He took my hand, and that was another good thing, because I was just about to walk into the post and rail. Apparently all I could see was him.
His touch around my fingers was like a bolt of electricity that shot up my arm, rushed to my head, then raced down into my belly … further down … and,
oh my
.
Okay, bottom line:
I was hot for this man
. HOT.
And then, earth to Charlie slapped me in the face in the form of a beautiful blonde in a silver BMW convertible. She drove right up to where we stood at the paddock fence that lined my long drive—wait,
not mine
,
but his—his long drive.
“There you are, Wade,” she said and gave him a flirtatious look as she got her voluptuous body out of her car. Her breasts were so large I wondered if they were real
She told him, “I’ve been calling, but you haven’t been answering. Did you get my messages?”
She looked to be around his age, late twenties, confident, cool, in a league where I did not belong or even wanted to be. I reminded myself that she was in his league—his world. I was not.
“No, I didn’t get the messages because I haven’t even looked at my phone. I told you, Gloria, I needed some quiet days. What are you doing here?” His voice was cold, and that surprised me.
“I came with these … thought you might want to look over the contract immediately since Tinsdale made so many changes.”
He eyed her and then politely turned to me and made introductions. “Charlene Wells, this is Gloria Sidle. She’s a top attorney at Harriman and Boyles but works with Devon Enterprises almost exclusively.”
I nodded and stupidly gave her a smile. Stupidly, because she refused to take note of my presence.
She didn’t bother looking my way and concentrated her gaze only on him. “You need to look these over. Tinsdale says he has another offer he is considering and will take if you don’t agree to his terms. I thought it best to bring it in person since I wasn’t sure you would even look at your email.”
He eyed her and said, “A mutual friend mentioned seeing you at dinner with Tinsdale last evening, and now he’s made changes to the contract we agreed upon earlier?” He sneered. “I tell you what, Gloria. Tell him to take his other offer.” He eyed the folder and added, “You can hand that back to him. I withdraw my offer.”
I saw the businessman then. Apparently he didn’t take shit.
He and this Tinsdale guy must have had a verbal agreement, and now the guy was playing games. My Mr. Hottie didn’t play games. I liked him immediately. He was upfront and honest.
Gloria Sidle turned white. “This isn’t wise, Wade …”
“Is it not, Ms. Sidle? Well, you’ve been working with my firm for only a few months and apparently have not learned that I don’t deal with people who renege on agreements. Now, if you will excuse us.”
Whoa, Mr. Hottie was a toughie. I would have felt sorry for her had she not shot me a look of contempt. I was surprised. What did I do? But I gave her the benefit of the doubt. She was probably embarrassed by his cold treatment.
On the other hand, she was out of line, wasn’t she? Unless she and Mr. Hottie were involved?
Ah, maybe that was it.
He opened her car door for her, and she got inside. He said something low and quiet, only for her ears, and I looked away.
She shot me a look full of hatred this time. I thought maybe she was crazy, but she smiled at him and said, “Wade … I’m off to meet some friends, but I could come back afterwards if you like …?”
Ah, lovers,
I concluded.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said, and there was nothing of the lover about him.
I revised
my opinion.
Ex-lovers.
She evidently had no pride or shame because her voice held something—was it a plea? “But, Wade … it has been so long.”
Okay, time to turn and run. I started to move away to give them some privacy.
Wade reached for and caught my hand. “No need for you to leave,” he said.
She gave him a sharp, hard smile that again surprised me and turned to me once again. Apparently she was jealous. I felt bad for her, but then Gloria Sidle, who was now really looking at me for the first time, said on a harsh note, “Well, look at you, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A young and delicate flower, aren’t you?
Be careful
. He will swallow you whole.”
I sucked in my bottom lip and decided to hold my tongue.
She drove off, and I looked up at Wade Devon, but before I could speak he said, “I am sorry for that.”
I shook my head. “None of my business.”
Even though I felt a little sorry for her, I didn’t like Gloria Sidle. But, I told myself, she could be right.
Yeah, maybe Mr. Hottie with the devastating looks would, if he could,
swallow me whole
.
However, I decided,
I wasn’t about to let him.
DETERMINATION IS A FUNNY thing. A chocolate cake in the fridge is begging to be eaten. You are determined to stay on your diet. A call from someone gets your dander up, determination goes out the window, and the cake … downed in five minutes flat.
I know this about myself and try to circumvent cracks in my determination, but now and then, poof, willpower explodes, and I find myself doing exactly what I’ve told myself to avoid.
I have some rigid notions about good, bad, you know, and ugly. I have rigid notions about who fits into which category. Yeah, kinda like the Clint Eastwood movie.
But I was about to learn a valuable lesson. I was about to learn that life is filled with far more grays than black and whites. And colors? Forget about it. Colors obscure everything, and Mr. Hottie? He was every color of the rainbow.
