An Intimate Bargain
“Yum,” she acknowledged, then took a bite of the burger. It was juicy and flavorful, with a fresh bun and crisp condiments. Her stomach rumbled quietly in anticipation.
“I’m starving,” she muttered around the bite.
“Me, too,” he agreed with a nod, digging in to his own burger. “Long day on the road.”
“Long day in the office for me.”
Then they both ate in silence, while a few more ducks made their way over from a small, reed-filled marsh. Abigail tossed them some bits of bun, and they quacked with excitement, wings flapping, orange beaks pecking the ground.
Satiated, she took a long drink of the milk shake and threw the remains of her bun to the birds.
“Better?” asked Lucky, crumpling his wrapper and tossing it into the empty bag. She tucked hers away, as well, and he set the trash behind them.
“Much better,” she acknowledged.
His gaze settled on the black horizon, where the moon was coming up over the mountains, fading the stars that were scattered across the sky. “So, are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“What’s going on here?”
She waggled her cardboard cup at him, pretending to misunderstand his question. “I’m finishing my milk shake.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“You must have guys hitting on you all the time.”
Abigail coughed out a laugh. “Not really.”
She’d spent most of her life in dusty blue jeans, hair in a sensible ponytail, face free of makeup while she worked up a sweat on the land. Things had been slightly different during the campaign. But most of the attention had been on her brother Seth, and most of the people she spoke to in Lyndon remembered her as a little freckle-faced, red-haired girl with pigtails and skinned knees.
Lucky gazed down at her. “First of all, I don’t believe you. Second, I’m betting you don’t usually accept dinner invitations from strange men.”
She took a long, noisy slurp, draining the milk shake. “I do when it’s a mountain burger.”
He gently removed the cup from her hand, setting it on the table behind them. “Spill, Doll-Face. Who are you hiding from?”
“That’s a stupid name.” But she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from his.
“Then tell me your real name.”
“No.” She was enjoying this anonymity. For a brief space of time, she wasn’t Seth’s campaign manager, or Travis’s stalwart sister and ranch hand. She was her own woman, nothing more, nothing less.
“Then Doll-Face is all I’ve got.” Lucky’s smooth baritone rolled over her like warm honey.
It really was a silly name, but when he said it, it sounded sweet. He reached up and brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead, and her skin tingled behind the touch.
“Don’t do that.” She closed her eyes, hiding her emotion as the incredible sensation slowly ebbed.
“Sorry.”
She shook her head, regretting the sharpness of her outburst. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You had to know I was attracted to you.”
Had to? No. Suspected? Sure. She wasn’t stupid.
After a long moment, he spoke again. “So why’d you come with me?”
She opened her eyes, and it was her turn to drink in the blackened horizon and the sharpening moon. She hesitated to tell him anything remotely close to the truth, but reality had been burning in her brain all evening long, and it seemed desperate to get out. “Because I’m putting off tomorrow,” she told him on a sigh. “It’s going to be a very bad day.”
She expected him to press for details, was already weighing exactly how much she’d say.
But he didn’t ask. Instead, he shifted, and the wooden table creaked beneath his weight. “I hear you.” He paused. “There’s a better-than-even chance that my tomorrow’s going to suck, too.”
Despite herself, he had her curious. She turned to take in his profile. “Yeah?”
He set aside his own cardboard cup. “Yeah.”
“Family?” she probed, promising herself, whatever it was, she’d keep the conversation to generalities.
He shook his head.
“Girlfriend?” she dared, swallowing a sudden lump.
He turned to paste her with a scowl. “While I’m hitting on you? Thanks tons, Doll-Face.”
She tried not to feel quite so relieved. “Gambling, drinking, illness?”
“Business,” he answered, his tone smoothing out. “There’s a problem with my mysterious, yet perfectly legitimate, business interests. But I take it your problem is family?”
“What makes you say that?”
“It was your first guess for me. That makes it top of your mind.”
She took in his expression, seeing warmth and compassion and, yes, a little bit of lust. But she was okay with that. It had taken her two hours to dress up for the reception tonight. It was nice to know somebody appreciated her efforts.
