The Tycoon Meets His Match (6 page)

Contrary to what Trae implied, he
did
care about Lucie. How could Trae call it a loveless marriage? She’d made it sound like another business acquisition. Granted, maybe their relationship didn’t have all the sizzle of a paperback romance, but he’d been looking out for her for years and couldn’t imagine ever doing otherwise. Everyone knew Lucie couldn’t ask for a more dependable or more devoted husband.

Yet…

The instant he’d touched Trae’s soft, warm skin, something shifted in chest. Holding her hand in his, staring into her deep, emerald eyes, his sense of obligation moved ever so slightly away from Lucie and onto…

He shook his head. He owed Trae nothing more than his promise that she’d get to speak to Lucie first. So why, then, did he suddenly feel guilty about leaving her scrunched up in economy while he luxuriated in first?

This wasn’t about anyone’s comfort—he was here to find Lucie. And if he expected to do so, he had to concentrate on what lay ahead. The wise man—the winning man—always came prepared.

He’d arranged the rental car, convinced Trae—albeit reluctantly—to lead him to Lucie and had two seats reserved for the red-eye to JFK this evening. As long as the Worldways baggage handlers didn’t go out on their threatened strike, he and Lucie would be home and back to business as usual by early tomorrow morning.

Smiling, he sat back in his seat. The ball was in his court again, just where he liked it.

Clearly poetic justice. Yes, Rhys might find it hard to survive without the abundance of suits and ties, but he had no right to complain about his laptop and PDA when he’d promised Lucie he wouldn’t bring them. So much for his new bride being his first priority.

Luckily, Trae was good with directions, and once he’d stopped snapping at her long enough to listen, she had them speeding up the 405 to the Santa Monica Freeway. Looking out the window at the palm trees, she sighed. Nothing like a summer afternoon in Southern California. All that was missing was the Beach Boys wailing on the radio.

They followed Beau’s directions up into the hills, pulling to a stop in front of an ultramodern collection of stucco and glass. Trae had to admit Beau was right. This time, Bobby had found himself a mega-wealthy benefactor to glom on to. Taking the long walk up to the mammoth double oak doors, she felt like poor Dorothy approaching the Great and Powerful Oz.

No fearsome wizard greeted them, though, just a young and very inebriated blonde in a skimpy yellow bikini. Giggling when they asked for Bobby, the girl shook her head. He wasn’t there, she informed them, but they were more than welcome to join the party.

They heard someone shout, “Yo, Gigi,” from out back, and with a squeal, the girl dashed off, a telltale splash sounding moments later.

Staring at the door she’d left open behind her, Rhys shook his head.

“Let’s go.” Trae stepped forward, only to realize Rhys was heading back to the car. “No, I mean, let’s go join them.”

“For crying out loud, do you ever think of anything
but
partying?”

Annoyed, she faced him with hands planted on her hips. “And do you ever look past the tip of your holier-than-thou nose?”

“I don’t think…”

Trae was not about to be derailed. “For your information, I’m in no mood for partying, either, but a little mingling won’t hurt us. Want to bet somebody in there knows where Bobby went, and whether or not he went there with Lucie?”

He frowned at the house, as if pained by the prospect of entering it.

“Well, if you’ve got anything better to try, you’re welcome to get to it,” she told him. “Me, I’m going inside to find Lucie.”

Inside, however, he suffered his first misgivings. Skillful negotiation required finding a common ground, but how was he going to find anything in common with these nouveau riche Hollywood types? From the ornate crystal in the huge chandelier, to the miles of polished chrome and glistening black marble, the house made a statement about its owner.
I just made a ton of money,
it all but screamed,
and I don’t know what to do with it.

And then there was…the backyard. Wrought-iron fences enclosed the tennis and basketball courts, their packed clay surfaces so perfect, they were either newly laid or rarely used. Surrounded by shrubbery, stone and splashing waterfalls, the pool looked like something out of a Tarzan movie, and the top-of-the-line outdoor kitchen was equally ostentatious. Any hope Rhys might have had of connecting with the owner disappeared once he saw the ten-foot naked statue of Adonis plopped in the middle of the lawn, with a dozen stone maidens gazing up at him adoringly.

In keeping with the theme, most of the guests were female, the average age being twenty. Barely clad, drinking Cristal Champagne from the bottle, they’d be at home at any party at the Playboy mansion.

Rhys made the rounds anyway, trying to strike up a productive conversation, feeling out of place in his sedate dark-gray suit. The women—no, girls—giggled at his questions, and the males stopped him before he could complete a sentence. They were here to “chill, man,” not to talk business.

The more Rhys tried to picture Lucie in this place, the more he hoped she hadn’t come here in the first place. If he felt out of his element, he could just imagine how lost she’d be among these champagne-guzzling groupies.

Trae, on the other hand, seemed quite at home. She had a crowd gathered around her, he noticed resentfully, all listening avidly as she made broad, sweeping gestures with her hands.

As the group erupted into laughter, he remembered Lucie telling him why she liked her former roommate so much. Trae was just plain fun, she’d said. Not in a who-cares-about-tomorrow way, but more as an everything-now-feels-better way. When Trae smiled, it was like the sun coming out after a long hibernation. Her laughter called to you, and you knew it was time to go outside and play.

Watching Trae charm her audience, he had to admit she had a certain Pied Piper ability. She sure seemed to be leading that horny young surfer by the nose. Was she joking? The kid had to be young enough to be…well, her younger brother.

Rhys wondered if she noticed the lust in the boy’s eyes as he handed her a glass of champagne. Apparently not, for the next thing Rhys knew, Trae was tugging his hand, leading him out to a makeshift dance floor. The kid was pathetic, but Trae swayed with the sinuous grace of a serpent led by the snake charmer’s flute. Holding her glass with one hand, resting the other on her hip as she undulated in perfect harmony to the Latin beat, she had her poor partner mesmerized.

