Romancing the Tycoon Page 6
Her second glass of wine had provided a warm fuzzy feeling that accentuated the delectable flavors teasing her mouth. She couldn’t recall ever enjoying a meal more.
Then her gaze tangled with her host’s and a new kind of warmth surged through her. Watching his lips close around the loaded tines of his fork or nestle around the rim of his wine glass evoked a kind of restlessness deep inside her. She couldn’t precisely explain it. Maybe it was the wine exaggerating her perception. But simply watching him eat made her hot. More than that, it made her want to climb across the table and attack him.
Dismayed at her reaction, she fanned a tendril of hair from her face and forced her attention back to her plate. How foolish could she get? Really. She wasn’t here to become infatuated with the man. She was here, she reminded herself as she sawed off another sliver of delicious steak, to find out if he was hiding anything.
Like mob-connected activities.
Her brow crinkled as she considered what type of mob activities would take place in Texas. She imagined oil-related, or maybe drugs smuggled in across the southern border. She glanced at John once more and her first gut instinct was that he wouldn’t be involved in any such endeavors. But then she remembered the notes attached to his report and she had to look at this objectively. There was the possibility.
This was her chance to find out. To get closer than anyone else at the agency possibly could. If she discovered the truth about John Calhoun, good or bad, she would be a hero. She would either save the Winterbornes a great deal of heartache or she would pave the way for the merger, business as well as personal with no questions outstanding.
An ache echoed through her at that last thought. She shook off the silly sensation. She’d only just met the man for goodness sakes. How could she be feeling anything other than professional curiosity?
Somehow she did.
The sooner she admitted that, the better off she’d be. She had to confess, if only to herself, that the man tripped some sort of trigger for her. She was attracted to him, on a physical level. Big-time attracted. It was not a good thing, that was true, but being aware of it would prove beneficial. And if he, as she suspected, was attracted to her, that could prove beneficial as well.
She could use that attraction to learn what she needed to know. But that just didn’t feel right. Their gazes collided again, heat swelled inside her. Oh yeah, it felt right…but it wouldn’t be right. She had to remember that. Maybe she shouldn’t have any more wine while on this assignment.
Amy pushed away her plate and stared at the pristine white linen on the table beneath it. She had never been the underhanded type. What if she wasn’t capable of playing the part of spy…of undercover agent…without getting all emotionally involved?
No. She fisted her hand in the linen napkin in her lap. She would not admit defeat this soon or this easily. She could do this. She hardened her jaw and forced her gaze up and forward. If the other women of the Colby Agency could do it, so could she.
All she had to do was focus.
John’s gaze met hers and another quake of desire shuddered through her.
God, this was not going to be easy.
“Liam makes the best desserts,” he said, his tone sounding almost as tension-filled as she felt.
Liam was the man who’d served their dinner. He was older, sixty maybe, and he had scrutinized her as if he suspected her of being a silverware thief. Could he see through her that easily? Or was it just his way?
“I’m afraid I’m stuffed,” Amy insisted, uncertain she could bear another round of Liam’s scrutiny, much less more time alone with Mr. Perfect over there.
“Then how about a walk?” her handsome host offered as he pushed back from the table. “Maybe that’ll work up your appetite for coffee and dessert.”
She managed a negligible nod as he moved around the table and pulled back her chair.
But it wasn’t until he took her hand and led her outside into the moonlight that she really knew she was in serious trouble.
“I’ll bet you don’t have stars like this in Chicago,” he suggested as he peered up at the sky.
Amy started to answer, but the view took away her ability to speak as well as her breath. The black canvas of the night sky spread out endlessly before her. Stars glistened like diamonds splashed across its vast velvety surface.
Oh, yes, he would be right about that. Apparently there were a good many things down here in Texas that she didn’t have back home—would never have. Those sexy blue eyes locked with her hungry ones and awareness quivered across her heated skin like the greedy fingers of a skilled lover.
And that was precisely why she had to say good-night with no possibility of coffee or dessert.
She was far too sure that the dessert would be way more than she was prepared to accept.
Those blue eyes continued to stare directly into hers.
Way, way more.
Chapter Five
Amy lay in bed the next morning, awake well before dawn and listening for the house to grow quiet again.
She’d heard sounds downstairs while the sun still hovered just below the horizon, its fire sending orange tentacles reaching into the gray sky. She’d heard a rusty laugh and determined that the sound belonged to Liam, the man who seemed to look after the house. Amy imagined a maid would show up a couple of times per week. The place was entirely too large for one man, especially an older man, to take care of.
John’s answering laugh had drawn her into the hall outside her bedroom. The deep, generous sound of his laughter tugged at some part of her that felt starved for the sound. Reminded her all too much of last night’s moonlight walk.
She’d wanted him to kiss her. When she’d insisted on calling it a night she’d seen the want in his eyes as well. He hadn’t liked her going in, but, living up to the reputation of a Texas gentleman, he’d relented without argument.