Her first instinct was to evade his question. But for some reason, she wanted to be honest with him. “My family needs me to do one thing,” she told him. “But I want to do something else entirely.”
He canted his head, and he suddenly seemed closer, his chest looked broader, his voice going lower. “Age-old dilemma,” he rumbled.
She picked up his woodsy musk scent, getting lost in his warm, brown eyes, and momentarily lost brain function. She braced her hand on the tabletop, gripping with her fingertips. “I guess.”
“So what are you going to do?”
She blinked. It wasn’t like there was a choice. “Support my family.”
The pad of his thumb passed over her knuckles, sending a kick of reaction up her spine. He gave a small smile. “I’d have guessed that about you, Doll-Face. You seem like the loyal type.”
“What about you?” she managed to say around a drying throat and laboring breaths. Every single thing about this man oozed sex appeal. “What would you do?”
His hand covered hers completely, warm, broad and strong. “I’d make my own choice. I’d do whatever I wanted.”
She was surprised, but also intrigued. “Even if it hurt your family?”
“My family doesn’t need me.”
“Mine needs me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Positive.”
He lifted an index finger to touch the bottom of her chin. This time, she didn’t wave him off. She drank in the sensation of his touch, anticipating the kiss that was sure to come.
What would it hurt?
What could it hurt?
Tomorrow she’d be back in her blue jeans, and men like Lucky wouldn’t give her the time of day. Surely she deserved one single kiss.
Two
Zach figured there was a pretty good chance he was about to get his face slapped. He also figured it was going to be worth it.
He leaned in, anticipating her taste, the softness of her full lips. But a boat horn suddenly blasted from the lake, and Doll-Face abruptly turned away. Then another horn sounded, and another.
Disappointment clenched Zach’s gut, even as light and color flashed in the periphery of his vision. He looked toward the lake in time to see starbursts of color cascading in the skies above.
A cheer went up from the crowd that had gathered far down the shore and out onto the wharf. A few people had also arrived in the park, taking up spots on nearby picnic tables. Zach hadn’t even noticed them.
Doll-Face settled back to watch the show, bracing her hands and locking her elbows, bringing her dress taut against her breasts, highlighting an intriguing dip of cleavage.
Her skin was honey-toned with a tan. Her neck was long and graceful, her face classically beautiful, with big, golden eyes, dark lashes and a wide, sexy smile.
“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s spectacular.”
“It sure is,” he agreed, gaze fully on her, still desperate to lean down and kiss her mouth. Her auburn hair was slightly mussed. Wisps had worked their way free from the updo, along her neck and forehead. He had a sudden vision of her lying back on a white pillowcase, naked, thoroughly kissed, a sheen of sweat glistening on her brow.
He gave himself a shake.
“Oooh,” she sang, smiling. Then she glanced up at him. “You’re missing it.”
He wasn’t missing a thing. But he turned to look at the fireworks anyway. “Part of the election celebration?”
“It is,” she said. “I should be standing out there on the dock with a glass of champagne in my hand, toasting my—”
He waited, but she didn’t add anything to the end of the sentence. “You want to go drink some champagne?” he felt compelled to ask. The last thing he wanted to do was join the crowd down the beach.
“No. I was just wondering if anyone noticed I was missing.”
“Did you have a date at the party?” That could easily have been the end of her sentence. Toasting with her boyfriend? Was that what she’d meant to say?
He glanced reflexively at her left hand. No ring. At least she hadn’t been talking about toasting with her fiancé.
“No date,” she assured him.
He scanned his way from her knees to her breasts, along her neck, returning to her face. Bursts of light danced off her skin, reflecting in her gorgeous eyes. His voice went husky. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
She met his gaze for a long moment, while he tensed, waiting. Then she shook her head. “Not since Russell Livingston, senior year.”
“How old are you?”
“How old do I look?”
“Young enough that I should ask.”
She grinned. “I’m twenty-six.”
