Taking Home the Tycoon Read online

  “Is that a challenge?” He shucked off his sports coat and draped it on the back of a chair at an unoccupied high-top table. His lips thinned to a confident line.

  “All right, then. I hope you are prepared for this.” She pulled her heels off, becoming substantially shorter but growing in confidence.

  They made their way to the dance floor. Bright spotlights illuminated the area. She leveled her gaze at him, remembering the times she and her college friends used to frequent a country bar, learning all the line dances and smiling at cowboys. Her roommate, Jessie, made them go week after week. She was a Georgia girl, through and through. Weekly visits had made Jessie feel more at home during that scary time of transition. Natalie picked up the steps to the various dances quickly, found a way to lose herself in the music and movement.

  This was her turf.

  A square dancing song began and the crowd let out a variety of emphatic whoops. Max and Natalie began as partners, but soon the movement of the dance swept them from each other.

  No matter which partner she found herself with, her eyes found Max’s. Even from across the room, the stare electrified her.

  Eventually, the song ended and he closed the distance between them. Suddenly, she took in how tall he was, noticed how the other women dressed in cowboy boots eyed him. He didn’t pay them any mind.

  His steady gaze seemed to see her—only her. As if they were alone in this space.

  The Texas two-step began, and his arm instinctively went to the small of her back. Taking his hand in hers, they swayed together. Bodies melting into one another.

  For four more songs, they stayed like that.

  A country ballad replaced the more active tunes. Sweat had pooled on her brow and his. The lights dimmed, became cooler. Natalie’s hips swished in time to the slow music. Max’s agility surprised her, thrilled her. She pressed closer to his chest, looked up at him.

  His lips were so close to hers now. They tasted the same breath.

  Max’s hand tangled in her hair. He lowered his mouth to hers. A kiss unfolded, exploded her sense of control.

  What had started as a gentle kiss soon deepened to pure passion. Electricity still surged and hummed beneath her skin.

  Her tongue explored his mouth, drawing them somehow closer together. All sounds seemed to fade.

  Nothing else existed.

  Except for a faint ringing. A literal vibration.

  Her imagination? She felt disoriented at the sensation, distracted by the taste of him.

  Slowly, the sound registered. Her phone was in Max’s pocket. Pulling away, she said breathily, “I need to take that. My kids...”

  Heart still pounding, she waited as he fished the phone out of his pocket. She answered it, rushing off the dance floor.

  She’d been too late—no one was on the other line. Stepping farther away from the dance floor, she went to return the phone call. A text buzzed through.

  Lexie was crying. She wanted to come home now. Natalie’s heart sank. Guilt washed over her. She needed to be there for her kids. Not gallivanting with a mind-numbingly sexy man at a smoky honky-tonk. How could she have thought otherwise for a second?

  I’ll be there in a half hour.

  She sent the text. Max had reached her now, concern washing over his features.

  “I need to go pick up my kids.” She needed to get her head on straight while she was at it. Remember that she wasn’t in a position to indulge herself with a wildly sexy newcomer to town.

  He nodded. “Of course.” Turning on his heel, he went to collect their things from the table.

  What she didn’t add—couldn’t add—was that she also needed to process this whole night. The moment. The spark.

  Everything.

  She needed to salvage more self-control before she spent any more time alone with Max.

  * * *

  For Max, the morning crawled. There wasn’t a moment that hadn’t been filled with movement, but since picking up Natalie’s children last night, things with Natalie had cooled.

  She’d barely spoken to him.

  In her rushed “good morning,” he’d felt her defenses reforming. She avoided his gaze, pushed past him and mumbled something about work.

  To be fair, Max knew she was an overachiever—a woman pulled in too many directions. Or at least, too many directions for the hours in a day.

  Still, after that dinner and the slow dance...the distance felt calculated. Stress radiated from her as she passed him in the hall, making her way to the craft room. He could see it take hold of her shoulders, enter her stance.