When Blondie drove off with that parting remark, I decided to put up some walls Mr. Hottie would not be able to crack. I knew myself, and I knew instantly I was far too attracted to him on far too many levels.
I needed to protect myself. I needed to be able to ‘look and not touch.’
The only problem with that was looking at Wade Devon made something inside me whisper,
Touch, touch, touch
.
So up went my wall, or so I thought, but people are complicated. You think,
Well, he did that, so he must be this
, and then it turns out that he is something way different
than
either this or that.
He was so damned easy to talk to.
He asked real simple questions—ones that didn’t require complicated answers. He spoke about his work and asked about my art, and the next thing I knew I was jabbering on and on about art, horses, museums, and
trave
l
, which is a dream of mine. There are so many places I want to visit, like Paris and Rome and Ireland, and my list goes on and on.
“Travel?” he said thoughtfully. “I am well-traveled, but I can’t say that I really am well versed in any of the places I visited. They were business trips you see …” His voice trailed off, and I saw a flicker of regret in his eyes.
I changed the subject. “You know, there’s a Hunt Club on Long Island that only does drag hunts. They take scent over fences. The huntsman takes out the hounds, and they follow the scent, and the hunt follows them if they can.” I laughed and continued. “Some of the fences are challenging. Sassy ducked out of one or two of them. It’s a lot of fun. Everyone wins. Fox aren’t hunted, hounds get to chase a scent and are rewarded with a treat at the end, and the riders get to jump over a variety of fences at breakneck speed. It is wild but fun. I’ve only done a few of them.” I smiled and added, “What I really love are the Hunter Paces.”
He wanted to know more, and before I knew it I was recounting one funny incident after another and discovered that laughing with him was as easy as blabbering at him.
He sat back and asked curiously, “How many boarders do we have that hunt and do these pace events?”
“Hmm, let me think, six or seven I think. They used to hunt live scent years ago, but now they only drag, which makes it more acceptable to people. Horrible to hunt down a fox who has been planted for that reason alone. He doesn’t stand much of a chance, does he? New territory—where can he go? Horrible.” I tried to read his opinion on his face and asked, “Do you hunt?”
“No, and I don’t compete. When I get on a horse, I just want to ride out and enjoy the quiet of the day.”
“Hmm, that’s me as well, but I have gone on a couple of Hunter Paces, and those
are
fun. No animals involved, just your best speed over really tough fences to the finish line. It is done in twos.” I sighed. “I haven’t had anyone to partner with lately as Dee—my best friend—lost her horse to old age this year and isn’t ready to take on another.”
“I might be interested in partnering with you, just to try something different. Prancer is a natural over fences. I just give him his head.”
“I have to warn you, when I do a Hunter Pace, I get competitive. Sassy and I are out for time, and we usually pin.”
“Just what I want to hear,” he said and grinned.
Oh, yes, conversation with Wade Devon was easy. But, underneath it all, I had the feeling that he was moving towards something—and I wasn’t sure what.
He told me that though he planned to improve and expand Norcross, he meant to keep the name of the farm and the two employees that had been with us for years and years.
That thrilled me, and what was more, I thought his plans would work. The area could use an upscale horse farm.
He sat back then and confessed that he usually lost interest in projects once they were completed and made successful.
“But Norcross is already successful,” I objected.
“True, but only on a small scale. As I said, I mean to expand. I made an offer on the land that backs up to the farm, and it’s been accepted. Those ten acres will allow us additional paddocks and another building where I can house—comfortably house—at least fifteen more horses. I already have a waiting list.” He smiled.
“That will mean more help will be needed, and between the cost of building, taxes, and … well, it will be years before you see a profit.” I felt a blush hit my cheeks. “Oh, I am sorry. You don’t need any advice from me …”
“Yes, Charlie, I do. But I have taken all that into consideration. Here’s the difference between what your farm was and what my farm
will be
. As you said, your parents ran a ‘mom and pop’ operation. Your boarding fees were too low to be realistic. You never had a vacancy, true, but the income it provided was inferior. You didn’t charge enough to do more than get by and then only because all three of you worked at it with very little help. My boarding foreman has purchased a horse van for Norcross. He’s experienced in both horsemanship and service, and he’ll drive the horses to the various shows and events for the boarders. We will also offer grooming services to our boarders and—”
“But …” I interrupted, as I realized a great many of the present boarders wouldn’t be able to afford what he’d have to charge. “Some of our boarders have been with us for years and can’t afford to pay more …” I know I was waving my hands about. I do when upset.
He sighed and sat back in his seat. “Business is business.”
I stared at him. I had expected he would raise the board, but what he was talking about was way over the top. “Are we done?” I asked, pushing my coffee aside. “I’m tired and would like to go home.”
His eyes narrowed, and he said, “Of course. What was I thinking, keeping you so late?”