He did the math. “So you haven’t had a boyfriend in four years?” He found that absolutely impossible to believe. What on earth was wrong with the men of Colorado?
“Not a steady one.” She gave a little lift of her chin. “How about you?”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend.”
She threw an elbow to his rib cage. “You know what I mean, Lucky.”
He steadied her arm with his hand as she rocked back. “Nobody serious.”
She resettled her bare feet on the picnic-table bench. “Since when?”
He reluctantly removed his hand from her arm, shrugging as he took in the glinting copper polish on her toenails. Sexy. How had he missed that up to now? “Since forever.”
“You’ve never been in love?”
“I’ve never been in love,” he confirmed. He’d never had the time. Not that he’d be likely to recognize it if it happened. He’d had no role models, no examples of romantic love in his formative years. He supposed he loved Alex like a brother. But that was a completely different thing.
“Me neither,” said Doll-Face. She contemplated the fireworks display for a minute. “But both of my sisters are in love.”
“You have two sisters?”
“And two brothers.”
“Are your parents still together?”
Her expression faltered for a second, but then she nodded, voice a little quieter. “Yes, they are. And they’re still very much in love.”
“Sounds like a perfect family.” Reflexive resentment flickered inside Zach. But he quickly tamped it down. He wouldn’t wish his tough childhood on anyone, least of all this delightful, beautiful creature in front of him.
She laughed. “We’re a long, long way from perfect. But there’s a wedding coming up. A double wedding.”
“Both sisters?” he guessed.
“I’ll be the maid of honor.” Then she sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “And me, the oldest.”
“Oh, that’s not good.” Zach shook his head in mock concern. “Tragic, really. Pitiful.”
“Isn’t it?”
“An old maid at twenty-six.” He clicked his cheek. “What will the neighbors say?”
Her laughter tinkled. “They’ll probably introduce me to every eligible bachelor they can lay their hands on.”
Zach knew she was probably right. And he didn’t like that image. He had a sudden urge to curl an arm around her, pull her close, tell her to stay away from all those no-good bachelors.
“Funny,” she continued, her gaze back on the fireworks. “Marriage has never been a goal of mine.”
“Mine, neither,” Zach agreed, ridiculously relieved. It was silly, stupid even. He didn’t know the woman’s name, yet he didn’t want to think about her with other men.
“What is your goal?” he prompted. The gasps of the crowd and the pops of the rockets once again penetrated his conscious, reminding him of where they were.
She shrugged her slim, bare shoulders. “A career, maybe.”
“What kind of career?” This line of conversation definitely beat talking about her future boyfriends.
“Lately I’ve been thinking about event management, or maybe business.”
“What’s your degree in?”
“History. Don’t you dare laugh.”
Did she mean at the impracticality of studying history? “I’m not laughing. I don’t even have a college degree.”
She waited for him to continue. There was no judgment in her expression.
“Where I come from,” he found himself explaining, “high school graduation is about as far as kids go.”
“Did you graduate high school?”
“I did.” He paused. “But would you care if I hadn’t?” He was honestly curious.
“I don’t think it’s your education that matters. It’s what you do with it.”
He couldn’t agree more.
With the exception of their accountant, DFB Incorporated didn’t have a single employee with a college degree. Mostly because they were all foster kids. They’d grown up in group homes, like him, or in a series of short-term, single-family placements. They’d learned to avoid emotional attachment to their caregivers and had spent their childhoods in survival mode. None of them had family ties. None would have had a single penny of support, even if they had wanted to go to college.
“If you want to use your history degree to go into business,” he told her, “I’m all for it.”
She smiled, and his chest tightened. “Thank you.”
He drew a couple of hard breaths. He’d never wanted to kiss a woman quite this badly. But people could see them, and she was trying to keep a low profile. “What kind of business?” he forced himself to ask again.
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Well, if you start your own, expand slowly. Make sure you don’t overleverage.”
“Is that what you did?” There was an astute intelligence in those golden eyes. It was as if she’d suddenly shifted modes, staring frankly, seeking information.
Okay, that really shouldn’t strike him as sexy.
