The Millionaire's Club: Jacob, Logan and Marc

They’d both been there. Now they were back. And some things had never changed. Such as sensing when there was a problem.

“Heard from the old man lately?” Jake asked, wondering if a recent set-to with their father was at the root of Connor’s dark mood.

Connor’s grunt gave Jake his answer. Yeah, Connor had had another tangle with their father. Even though his folks had moved to Florida, James Thorne still could reach out and touch all kinds of raw nerves.

When Connor had retired from active duty, he’d made the ultimate sacrifice. He’d taken over the family engineering firm when their father retired. Jake owed his twin big-time for that. It had gotten the old man off his back.

Some would call his father’s repeated wish for Jake to take over the business the burden of the favored son. Jake called it something else—damn unfortunate.

He knew that their father’s blatant favoritism toward Jake had always made Connor feel like second banana. Oh, Connor had never said as much. He didn’t have to. Actions spoke louder than any words. Even when they were kids, Jake often had talked his way out of a sound pounding with the old man’s belt. Connor, on the rare occasion he bucked the old man, never even tried. He just took the beating. And as a result, Jake had watched Connor turn deeper into himself, bottle up his pain and anger until the dark mood would hit him.

Like tonight.

“Tell you what, brother mine,” Jake said, slinging an arm over Connor’s shoulder, knowing there were some things embedded so deep, no amount of heart-to-heart sessions would drag them out, “how about we blow this place, dive into a case of brew and the two of us get rip-roaring drunk? I haven’t tied one on in a coon’s age. You game?”

That finally made Connor smile. “Must be woman trouble.”

“Got that right,” Jake muttered as he dug into his hip pocket for his wallet, then tossed some bills onto the bar. Big-time woman trouble.

What in the hell was he going to do about Chrissie Travers? Things had gotten out of hand tonight. He’d set out to do a little seducing. Just a little good-natured fun and games.

But then he’d kissed her…and she’d come alive like a flame set to a candle.

And it hadn’t seemed so much like fun and games after that. He’d felt the subtle give of her body, the gentle swell of her breasts against his chest. It had been much more than a kiss to her. Not to him, of course. No, he thought and wiped at a bead of sweat that had pooled on his forehead. Not to him.

Now he knew what that niggling sense of catastrophe he’d been experiencing on and off all night was about. He’d screwed up. When he’d crossed the line from teasing to appreciating, from tormenting to kissing…Well, he’d changed the dynamics between Chrissie and him.

When she was a prickly little prude, he’d been as safe as a Boy Scout on a supervised campout. But when she’d transformed into a vibrant, alluring woman before his eyes, he’d ditched his Scout troop in favor of a little sweet talk and seduction. And the safety factor had flown out the proverbial window.

Words such as serious and relationship and future and other scary notions leaped to mind. He simply didn’t do those things. Not any more. Jake had gone the marriage route once and he’d gotten used, burned, battered and beaten. Ever since, fun and games had been his stock-in-trade. Just fun. Just games.

Prissy Chrissie, however, kissed as though she planned on changing the rules and the stakes. And well, that just wasn’t going to happen. Not to him. Not again.

That’s why he’d walked. Before the harm. Before the foul.

So why was he sitting here fighting the urge to walk right back to Chrissie? Get a better, longer, bigger taste of what he’d just walked away from?

He dragged a hand over his face. He had to think. He had to think about this a lot. But not tonight.

“Come on,” he said. “My place. Gotta be something on ESPN to take our minds off what ails us.”

“This time of night? Nothing but reruns,” Connor said, walking beside him out of the club.

“Good enough for me,” Jake said.

When the light finally dawned, it lit up Christine’s world like a ten-thousand-watt bulb and darn near blinded her. That’s why Monday at noon she had a mission on her mind when she maneuvered her flashy, brand-new red convertible—purchased just fifteen minutes ago when she traded in her used tan compact—into a space in front of Hellfire, International.