A few minutes later, we were in his black Jag and heading back to the farm. I answered his questions with monosyllables and grunts, and finally he sighed and said,
“
Charlie
…
why don’t we do this? The boarders presently here will all be given a moderate increase and advised that the board will be raised again in six months to what all new boarders will be billed. Those who cannot afford that increase will have six months to find another home for themselves and their horses.
Fair
,
Charlie?”
I didn’t want to see some of the people who had become friends over the years have to leave, but he was right, that was fair. It really was, and he was right. A business had to be run as a business.
I nodded. “Yes, it is all very sad, but I agree … that is fair.”
He used the remote to open the gate and drove me up to the first barn, which housed my apartment. I started to get out, but he said, “No … wait a moment.”
He ran to my side of the car, something my dad always does for my mom, and opened it wide. “A lady allows a man to be a gentleman,” he said, grinning, and that grin of his was so damn infectious.
“Maybe, but I never said I was a lady,” I bantered with a smile as I walked to my door, key ever ready.
He took the key from me, unlocked the door, turned, and took my hand to put the key back in it. Then, all at once, he had me in his arms.
I could have pushed away. I could have said no.
I could have … I didn’t.
His kiss sent a blast of pleasure racing through my entire system. His tongue tasted of wine, and I was happy to drink up. His hand on my back pressured me to fold into him, and I did. What was wrong with me? I am not (here is the old line) that kind of girl. I am a ‘take my time’ and ‘get to know you’ and ‘never kiss on a first date’ girl—and besides that, this wasn’t even a date.
He set me aside and looked at me. I was speechless as I looked back at him.
His smile was soft and caressing, and,
damn oh damn
, if I wasn’t careful, I might just fall. His voice enveloped me as he said, “Good night, Charlie Wells
. Sweet dreams
.”
* * *
Sweet dreams, my ass.
That good-night kiss was “hello, come on in”, and it had kept me up and tossing all night.
Hot, his one kiss had made me hot for more, and then he just left me. Insecure, I kept reliving it. Did I do something wrong? Was I a horrible kisser? I knew I didn’t have much experience. Maybe I was supposed to do something different than slide my tongue against his. Oh, his kiss was riveting.
Was mine so bad?
John came to mind. I had never had a kiss like that, not in the three years I was with John, not ever from anyone.
In fact, John and I split because I had never been in love with him or really aroused by him, and I kept thinking there had to be something more. Well, here it was, ‘the more.’
John and I were still friends. For most of those three years, that was actually what we were—
friends.
Not one kiss that I’d ever had—and I’d had plenty of kisses in high school and a few in college before John and I became an item—none of those kisses came close to the kiss Wade Devon had planted on me.
Gloria the hotshot was right
. He could swallow me whole, and if he spat me out, I would be ruined for anyone else.
Okay, new day ahead, and if I went down to get Sassy, I would be sure to be quiet—get in, get her tacked, get out without bumping into Mr. Wade Devon.
I also wanted to paint, but I couldn’t concentrate on the canvas, so I hurried down through the woods to Sassy’s paddock, hoping I wouldn’t be seen.
She trotted over, and I got my saddle out of the shed and slipped it on her without doing much of a brushing. She was clean enough.
No sign of Mr. Hot Lips. Thank goodness.
I mounted and walked her down the driveway, into the back riding ring, and onto the dirt path that led to the preserve’s extensive riding trails, where I opened her up. We both needed a run.
I had to find a way to get Wade Devon out of my head. This billionaire hottie was dangerous to my peace of mind. We were an odd contradiction. We had the same thought waves, and yet our goals were very different.
He had said it when he summed up what he wanted to do with the farm. He had so many plans that would take it out of the warm and cozy and into the big and famous.
He came from a place that made big money, and I had no doubt he could be ruthless when pushed. Though I’m an artist, I am interested in business and not naïve about it at all. I know you can’t get his kind of money unless you are willing to do what you have to do, and what that might have entailed in his case, I could only guess at.
Sassy snorted under me as I told her what I was thinking. She totally agreed with me. She added,
Heartbreaker—he is a heartbreaker. Don’t go near him.
As I rode my mare back past the stables and down the narrow, wooded path to her paddock behind Devon’s home I had a difficult time thinking of anything other than Wade Devon.
I dismounted, put Sassy on cross ties near her little barn, and brushed her down, all the while questioning myself. What was happening to me? I had never felt this way before. I laughed at my friends when they went on and on about someone they had met, and now, here I was … doing much the same—well, at least in my head.
I walked Sassy back to the paddock behind what was now Wade’s house.
Still no sign of him … he was gone. He was off somewhere.
Kiss and run was his style, I was sure. A man like him (I had Googled him) didn’t get to be twenty-eight years old, a billionaire, and single without some effort.