lucie.”

That helps,
Trae thought as she slid onto the seat behind him. As long as she stayed focused on her friend, on getting to Lucie and making amends, Trae should be able to get through the uncomfortable hours ahead.

To stay on the safe side, she gripped the backrest rather than Rhys’s waist, doing her best to avoid unnecessary contact with the man. But when he roared out of the truck stop, kicking up gravel in their wake, she had to cling to him for dear life.

They went a mile before she caught her first decent breath, and it was a good ten more before her breathing returned to anything near normal. As she settled into the motion, growing accustomed to the vibrating power beneath her, she found a certain exhilaration in riding with Rhys on the bike. Chalk it up to one more adventure for the record books.

Unlike in the car, they couldn’t talk as they rode, not with the engine roaring and the wind whipping past. For once Trae didn’t mind the lack of conversation. What could they possibly say to each other, anyway? No sense rehashing what they’d said and done last night.

Instead, knowing the unlikelihood that she’d ever experience this again, she reveled in the sensation of leaning against Rhys, feeling the warm, solid strength of him with her arms around his waist. Breathing in his scent—did the man always have to smell so terrific?—she realized that this was how it could have been if Lucie weren’t between them.

A stolen moment, that was all she had, but who would it hurt if she made the most of it? Truth be told, it was sheer heaven.