Authors: Francis Ray
And she’d been wrong.
She hadn’t discovered her mistake until recently.
Now she needed Lance Saxton to gain access to the Yates’ home for the article she planned to write. He might toss her out; then again, he might not. There was only one way to find out.
Moments later the red barrel roof of a house came into view; then as she rounded a curve, she saw the sprawling Yates house. She slowed and came to a complete stop. It was simply beautiful with the afternoon sun shining on the roof and the adobe exterior. She could easily imagine coming home from work or a trip and catching the first glimpse of the house. She didn’t even live there and yet she felt a sort of calming peace. One day she’d have a house, a family, but for now she enjoyed her job. She loved to travel and was paid well to visit and write about some of the most exciting places in the world.
The last thought had her squaring her shoulders. She was good at what she did. Nothing had ever stopped her in the past, and she wouldn’t allow Lance Saxton to be the first.
Putting the car into motion, she continued down the mile-long road and parked on the circular driveway in front of the massive red double doors, reasoning if Lance threw her out, she wouldn’t have far to go to her car. Getting out, she again studied the sprawling two-story house.
The home was originally built in the 1920s by oil mogul Thaddeus Yates. He liked the Southwest and chose Santa Fe as his base when he wanted to relax and get away from Lubbock, Texas. After his death, his only child and daughter, Colleen, expanded the six-thousand-square-foot home another five thousand square feet to include a loggia and pool house. Her son did more renovation on the house plus extensive landscaping, turning the usually parched grounds of the area into a verdant paradise with lush green grass and a rainbow hue of flowers.
Fallon realized she was stalling, and with good reason. She wasn’t looking forward to ringing the doorbell and meeting Lance Saxton again. She didn’t mind admitting she was wrong so much as she didn’t like the idea of making that admission to a man she had a mild attraction to. She’d like to think he’d caught her at a weak moment, but that would be a lie. She traveled so much she didn’t have time for a relationship, and she valued herself too much to have meaningless affairs.
Yet her girlie antenna had zinged the instant she looked into Lance’s midnight black eyes. He had the “Y” yummy factor in spades. At least six-feet-four in sinful jeans and a white polo that delineated hard muscles, she was almost fantasizing about the naughty things he could whisper in her ear—until she learned what he did for a living. And went as cold as an iceberg on the man.
Sighing, Fallon removed her camera from the case, looped the strap around her neck, and grabbed her notebook. Standing there wouldn’t get the job done. Closing the car door, she followed the paved path to the wide double doors, all the time telling herself that this was a story like all the hundreds, probably thousands, she’d written in the past.
Fallon realized she was stalling. Again. She hadn’t called for an appointment. She honestly hadn’t known what to say.
Hey, I’m sorry I accused you of being a thief, but I have this great idea for a story and two editors are interested so let’s forget about our first meeting
. If the positions were reversed, she would have thrown him out. She had a bit of a temper—which had gotten her into this mess.
Blowing out a breath, Fallon rang the doorbell.
* * *
In the small library of the Yates house that Lance Saxton had taken for his office, he slowly lifted his head when he heard the doorbell. He’d been waiting for the sound since Richard called that morning to tell him that Fallon had asked if he would be there. To Richard’s “Don’t blow your second chance,” Lance had said nothing.
Since Lance didn’t have any other appointments and he wasn’t expecting any deliveries, he reasoned it was Fallon Marshall. His hand flexed on the pen in his hand. It didn’t take much to visualize the stunning woman with long curly hair, bedroom brown eyes, model cheekbones and lips to drive a man crazy. For some reason—perhaps because Richard was in such a great mood and Lance could tell his cousin was finally interested in a woman—the moment they’d met, Lance had found himself attracted to Fallon.
It was the first time in months he’d had more than a passing interest in a woman. He’d honestly thought he had written women off except for the occasional ones he took to bed. It was purely physical for both of them; easily had and easier forgotten.
The chime came again. This was the housekeeper’s half-day off. The people he’d hired to help catalog the house’s contents for the auction had driven into town for a late lunch. There was no one there but him. If he didn’t answer, she’d leave and he wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting his long-ago promise of steering clear of women he couldn’t easily walk away from. Yet he found himself coming to his feet and leaving the study. Fallon was just a woman.
Opening the front door, he had to revise his earlier thought about Fallon. She was stunning in a raspberry knit top and white walking shorts. Her eyes were just as captivating as before, her mouth just as tempting. His hand clamped on the door knob as they continued to stare at each other. He wouldn’t be the first to speak. She had called him a thief.
“Hello, Lance. I guess you’re surprised to see me.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
Fallon ran her tongue over lips he’d dreamed about before saying, “I’m not sure if you remember or not, but I’m a travel writer.”
Since his mouth was dry, he simply nodded. Fallon was too much of a temptation. As soon as possible, he was sending her on her way.
“I read about this place and the auction you’re having. I came up with the idea for an article.” She glanced around the yard. “This house might not be on the historical society’s register, but it has a lot of history that will be lost once the auction is over. I’d like to preserve that.”
“By doing a story,” he said, unable to keep the derision out of his voice. Another person who wanted to profit from the misfortune of others. And she’d thought
him
heartless.
Her eyes narrowed briefly, then she shifted back to him, inadvertently making her breasts in the knit top jut forward. Lance gritted his teeth and opened his mouth to tell her goodbye, but she finally spoke.
“Not just a story. I want to bring the history of the house and the people who lived here to life. I also want to let readers know that it’s all right not to plan every second of a vacation. Wonderful opportunities like this auction might present itself. I’ve done a bit of research on the house already.”
“Don’t you think that was a bit premature?” he asked, glad his voice was normal even if his heart rate wasn’t.