She was turning over new leaves left and right. No more dull and drab and ultrasafe for Christine Travers. From now on it was flash and fire, razzle and dazzle. She was filled with determination to change a few more things when she fed the meter, drew a deep breath and headed into the building.

She’d thought about her meeting-slash-date with Jake Thorne all weekend. Mostly she’d thought about the way he’d kissed her. She’d gotten all warm and tin-gly inside. And she liked the feeling of excitement and anticipation. She’d considered his offer to teach her about walking on the wild side. And she liked the prospect of treading a new path. Yeah, she was still getting used to this brave new Chris.

She had Jake to thank for this awakening. The man, she thought with a smile as she pressed the elevator button that would take her to Jake’s fourth-floor office, was full of the devil and full of life and teasing and fun.

After five years of scowling over his antics, cursing him for his insensitivity, she’d done a one-eighty. She now was convinced that he’d had the right idea after all. She’d been doing it all wrong.

She wasn’t sure of the exact moment when she’d come to that conclusion. It wasn’t that the bulb had been off one second, then suddenly burned full blast the next. No, the wattage had steadily increased over the weekend. It had finally powered to full glare about the same time she’d started asking herself what her straitlaced, all-work-no-play mind-set had netted her all these years. And she’d realized she didn’t like all the answers.

Well, she was going to ask some new questions. Starting today.

“Hi, Janice.”

Jake’s secretary looked up from her desk when Christine breezed in the door. “Well, hello. You’re looking…bubbly,” the secretary said with a curious smile.

Christine felt bubbly. And it was about time. “Is Jake in?”

Janice picked up the handset. “Let me see if he’s busy.”

Christine hadn’t even settled into a chair when Janice said, “You can go in. Great outfit, by the way,” she added with an approving nod. “I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

Christine’s new plan had called for new look. That’s why she’d headed out to the mall Sunday afternoon and spent some of her moldy money—Alison’s words—on some snappy new sandals, a pair of snug white capri pants and a white spaghetti-strap tank. Over top she wore an off-the-shoulder, light-as-air silk-scarf blouse in a soft pink print that gave the entire outfit a breezy, sexy and fun look. She’d also gotten a makeover. A short, sassy haircut and some makeup secrets made her look vibrant instead of invisible.

The look fit her mood. Right up until the moment she walked into Jake’s office. Then all of her hard-won confidence crumpled in the face of what she planned to do.

Can I really do this?

Jake had a smile firmly in place. The smile, however, deflated like a leaky balloon as he looked her up and down.

“Chrissie. This is a…surprise.”

More than a surprise. Christine could see that by the way his dark eyebrows were pulled together. He seemed wary about what her presence in his office meant. Was he worried about her reaction, given that he’d kissed her silly Saturday night, then galloped out of Dodge as fast as three hundred and fifty horses could take him? Maybe more than wary. Maybe he was worried sick that she’d read too much into that kiss.

Well, she hadn’t. But she did intend to stay the course.

“Sorry to barge in like this. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.”

He leaned back in his chair. Tossed down his pen and gave her another appraising look. “Well, um, sure. What’s on your mind? Wait. Stupid question. You’re here about Jess Golden’s things.”

“Not exactly.”

Okay. This was much harder than she’d thought it would be. She took a deep breath, let it out and put it all on the line.

She blurted out what she wanted from him.

Then she waited for the fallout as a stunned and, if she wasn’t mistaken, panicked look froze on Jake’s handsome face.

“You want me to what?”

Oh, God, Jake thought. This was not what he needed today.

“I want you to make good on your offer. I want lessons on how to walk on the wild side.”

No. No. No. He’d had it all worked out. It was a done deal. He’d crossed the wrong line with Chrissie Saturday night—a line he’d decided he wasn’t going to cross again, no way, no how, no time. He was going to forget about her innocent, lusty kisses and go back to being her biggest pain in the butt.

That was the safe way.

But now here she was, all girly and gorgeous and pink and sexy as hell with that handkerchief of a top sliding off her left shoulder and leaving it bare. She’d done something to her hair, too. Cut it in a sassy do that gave the illusion she had just gotten out of bed and run her fingers through it—or a lover had.