  She’d served her B and B guests an elaborate spread of a breakfast picnic. Brie cheese, fresh croissants, an assortment of breads, apple turnovers, grapes and strawberries covered the table on the outside porch. The cool temperatures provided an inviting backdrop for guests as they piled fruit and pastries onto plates, grabbed picnic blankets from the stack and arranged themselves on the lawn.

  Sipping fresh coffee that she’d also brewed for the guests, Max found himself wondering how she managed all this. Determined to make a difference for this kind, selfless woman, Max put himself to good use. He’d help her out this morning. As guests finished their breakfasts, they dispersed. Natalie had done a quick cleanup before Margie spent some time playing with the kids and dog, canine socialization more than training.

  Chaz and Francesca, a young couple Max had met while standing in line for coffee, began looking a little antsy. Francesca’s inquisitive brown eyes scanned the area, looking for something. Based on Chaz’s glance at his watch, Max surmised they were waiting for Natalie.

  Chaz folded and unfolded the receipt, the kind Max had seen Natalie slide under doors of departing guests each morning.

  Rather than disrupt Natalie, he took their checkout form, looked it over quickly and confirmed they’d paid. Nothing more needed doing, no need to get Natalie to run payment. He couldn’t help but notice her computer was open, not password locked. He really did need to upgrade her security—internet and building.

  After tapping a message into his phone about her system, Max glanced at his watch. It was 11:45 a.m., and he noticed how both Lexie and Colby watched television, sharing a little bowl of strawberries while Miss Molly napped on the floor in front of them. Margie had ducked out a few minutes ago, and asked him to send a shout-out to Natalie. Which he’d decided to delay. He could watch the kids while they sat in front of a television.

  And there was another way he could help Natalie, since not many realized he knew his way around a kitchen.

  He walked into the common room and stooped to be eye level with the kids. His heart hammered. This was a new space, and part of him couldn’t believe how easy and natural this instinct was. But then again, as much as he didn’t like to address it, kids spoke to him in a way.

  His years in foster care had made him more empathetic, more in tune with what people needed. Max supposed it allowed him to literally see the world differently. To be attentive to details, how people interacted. What they weren’t saying. All of this made him a good detective now.

  And what he saw when he looked into the TV room was two well-behaved but hungry children.

  “Hey, kids,” he called out. “Whaddya say we make some lunch?”

  Lexie’s green eyes lit up as she clasped her hands over her mouth. “Yeah! Yes, yes, please, Mr. Max. You cookin’?”

  Her squeals and giggles reassured him that he’d made the right decision. Even Colby nodded, a faint trace of a smile forming as he pushed himself off the big red couch.

  The trio made their way to the kitchen. Other guests milled around. Snippets of conversation filled the halls.

  “I wub pancakes for lunch.” Lexie teetered back and forth as she opened the pantry door, pointing to the pancake mix. She grabbed a jar of s
prinkles from one of the lower shelves. “With this, too.”

  With a light nod, Max picked up the pancake mix, and grabbed the sprinkles from Lexie’s extended hand. Not a stretch for his cooking skills, but if that was what they wanted, then he was happy to comply. “What about you, buddy? Do you like pancakes for lunch?”

  Colby considered Max’s question. The young kid seemed to hold a microscope up to Max, examining him in that quiet way of his. For a moment, Max felt Colby wasn’t going to answer him, and he’d learned that sometimes the boy refused to talk. And in those cases, there was nothing to be done to force him. In fact, pushing the issue could cause the child to have a meltdown or retreat into hiding.

  Just when Max was about to give up, Colby spoke in a small but confident voice. “Yes. But plain. No sprinkles. Three small pancakes. Circle. But don’t stack them.”

  “Gotcha. Circles. No sprinkles,” Max replied, pulling out bowls from the cabinet. He opened the fridge and extracted eggs, milk and butter. He found two pans and started heating them up. “We should probably make more than pancakes, though. Like healthy stuff. Do you like bacon or sausage?”