“We grew fast,” he told her, shifting his attention to the lake in order to keep from grabbing her right here in front of everyone. “When you hit a certain size, all of a sudden there are a whole lot of moving parts. We ended up with a weak link. And I’m here to fix it.” It seemed silly to stay so oblique. “You want me to tell you what the—”
“No!” It was her hand on his arm more than her words that shut him up.
He glanced down at her slim fingers, the lavender polish, felt the heat through the thin cotton of his shirt, and thought about all the other places he’d like her to touch him.
“It’s better this way,” she assured him.
It would be better with her in his arms.
The sky suddenly lit up with the fireworks finale. The crowd oohed then aahed then cheered madly as the sky went dark.
“Whatever you want,” Zach told her, meaning it in all possible ways.
Abigail knew the evening had to come to an end. It was after three in the morning. They’d been talking for hours, and she was nearly asleep on her feet as they approached the front entrance of the Caspian Hotel.
Except for the doorman, the place was deserted. He tipped his hat, gave them a welcoming smile and opened the glass-fronted, brass-trimmed door so they could enter.
Lucky slowed his steps and motioned with an outstretched arm for Abigail to go in first. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing through the empty lobby. A front-desk clerk glanced up from her computer screen. Seeing they had no luggage, so obviously weren’t checking in, she nodded a greeting and went back to typing on the keyboard.
They crossed the vast lobby toward the bank of elevators, while Abigail struggled for something clever or memorable to say. But everything she came up with sounded either trite or ridiculous.
Lucky pressed the call button, and an elevator door immediately slid open. She wanted to tell him she’d had a great time. No, not a great time, an amazing time. A time that she wished she could repeat again someday. But she knew that was impossible. He was leaving town. And she was going back to her real life. And she didn’t even know his name.
He pressed eight, then lifted his brows in her direction.
“Same,” she confirmed, her voice raspy over her dry throat.
Their gazes locked, and the air in the elevator seemed to thicken with anticipation.
The door slid shut.
“Imagine that,” Lucky observed.
Abigail’s skin tingled. She felt heat rush up from her toes to her scalp. She’d never, ever, not even once, had a one-night stand. But she was tempted tonight.
The elevator pinged to a stop.
The door slid open.
She exited first, turning left down the hallway, wondering what she could say, if she could say it, if she could possibly, actually bring herself to do it.
He fell into step, the heat from his body seeming to swirl out to touch her.
“Eight-nineteen,” he told her, extracting his key card, slowing to a stop.
“Eight-twenty,” she responded, stopping beside him.
He glanced down.
She looked up.
Her heart pounded hard against the inside of her chest. A roaring sound filled her ears. And her lungs labored as she moistened her dry lips.
He cocked his head ever so slightly toward his hotel-room door. “I’m thinking there’ll be a bottle of wine in my minibar.”
Abigail tried to make her head shake no, but somehow the message got scrambled. “Red or white?” she rasped instead.
“Either. Both. Whatever you want.”
She knew she should say good-night and leave. This was her last chance. If she walked into that hotel room, she would throw herself into Lucky’s arms, damn the consequences.
She couldn’t tell him no. But she couldn’t bring herself to say yes either.
He slipped the key into the lock, and the indicator light turned green. He pushed down on the handle, released the latch and yawned the door wide open.
Abigail took one step then another into his room, her shoes whispering against the thick carpet. The door whooshed shut behind them, clicking with finality.
From behind, Lucky gently touched her shoulder. He turned her, backed her slowly against the closed door, one hand tunneling into her hair, the other coming around her waist, pressing their bodies together while his lips came down on hers. They were firm, hot, moist and tender.
She gave in to the sensation, immediately kissing him back, grasping his arms, steadying herself against the steel of his biceps. She opened wide, welcoming his tongue, marveling at his sweet taste, his masculine scent and the feel of his thighs hard against her own.
He broke the kiss, speaking huskily against her lips. “I’ve been dying to do that all night long.”
“Are we crazy?” she felt compelled to ask, lips hot and swollen, desire permeating every cell of her body.