She hugged herself and rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms, rationalizing that an early-morning chill had caused the prickled flesh. Deep down, however, she knew better. Geez, no wonder so many of the Colby agents went out on assignment and ended up married to their principal, whether client or target. Maybe it was the thread of danger surrounding an assignment. After all, if John Calhoun actually did have ties to the mob, uncovering such a connection could be hazardous to her health. So far she’d spent all her time admiring rather than investigating the man.
Slipping back into her room she decided it was time she started doing what she came here to do: investigating. By the time she had showered and pulled on the pale green slacks and striped blouse, silence spread throughout the house.
Tugging on first one sandal then the other, she made her way down the hall, thankful for the nice, flat heels. At the top of the staircase she paused to listen once more. Not a sound. She descended the stairs as quietly as possible considering there was no carpet runner, just bare oak treads. She checked the great room and entry hall, going as far as opening the front door and peeking out into the warm July morning.
Birds chirped in the fresh air and somewhere in the distance she heard what sounded like a horse galloping. She wondered if John had taken an early-morning ride. Maybe he had fences to check or some other cowboy duty.
The kitchen as well as the rest of the downstairs portion of the house proved to be vacant of human occupation. Her main concern at the moment was where Liam might be. If John was out and about on the ranch, what would his house manager be up to?
A pad on the counter with a well-used pencil lying beside it snagged Amy’s attention. Glancing left then right once more, she moved to the counter and peered at the pad. Indentions on the clean page told her that someone had used the pad to make notes. Unsure whether she would learn anything relevant she picked up the pencil and holding it parallel to the pad she rubbed the lead over the blank page. In mere seconds she had covered the page and could read the words formed by the clean indentions: Supply List. A list of canned and dried goods followed.
The home office was down the main corridor beyond the staircase. She retraced her steps, then took a moment to quiet her respiration as she stood in the middle of the spacious office. Natural light flowed in from the large windows that flanked one wall. She listened for several more seconds to make sure no one had come inside while her blood roared in her ears. She had to be calm. This was her first and best shot at proving herself to her boss. She couldn’t screw this up by making a mistake or letting her fear get the best of her.
With painstaking slowness, she methodically screened the files in each drawer, starting with the desk. Using up precious time, she opened each folder that wasn’t specifically about horses and perused the contents. The oil business she could see being a part of something sinister, but horses? Not likely. He took in the horses, using his vast property for a safe haven of sorts, no money was involved. She’d probably check later just to be sure.
The irony of that fact in contrast to what she suspected of his business dealings wasn’t lost on her. Why would a man cold-hearted enough to do business with the mob take in homeless, endangered horses?
Okay, so even criminals could have soft places in their hearts. Any soft spot would definitely have to be in his heart because every other part about him appeared to be as solid as granite. Amy shook off the shivery sensations that accompanied that thought.
Keep your mind on business, girl, she ordered.
She closed the final file cabinet drawer and moved to the computer. She wondered vaguely if others would have started with the computer. With a shrug she set to the task of scanning electronic files.
Having lost all track of time Amy was startled to see that more than an hour had passed by the time she reviewed the final file on John’s computer. She’d been in here entirely too long. As quickly as possible she exited the file, her pulse shooting into top speed.
A muffled sound from down the hall paralyzed her.
She strained to hear, her fingers frozen on the keyboard. A chill raced over the perspiration suddenly dampening her skin.
The sound came again.
Closer this time.
“Ms. Winterborne, I presume.”
Amy’s head snapped up at the sound of the deep, booming voice. Her gaze locked with a fierce blue one that spoke of decades of hard living and a whole lifetime of cunning. The piercing gaze was set in a face that, though much older, greatly resembled that of her host. Tall and broad-shouldered, he lounged in the doorway, his relaxed posture belying the sharpness in his eyes.
His father.
John Robert Calhoun, III.
J.R.
The jig was up. He’d caught her red-handed and, unlike his son, the buzz of attraction would not turn that suspicion she saw in his eyes to some other less-threatening emotion.
Amy swallowed hard and resisted the urge to jump to her feet. That would only magnify the situation, make her look even guiltier. Instead, she produced a bright smile, one she hoped like hell would at least break the ice glazing the old coot’s eyes.
“Good morning. You must be John’s father.”
He pushed off from the door frame and ambled across the room. “That’s me.” He lifted his Stetson and smoothed one broad hand over his gray-blond hair. “John put you to work for him?” he asked casually with a discreet nod toward the computer.
She made a sound, half laugh, half sigh. “Oh, no.” She glanced at the computer and shook her head. “I was just trying to figure out if I could check my e-mail from here.” She rolled her eyes and made a self-deprecating sound. “I swear I can’t go anywhere overnight without worrying that I might miss something.”
J.R. nodded. “I know what you mean. I like to stay on top of things myself.”
Renewed fear inched up her spine. He was playing it loosely but she could read the signs. She’d studied body language and recognized his continued suspicion from the way he didn’t look directly at her when he spoke now and the hands that eventually parked on his hips. He thought she was lying through her teeth.