  “Bacon,” Lexie said, climbing a three-step ladder by the counter so she could see better. Her blanket trailed from her fist.

  “Sausage, please,” Colby said, his wide eyes hesitant as if choosing differently from his sister would cause trouble.

  And in that moment, Max’s gut clenched. Sure it was just bacon and sausage. An easy enough request to fill. Nothing like the tougher stuff of dealing with children—the more intense needs they deserved to have met by responsible adults in their lives.

  So he would stick to food, because the Valentine family in this simple B and B was far from simple at all.

  * * *

  Panicked, Natalie rushed into the kitchen, swiping perspiration from her forehead.

  It was just past noon, and she didn’t know where the morning had gone. So much had to be done, and one of her guests had let her know that Max was starting lunch for her kids. Embarrassment burned her cheeks as she saw the array of cooking supplies Max had gathered.

  He didn’t have to do that. Shouldn’t have to. Damn it, but she was coming apart at the seams trying to manage everything. And that no doubt showed in her appearance.

  Her hair was tucked up into a messy bun she would have liked to call chic. Ha. Were snug jeans sexy when they were tight? Because the ones of hers that fit were all dirty. She’d dug these out of the back of her closet, a pair from prebaby days, along with a simple V-neck T-shirt tight around her breasts.

  Yet he made low-slung jeans and a soft T-shirt look...yum.

  Swiping back a loose lock of hair, she drew in a steadying breath. “I can’t believe I worked into lunchtime.”

  Natalie opened the back door and called to Miss Molly with the proper commands and gestures, sending her into the fenced area of the yard where guests weren’t allowed. “I’m so embarrassed and so sorry to have imposed on you.” She clasped her daughter by the shoulder and touched her son lightly on the hand, just a fingertip brush. “Let’s have some soup and PBJs.”

  Her daughter’s bottom lip quivered. “Want Mr. Max make pancakes.”

  “Lexie—” Natalie began.

  “Natalie, really,” Max interrupted. “It’s no big deal. Either I can cook for myself here or I’ll have to go out to eat, which will take longer. So, free pancakes for me in exchange for my work?”

  He was being nice in making this face-saving excuse, but still... She shook her head. “They’re children, my kids.”

  “Kids?” He raised an eyebrow, egg in hand hovering over the bowl. “Are you insinuating I can’t handle feeding young palates?”

  Damn, he was charming. No wonder he’d taken the business world by storm, amassing a fortune beyond anything she could comprehend.

  Rich or not, though, that didn’t make him the boss of her domain.

  She stood her ground. “I’m saying thank you, but I’m not your responsibility. I’ll even cook the pancakes and you can have some, since you’re a guest—”

  Colby pulled her hand. He so rarely touched her any contact instantly stopped her cold. “Mom, please. Color with me. He can cook.”

  And oh, God, that tugged at her heart with memories of family meals with Jeremy. She needed to separate the past from the present. And in this present her son’s needs and wants came first.

  It was just pancakes. And a coloring page. If it made her children happy... “Okay, Max, if you’re really sure you don’t mind.”

  The familiar roguish smile returned to his face, sparking him to movement. With a bold flourish, he grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and winked at her. “I don’t mind at all. I enjoy cooking, and I travel so much I don’t get to do it nearly often enough.”

  Instantly, the dance from last night rushed back into her mind. How close they’d been. How easily they’d kissed.

  Oh, that kiss.

  Her knees went a little wobbly and she held on to the table’s edge as she sat with her children while Max began cooking. The sound of eggs beating and the soft hum of the oven filled the kitchen, mingling with the sound of colored pencils touching down on paper.

  Colby had a blue pencil in his hand and he carefully colored in a large fish—his obsession. Natalie picked up a green pencil and joined her son in coloring, half watching Max move about her kitchen with a smooth efficiency and confidence.