He captured her gaze once more. “I don’t particularly care.”
She couldn’t help smiling at that. “Am I going to sound preposterous if I say I’ve never done anything like this before?”
“You haven’t done anything yet.”
“I’m about to.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Glad to hear it.” He kissed her again, longer and deeper, his fingertips finding their way up her spine.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, tipping back, abandoning herself to the passion building inside her body. She was an adult woman. She wasn’t reckless, and she wasn’t foolish. She’d thought this through, and she wanted to be with Lucky tonight.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, smoothing his hand along her shoulder. He pushed her shoulder strap out of the way. Then he tenderly kissed her shoulder and eased the other strap down. “Amazing,” he mumbled, kissing his way along her neck. The back of his knuckles brushed the tip of her breast, and she sucked in a breath in response. “I am the luckiest guy on the planet.”
“Is that why they call you Lucky?”
He stilled, lips brushing against the tender hollow of her neck. “You’re making a joke?”
“I am,” she offered without a trace of apology.
He kissed her again, more firmly this time, drawing her tongue into his scorching mouth. “Well, I’m not going to keep calling you Doll-Face.”
“Oh, yes, you are.”
“What’s your real name?”
“Uh-uh.” She shook her head.
“You sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
His hands slid their way down to her wrists, and he backed her tighter against the door. “Okay. Then that’s pretty hot.”
She tipped her chin. “You’re pretty hot.”
“I’m about to get hotter.” His eyes turned to molten chocolate, and a split second later he was kissing her mouth, harder, deeper. One hand slipped up her back, finding her zipper, pulling it down. The tight bodice gave way.
In return, she reached for his shirt buttons, plunking the disks through the open holes, revealing his chest, running her fingers over his bare skin.
He gave a tug on her dress, and it slid to the floor, freeing her bare breasts and pooling in a heap around her feet.
He drew back, his breath whistling out. “Where have you been hiding all my life?”
“Colorado.” She pulled his shirttails out of his pants, and stripped the shirt off his shoulders.
He was absolutely magnificent, and they both stilled, staring at each other in silence.
He lifted his broad hand, cupping her face with his palm, leaning in ever so slowly. Her eyes fluttered closed. She inhaled deeper. Her lips parted, and she eased toward him, twining her arms around his neck, feeling his heated skin press tight against her breasts, as his lips came down in a tender kiss that drew itself out for long minutes.
His free hand slipped over the curve of her hip. There, his fingers paused, slipping beneath the strand of her panties. His other hand slid up to cup her breast. Her nipples instantly beaded, and his palm closed around her. His kisses grew more insistent, longer, until they were both gasping for breath.
He kissed her neck, dipping to a breast, drawing the taut nipple into his mouth. Her hands fisted hard, and she moaned at a sensation she’d never experienced. What was he doing? How was he doing it?
Cool air replaced the heat of his mouth, and she loved the contrast. He switched to the other breast, causing cascades of desire to roll through her.
She needed to do something.
She was just standing here.
She ran her palms up his chest, feeling the burn of his skin, testing the muscles she knew would be steel hard. Then she worked her way down, over the six-pack of his abs, to the waistband of his pants, popping the button and lowering his zipper.
He grabbed her wrist. “I want this to go slow.”
“Sure,” she agreed, even though her mind screamed for speed. She brushed her knuckles against him.
“You want it slow?” he growled.
“No.”
He stilled for a second. Then he hoisted her into his arms. “Good.”
He turned in the foyer, cutting across the oversize room, past the sofa, the armchair and television. He set her on her feet next to a king-size bed.
His hands went to his waistband, stripping off his pants and everything else.
She kicked off her sandals and dispensed with the panties.
She straightened, and they both stilled.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and she felt the edge of her mouth draw into a smile.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” She dared to reach out, tracing her index finger along his smooth, warm chest. He looked even better out of his clothes than he had in them, and that was saying something.
He took a half step forward. “Is this a dream?”
“I sure hope not.”
“Things like this. Things like you don’t happen in real life.”