And her lips. Lord, they looked plump and pouty, painted the prettiest shade that had him licking his own lips over the thought of licking the color off hers.

Double hell. Just when he’d had all his ducks lined up in a neat and tidy row, Miss Quick-Change Artist had come rushing in and sent them scattering in every which direction.

“Um…Jake?”

Her voice was thick with uncertainty, and suddenly he felt guilty. It wasn’t her fault that he wanted to turn back the clock to a time when the hot-looking woman standing anxiously in his doorway had been a stodgy, prickly, schoolmarm-of-yore type who had interested him only from the standpoint of how much of a rise he could tease out of her.

Funny how the tables had turned on that level. If he wasn’t careful, the memory of that amazing kiss they’d shared coupled with the way she looked today might make him rise to the occasion. Literally.

He manufactured a stiff smile when she eased his office door shut behind her.

“Chrissie. I was joking when I said that.”

You could dress the girl up in soft, sexy clothes, but you couldn’t quite iron the starch out of the girl. Her chin went up and her shoulders stiffened, and suddenly he understood how much this request had cost her. “So you didn’t mean it when you said you wanted to volunteer to teach me how to loosen up?”

“Um, well,” was the best response he could manage to say because he couldn’t stop looking at her, knowing that this new Chrissie presented a whole lot more complications than the old one. The one who would have poked him to death with her quills instead of melting into his arms like a candy kiss.

“Life’s short, Jake. You above all men should know that.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And you got me thinking Saturday night. Well, not just Saturday night but all weekend. Do you know how old I am?” she asked, abruptly shifting gears.

She didn’t wait for him to answer but barged on like a steamroller on a diesel high. It was as if she had to get the words out all at once or she’d lose her nerve.

“Twenty-eight. I’m twenty-eight years old and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t truly know what I want out of life and you want to know why?”

“Um—”

“I’ll tell you why.”

He puffed out a breath between his cheeks and prepared to listen.

“Because I’ve never given myself an opportunity to think about what I really wanted. How sad is that?”

He opened his mouth but no sound came out because she continued to speak, her tone growing reflective and regretful.

“I’ve been too busy toeing the line. And what has it gotten me?”

He didn’t bother to try to respond. Clearly she’d come here on a mission to get some things off her chest—her soft, voluptuous chest that at the moment was pressed quite nicely against her silky blouse as she drew in a shaky breath.

“What it’s gotten me is respectability. Okay, fine. Respectability is good. And it’s gotten me security. Also good. But has it gotten me contentment?”

“I’m thinking the answer might be no?” he said cautiously when she paused and appealed to him as if she really did expect an answer.

“No is exactly right. I do not have contentment. Not for even a second have I led what I consider to be a contented life. Dull, yes. Contented, no. There has to be at least a little excitement for a person to be content, right? Well, where’s my excitement? Where are my thrills? Where are my…my magic moments?”

Oh, sweetie, don’t cry, he thought when her lower lip started quivering in the face of a self-assessment that was both harsh and humiliating. On top of everything else, he didn’t think he could take it if she cried.

He stood and made his way around his desk. Easing a hip on the corner, he crossed his arms over his chest to keep from holding her close and telling her there was still hope.

But then a big, glistening teardrop spilled down her cheek and he was a goner.

He reached for her and patted her back clumsily. “It’s not really so bad,” he lied kindly.

“It’s…awful. P-Prissy Chrissie,” she sputtered against his chest. “That’s what they call me behind my back. Did you know that?”

Oh, yeah. He knew. Was probably the worst offender. Her little sniffle twisted the knife of guilt deeply embedded in his gut. He patted with a little more sympathy.

“The worst part is, they’re right. Well, they were right. I’ve been nothing but a…a goal-oriented workaholic. All my life I’ve been so focused on my need for respectability and stability and safety that I’ve ignored my other needs. A woman’s needs,” she said and lifted her head to look up into his eyes.

Gulp. Not those big hazel eyes. He was a sucker for her eyes.