“Yes, but knowledge is never wasted.” She stepped back and looked up at the window overhead. “Do you know that some of the timber in this house came from Yates’ grandparents’ property in Louisiana? He was a bit of a sentimentalist.” She sent Lance a quick grin. “The stained glass in the window overhead is from Paris and the chandelier in the living room is Waterford. They’re his wife’s selections.”
“Women like the finer things.” He’d learned that lesson the hard way.
Her brow arched. “So do men. Thaddeus spared no expense to build this house. It took three years. His daughter expanded it even more. From the little I was able to find, she doted on her son and wanted the house to last for generations. It’s a shame that her dreams died with him.” Fallon gave him her full attention, her expression so heartrending he had to lock his knees to keep from reaching out to comfort her. “It would be wonderful if that didn’t happen, if the family history could be preserved, and be the impetus for other family dreams and legacies.”
His gaze narrowed on her. So, she wasn’t just beautiful and brassy. It was rare to meet someone not in the business who really understood the value and importance of beloved furniture and accessories being a legacy.
Even at thirty-six, there were times when he thought of his own mortality. He never planned to marry. What would he leave behind? Who would mourn him? The answers weren’t comforting, so he continued to study Fallon. Unlike most people, his direct stare didn’t make her fidget.
He’d been devastatingly wrong about women before, but something told him that Fallon was telling the truth. This was more than a story to her. Watching her hair dance in the breeze, her steady gaze, he came to a decision.
Stepping back inside, he watched her eyes widen, her mouth open. He realized she thought he was going to shut the door in her face. It annoyed the hell out of him that she believed he was that rude. “Come in.”
Her mouth hung open for a second longer, before she snapped it shut. She quickly stepped inside. “Thank you.”
“Would you care for something to drink?”
“No, thank—” Her eyes widened and she was across the room. Reverently her hand grazed the top of an oak-finished chest of drawers. “This is one of Thaddeus’s pieces, isn’t it? His daughter used this for her hope chest.”
Lance joined her. “You did your research well, I see.”
“I wanted to be prepared.” She smiled over her shoulder at him, then turned back to the piece that was as tall as she. “He was a furniture maker before they struck oil on his property. A picture of this chest was the only one I could find of the contents in the house.”
“There are other pieces he made mixed throughout with the more famous makers like Chippendale,” he said. “The house is a treasure trove of furniture, art work, and crystal.”
Her eyes glittered with hope, one hand clamped on the camera, the other on the notebook. “Then you’ll let me do the story?”
He was probably crazy considering he barely could keep his eyes off her lips. “You can do the story.” He motioned toward her camera. “Feel free to take as many photos as you like. You seem to understand and appreciate the furnishings—that they meant something to the Yates—they aren’t just things or possessions,” he said.
For a second, her eyes darkened with pain. “Yes.”
He wondered if she was thinking about the incident that caused her to brand him a thief. “Feel free to look around. I’ll be in my office.” He pointed to an open door to the left. “Just let me know when you’re leaving.”
“Thank you.”
With a brief nod, he returned to his study, hoping he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.
ST. MARTIN’S PAPERBACKS TITLES BY FRANCIS RAY
The Falcon Novels
Heart of the Falcon
Break Every Rule
The Taggart Brothers
Forever Yours
Only Hers
The Graysons of New Mexico Series
Until There Was You
You and No Other
Dreaming of You
Irresistible You
Only You
The Grayson Friends Series
The Way You Love Me
Nobody But You
One Night with You
It Had to Be You
A Seductive Kiss
With Just One Kiss
A Dangerous Kiss
All I Ever Wanted
~
Trouble Don’t Last Always
Someone to Love Me
I Know Who Holds Tomorrow
Rockin’ Around That Christmas Tree
(with Donna Hill)
Anthologies
Rosie’s Curl and Weave
Della’s House of Style
Welcome to Leo’s
Going to the Chapel
Gettin’ Merry
RAVE REVIEWS FOR
FRANCIS RAY
ONE NIGHT WITH YOU
“The steam the lovers create is a pleasure to behold. Ray never disappoints!”
—RT Book Reviews
(4½ stars)
WITH JUST ONE KISS
“Heartwarming and fun.”
—RT Book Reviews
(4 stars)
NOBODY BUT YOU
“A story that tugs at the heartstrings.”
—RT BOOKreviews
“Fast and fun and full of emotional thrills and sexy chills. Everything a racing romance should be!”
—Roxanne St. Claire
“Not only does Francis Ray rock in this book but you also see a whole different side of racing that will keep you on the edge of your seat.”
—Night Owl Romance
“A wonderful read.”
—Fresh Fiction
UNTIL THERE WAS YOU
“Ms. Ray has given us a great novel again. Did we expect anything less than the best?”
—RT Book Reviews
(4 stars)
“Crisp style, realistic dialogue, likable characters, and [a] fast pace.”
—Library Journal
THE WAY YOU LOVE ME
“As always, Ray leads her readers on a mesmerizing journey of drama and love …
The Way You Love Me
confirms the fact that Francis Ray is, without a doubt, one of the Queens of Romance.”
—A Romance Review
“A romance that will have readers speed-reading to the next tension-filled scene, if not the climax.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Fans of Ray’s Grayson and Falcon families will be thrilled with the first installment in the new Grayson Friends series. And this is done very well … told with such grace and affection that this novel is a treat to read.”
—RT Book Reviews
(4 stars)
ONLY YOU
“Francis Ray’s graceful writing style and realistically complex characters give her latest contemporary romance its extraordinary emotional richness and depth.”
—Chicago Tribune
“It’s a joy to read this always fresh and exciting saga.”
—RT Book Reviews
(4 stars)
“The powerful descriptive powers of Francis Ray allow the reader to step into the story and become an active part of the surrender … If you love a great love story,
Only You
should be on your list.”