“Do you mind?” she prodded. “I’d just sat down when you came in.”
That wise gaze narrowed. “Make yourself at home, little lady. I’m going in here to find out what Liam’s planning for brunch.”
She forced another smile. “Give me a moment and I’ll go with you,” she said, to his complete surprise. The look now claiming his face told her that he hadn’t expected that. Chalk one up for her.
While he waited patiently, discreetly glancing her way from time to time, she quickly found the Internet access and went to the home page of her personal server and opened her Web mail.
She giggled and shook her head. “Can you believe it? My friend Jenny dumped her boyfriend and got a dog.” Logging out she looked up at J. R. Calhoun. “I predict that will never last.”
He chuckled as she skirted the desk. “A good dog is a fine thing,” he offered sagely. “But it won’t keep you warm at night like the love of a good man will.”
Their gazes locked once more and she read the uncertainty in his. J.R. might be all for his son’s marriage to a stranger for the good of the company, but he still wanted only the best for his one and only son. All she had to do was look into those piercing blue depths to know that. The intensity there completely unnerved her.
“I agree,” she said when she found her voice once more. “What good is anything else if you’re not happy?”
Amy wasn’t sure what had made her say that last part. But it was true. J.R. had looked away when she said it. Looked away and hurriedly led her to the kitchen where Liam was unloading his newly purchased supplies.
Accepting a cup of coffee, Amy scooted onto a stool by the kitchen’s center island and watched the two men scurry about. Liam knew right where he wanted everything and J.R. only seemed to get in the way, but neither would give an inch. J.R. insisted on helping and Liam fought him every step of the way. Finally the two converged on preparing Saturday brunch.
“We have brunch together every Sunday,” J.R. explained, glancing over his shoulder from his position at the extra-wide commercial stove top. “But since you’re here I thought I’d drop by today as well.”
“Advance warning wouldn’t kill you,” Liam grumbled. He apparently didn’t like disruptions in his usual routine.
“What?” J.R. demanded good-naturedly. “And take all the fun out of listening to you complain? No way.”
Amy had offered to help twice but the men insisted she keep her seat. She was a guest.
“Has this always been the family home?” she asked when the sparring lulled.
J.R. nodded. “John’s mother designed the house. She was an architect and decorator. Damn good at it, too.”
That was easy to see. The floor plan of the house was flawless. A smooth flow from room to room. “The decor is perfect for the house,” she noted aloud. “Homey with just a hint of formality. I like it.”
“Yeah,” J.R. said proudly. “I reckon John inherited her ability to pull together a room.”
Amy frowned. “He did the decorating?”
“My Stella passed away a long time ago, Miss Regina, it was time the place was updated.” He looked around him, as if admiring all over again his son’s work. “His mother would be proud of what he’s done. God knows I never changed anything while I was here.”
“You don’t live here anymore?” Okay, it was a personal question she knew, but she just had to have the answer. The place was enormous. There was definitely room for one more. Though she was pretty sure no one else had come in last night. She’d lain there for hours unable to sleep, wondering about John Calhoun. And then she’d gone to sleep and dreamed about him. She banished the memory, determined not to fall into that trap again. She had to keep her head on straight today.
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br /> Another of those throaty chuckles reverberated from J.R. “Well, I decided to move out a while back. John needed his space and I needed mine,” he said in answer to her question.
Liam made a harrumphing sound. “More like you needed a bachelor lair.” He tossed a knowing look at Amy. “The man don’t go a single night ’cept Fridays and Sundays without a supper date.”
J.R. shrugged sheepishly. “A man’s gotta eat, don’t he?”
“You could eat at a restaurant,” Liam shot back.
Amy couldn’t help but laugh. The two had obviously been at this a lifetime. Her mother and father were like that. Always teasing each other, pretending to argue, when anyone who knew them recognized it for what it was—true love.
Oh, if only she could find a life partner like that.
“Well, I see you’ve met Dad.”
She swiveled abruptly, almost falling off the stool, at the sound of John’s voice in the doorway. Instantly a smile tipped her lips upward.
“I did, indeed,” she mused.
She didn’t have to explain, from the expression on his face he fully understood and then he smiled at her. She melted just a little.
“I thought for a minute it was Sunday,” he said to his father.
J.R. offered another of those nonchalant shrugs. “I didn’t have anything special to do today. Thought I’d come over and make Miss Regina’s acquaintance,” he retorted. “Besides, I didn’t know I needed an invitation.”
“You don’t.” John set his hat aside and settled on a stool next to Amy. “She prefers being called Gina, by the way.”
J.R. looked from his son to Amy. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“It’s okay, really,” she hastened to assure him. She definitely hadn’t wanted to say anything to the man. It wasn’t even her name anyway. She bounced a nervous glance between the two. Liam kept his attention on the sizzling bacon and sausage. Amy’s stomach rumbled in spite of her rising tension.
“Flat cakes or waffles?” J.R. wanted to know, changing the subject, to her immense relief.