Rhys as well, apparently. Realizing that he was gaping, he snapped out of his trance and stepped up to her. “That’s enough,” he said, taking the glass from her hand and dumping its contents on the ground.

“Someone sure woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.” Still dancing, she leaned closer to the kid. “I think he might need a nap, Josh. He’s getting kinda cranky.”

“Forget him, Red. You keep dancing and I’ll get you another glass.”

Watching Josh scramble off, Rhys couldn’t contain his irritation. “I thought the object was to find Lucie. Not get wasted.”

“I had one glass. Maybe it’s no big deal to you, but sipping Cristal Champagne happens to be a real treat for me. Know how often I get to drink that stuff on my budget?”

“And how can you resist the temptation when you have your boy toy to run and fetch it for you?”

She didn’t seem to appreciate his sarcasm. “Jealous, Paxton?”

“No, I’m fed up. Stop playing spring break, and let’s get out of here.”

“Oh, really? And who died and left you boss?”

“You’re making a scene,” he told her, conscious of the many heads turning their way. “Let’s go.”

He reached for her arm, hoping to minimize any further unpleasantness, but before Trae could acquiesce—or, more likely, argue—they heard a shout from behind.

“Back off, dude,” Josh cried out. “The lady’s with me.”

Coming up from behind, he shoved Rhys as if to move him out of the way, not realizing how close to the pool he was standing. Rhys had time to register this fact, and feel the ground disappear beneath him, before he landed in the water with a loud, painful
thwack.

As he surfaced, gasping for breath, he heard a vigorous chorus of, “Banzai!” Within seconds, bodies began flying, flailing, hitting the pool like boulders from the sky.

Treading water in the resulting waves, Rhys glanced up to find Trae grinning down at him. “Sorry,” she said, not looking contrite in the least safe and dry on the deck. “Here, let me help.”

She leaned over and extended her hand. Rhys could have taken her offer of help and that would have been the end of it, but for some unknown reason, he had an inexplicable urge to give her hand a tug. He had an instant to acknowledge her stunned expression before she, too, dropped in the pool beside him with a resounding splash.

A little surprised himself by his action, Rhys reached down to pull her up, treading water for both of them. As she broke the surface, he expected her to sputter and spit out every bad name in the book, but trust Trae to remain unpredictable. “Touché,” she said, laughing as she flipped the hair off her face. “You know, Paxton, there might just be hope for you yet.”

Her eyes actually twinkle,
he thought in bemusement as he gazed down at her. Her entire face seemed to sparkle with laughter. How happy she seemed, how alive. He had a sudden strange urge to pull her closer yet.

“It’s cold,” she said suddenly, breaking away to swim to the side.

Funny, he thought as he watched Trae climb out of the pool—that was the warmest he’d felt in years.

Not that it lasted. By the time he reached the top step of the ladder, he could feel the chill in the afternoon breeze. He’d have to get out of his jacket, and he’d definitely have to lose the shoes. Second ruined pair this week, courtesy of that woman.

Trae was standing at a nearby table, holding out a towel. “Look at you.” He took the towel from her and she reached for another. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“And what do you suggest I do about it? I can’t change. As you’ll remember, my stuff is somewhere between here and Kansas.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

Her gaze went to the pool, brightening when it settled on Josh. The way the girls around him were squealing, lord only knew what the kid’s hands were doing under the water.

“Hey, Josh,” Trae snapped her fingers in his direction. “Get up here. I need your help.”

And just like that, Josh gave up playing lecher to hop out of the pool. “Hey, doll,” he said with a beaming grin as he sidled up to Trae, hormones surging, wet skin and all. “What’s up?”

“I need you to help Rhys.”

Josh’s grin died at her request.

She looked from one to the other of them. “Okay, I guess you two have had a bit of a rocky start. Let’s remedy that by starting all over. Josh Carino, I’d like you to meet Rhys Paxton. Rhys is from Connecticut. He owns and runs the Paxton Corporation. Josh is a student, Rhys. He’ll be starting out as an art major at the University of Arizona this fall.”

“Yeah, but me and my buds are all majoring in surfing this summer.”

Josh chuckled at his own joke, but Trae was not to be sidetracked. “Rhys needs something dry to wear,” she explained patiently. “C’mon, be a sport,” she coaxed when Josh showed no signs of budging. “It’s the least you can do after pushing him in.”

Rhys watched the kid struggle with indecision until the need for Trae’s approval won out. “For you, Red, only for you. Come upstairs, man, and we’ll see what we can find you.”

“You own this house?” Rhys asked, unable to believe this could be the “rich dude” they’d been looking for.

Josh made a face. “I’m in high school, man. Where would I get the money for a house like this? It’s my old man’s place.”

His old man? Even better. Finally, someone who could provide useful information. “Where is your father?” Rhys asked brusquely. “I need to talk to him.”

“What for?” Every freckle on Josh’s face paled as he vehemently shook his head. “No way, dude, I’m not giving you his number. He’ll freak if he hears I’m having a party while he’s away. I’ll get grounded for a month.”

So much for appealing to a sane, responsible adult.

“Look, I’m sorry I pushed you in.” The kid was reduced to pleading. “Forget my old man and I swear, you can have anything in my closet.”

Rhys shuddered as he considered the probable wardrobe choices. Still, Trae was right, he couldn’t go traipsing around looking like a drowned rat. “Fine, lead on,” he told Josh, sparing a backward glance at Trae as they headed toward the house.

She was grinning. “Pick out something sexy,” she called after them.

Rhys didn’t bother to grace that one with an answer.