  Did the children remember the old days when their father had been home, in the kitchen with them? He hadn’t been much for cooking, but he’d played with the kids while she prepared meals. Her gaze skated back to Max.

  He managed multiple pans at once. Bacon. Sausages. Pancakes and even crepes in another. He’d grabbed the leftover caramel and apples from this morning’s pastries. He caught her eye and mouthed “crepes for the lady” with a wink in her direction that sent a tingle of awareness along her skin, prickling in her breasts.

  She couldn’t help it. She smiled. Although she quickly tucked her head to color and tried to hide how far that smile reached, deep inside her. The smells of fresh food—food she didn’t have to prepare—felt good. Damn good. This whole moment did and all because of Max.

  After washing the pans, he dished up the kids’ food and placed it on their small, plastic table tucked in the corner. “Coloring break and time for grub.”

  Max ruffled Lexie’s hair and yet was careful to keep his hands off her son, clearly aware Colby preferred to call the shots on hugs.

  Natalie said softly, “Thank you.”

  For more than the food. For the thought. For being here. For the three perfect, sprinkle-free circles on Colby’s plate that weren’t stacked.

  Max spread his hands. “All under control. And as much as I would like to stay here and, uh, dance with you, I need to head over to the Cattleman’s Club to meet with some members.”

  He started grabbing the cooking supplies to put them away, eyes flicking to the B and B guests that stood at the threshold of the kitchen. She joined him, gathering more supplies in her hands, and they went into the pantry. Together.

  Away from people, he set down his supplies, leaned in for a kiss.

  A deep body sigh had her melting into him. The kiss wasn’t as feverish as last night, but it was every bit as hungry.

  Maybe it was she who was hungry. Despite all her talk about self-control, she allowed herself just a moment to touch him. His strong chest and arms. The corded neck. His warm jaw, where the skin bristled ever so slightly against her palms.

  Just one kiss and she felt like she might come out of her skin.

  “Why are you pursuing me so?” She eased back to look into his eyes.

  Not his talented lips. Nope. Not looking there.

  She struggled to catch her breath, and staring at his sexy
-as-hell mouth would not help matters.

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

  Didn’t understand? Or didn’t want to discuss it?

  For her part, she’d rather lose herself in the feel of his mouth on hers again. The feel of his hands on her waist. Her back. Her everywhere.

  But she couldn’t go on like this, kissing in pantries. “I’m not exactly your type,” she said to clarify.

  “Natalie,” he whispered into her ear, his breath hot. “Stop with Googling stuff about me and get to know the real person.”

  Her thoughts scrambled at the feel of his lips against her neck. “I Google everyone who stays here—for safety purposes.”

  “Sure. You like me, though.” He skimmed his mouth back around to hers, his grin decidedly devilish.

  Handsome. Hot. Charming.

  He wasn’t wrong. But maybe that didn’t matter.

  Still, she felt compelled to repeat what she said. “I’m really not your type.”

  He angled back to look at her, his expression solemn, as if he sensed how important this mystery was to her. “You’re so sexy I’ve been on fire for you since the second I saw you.” He tugged at the loose band holding up her hair, sending it free around her shoulders. His fingers combed through. “That makes you my type.”

  Okay, that brought another question, perhaps an even more important one. “What if you’re not my type? I’m not talking about attraction. I’m talking about type, what’s good for me.”

  Or good for her children. She had to think of them. Especially with Colby’s special needs. Sure, Max had figured out not to pat the boy on the head and to keep sprinkles out of his pancakes, but that wasn’t the same as dealing with the challenges of parenting a special-needs child day in and day out.

  “If you don’t want me in your life, Natalie, then tell me to go.” Silence hung between them. He nodded once. “And that’s my point.”

  “But as you said, this is about attraction. And yes, maybe I’m attracted to a bad-boy type, and as much as I loved my husband, I’m not saying that marriage or love guaranteed happiness.” Concern burned in her belly.