“I want to know what it feels like to be appreciated as a woman. To be desired by a man. To have power over a man.”

Sweetheart, if you only knew how much power you had right now. She could have brought him to his knees. First with guilt. Then with the desire to kiss her tears away, to bite gently into the quivering softness of her lush lower lip.

He resisted. Only God knew how, because she felt so soft and warm and wonderful cuddled up against him. But he’d made up his mind Saturday night between a six-pack and an ESPN classic football game. He was nipping in the bud this new twist to their relationship that he’d had the misfortune to initiate.

Chris Travers needed a man who would stick around. One who was in for the long haul. Didn’t matter how much Jake loved her kisses, didn’t matter that he found her a sweet surprise, a sexy temptation, he was not the kind of man she needed.

“I’m a spinster,” she said on another teary sigh. “An old maid. And all because I’ve been too scared to take a chance on life.”

“Aw, Chrissie,” he said, feeling sad that she was bullying herself this way.

“But that’s all going to change,” she said, finding her composure again and pushing away from him.

Just look at those freckles, he thought. Dusting the bridge of her nose, riding on her cheeks like little angel kisses. It made him feel soft and sentimental in his chest. And hard in other places.

Until she said, “And you’re the man who’s going to make it happen.”

Chapter Seven

Jake’s mouth opened as wide as his eyes. “What? Me? What am I going to make happen?”

“For five years you’ve needled me, teased me, made fun of me and in general goaded me into burying my feet deeper into my principles and my head deeper into the sand. Well, Saturday night changed all that. You were nice to me. In fact, you were into me. I liked it.”

Damn. “Chris—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, some of the old starchy Chrissie back in her speech and her bearing. “I know you were just playing. I know what you are. You’re a flirt and a good-time guy. And you were just being you on Saturday night because I wasn’t being me. At least, I wasn’t being the old me. I was being the new me when I didn’t even realize I wanted me to be a different me.”

His head was starting to hurt. “Huh?”

She waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you offered to teach me how to loosen up and have fun and I’m going to hold you to it. Starting right now.”

And the next thing he knew, she kissed him. She reached up, placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled his mouth down to hers. There wasn’t any finesse to it. It was all about impulse and determination and flat-out moxie.

It should have been funny. But for some reason he thought it was sweet. At least, he did during the moments he wasn’t alternating between panic that warned him he could easily go down for the count here and a flat out case of pure, animal lust.

That mouth. She did have a way with her mouth. It wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t expert. But, oh, was it enthusiastic. And that enthusiasm was infectious. He hadn’t planned to kiss her back. But there was the surprise factor. And the heat factor. And the warm, soft woman factor that, combined, sucked him in, egged him on and dragged him under.

He widened his legs, pulled her between them and dived into the kiss like a pearl diver on a treasure hunt. He urged her mouth open, swept inside her sweet, wet heat with his tongue while pressing her into his growing erection with one hand at the small of her back. His other hand pressed between her shoulder blades, encouraging the pressure of her breasts against his chest.

And sweet ambrosia, she tasted good. The soft sounds she made deep in her throat fostered a low growl of his own that had him leaning back on the top of his desk, bringing her with him. He heard something crash to the floor, didn’t care what it was because her full weight covered him now—sexy and hot and pressing in all the right places.

If their sudden horizontal tango gave her pause, she didn’t let on. In fact, she really got into the kiss then. She’d let go of his face and buried her hands in his hair, all the while squirming and sighing and doing a little pressing of her own.

He loved it. Loved the honest lust. The exuberant response. But most of all he loved the way they fit, the heady friction as she moved above him, dragging him deeper into the heat of the moment and further away from the consequences.

He was ready to take it to the next level. Make love to her right there on the top of his desk, in the middle of Monday, when she lifted her head. Looked down into his eyes through those drowsy hazel eyes of hers and in the most slumberous, seductive voice he’d ever heard, she whispered, “Consider that payment for lesson one. Come through with lesson two and there’ll be more where that came from.”

Then, as if she hadn’t just played the most amazing game of tonsil tag he’d ever been a party to, she pushed herself off him, straightened her top and left him flat on his back.

“When you do come up with lesson number two,” she said, turning around with one hand on the door handle, “give me a call.” Then she left him. Hot and bothered. Hard and hungry.

When the blood returned to his head several long minutes later, he eased himself to a sitting position. When he could take a breath that didn’t smell of her—something fresh and citrusy—he carefully stood.

For the longest time he just stared at the closed door. Finally he raked both hands through his hair, swore, then dropped into his desk chair. He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling.

What the hell had just happened here?

He felt as if he’d been hit by a tank. At the very least, by a whirlwind in the guise of Chrissie Travers.

Prissy? He’d never again think of her that way.

But he would think of her. She’d made sure of that.

He’d be thinking about just how silky her skin might be. How those soft breasts would feel pressed against his palm, how they’d taste on his tongue. About how much heat the two of them could generate on a big bed instead of a hard desk.

None of that was supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to kiss her again, to flirt with her again, to charm her again, let alone think about making love to her.

But she’s the one who had done the kissing. And the flirting. And the charming.

And the challenging, he realized as a tight knot of grudging respect twisted into anger. The minx had turned the tables on him. She’d leveled a dare. He was the one who had always been in control of their relationship—if you could call what they’d had until Saturday night a relationship. Mostly it had been a good-natured—at least on his part—razzfest. He teased. She bristled. He’d liked it that way.

But then he’d been stupid enough to kiss her. He’d used the weekend to put that kiss into perspective, chalked it up to stupidity. End of story. Until the woman had barged in here, added another chapter to the book and confused the hell out of him with her talk about “old me” and “new me” before attacking him with those sizzling, mind-bending kisses.

Now he was in a daze. And that just plain fried his circuits. He did not get bent out of shape over a woman. It wasn’t allowed. It wasn’t supposed to happen.

So why had it?

He stood and walked to the window. Maybe he was bored. Since he’d damaged his lungs in that damn fire five years ago, he’d had to be satisfied with the management end of his own business. Sure, it was rewarding. But it was dull. He’d joined the Texas Cattleman’s Club hoping for a little excitement, but so far all the thrill he’d gotten was to listen to the exploits of other club members. Hearing those stories about saving countries or princesses only served to remind Jake of his limitations.

Chrissie had been a handy distraction. One that he’d let get out of hand.

Well, there was only one thing to do about it, he decided as the haze began to lift. This couldn’t go on. He had to regain the upper hand. And he knew how to do it.

He was going to call her bluff.

Little Chrissie wanted to take a walk on the wild side? Well, then, he would give her the walk of her life. That would put an end to her hit-and-run kisses. Put an end to her messing with his head.

He’d come up with something so wild and so foreign to her straitlaced nature that she’d run like a rabbit and he’d never see her sweet face again. Yeah. He’d fix her little red wagon and reclaim his equilibrium in the process.

He felt marginally better about the situation until he dragged a hand over his face and realized how unsteady he still was.

Why in the hell hadn’t he let her win the bid on Jess Golden’s things? Then none of this would be happening.

She’d done it.

Between sharp bouts of disbelief that left her tummy tumbling and moments of pride at her own audacity, Christine couldn’t stop grinning. She’d marched into Jake Thorne’s domain and told him what she thought, told him what she expected from him. Then she’d kissed him.

Well, okay, there had been a little waffling in there, but she’d gotten it together. Oh, had she gotten it together.

Another one of those waves of disbelief swamped her as she signaled for a left turn and headed out of the city. She’d shocked him. Heck, she’d shocked herself. Never in her life had she initiated a kiss. Never in her life had she experienced such a strong sexual reaction. Okay, so her experience was severely limited, but could it get any hotter than that kiss in Jake’s office? On his desk?

She wasn’t sure where her actions had come from—instinct maybe. Maybe from years of watching movies and reading books and living vicariously through them. Whatever, she’d been a tiger.