Pirate's Gold (10 page)

Kyle shrugged. “Not really. I met him once and liked his work. He was working on a series of watercolors of the Blue Ridge near the town where I was born. I bought the entire series.”

“So this is where you grew up?” Maren asked, eyeing the pictures with new interest.

Kyle corrected her. “You might think so if you listened to my agent for very long. He seemed to like to perpetuate the old rags-to-riches story about a good ol' boy from the Blue Ridge.”

Maren focused her attention back on the man. “Isn't that the way it happened?”

“Not exactly…you see, my parents moved out here when I was pretty young. I've been a Californian ever since. My agent and my manager didn't think having a client from southern California was nearly as interesting as a genuine country boy from the South. My agent thought it would add to my…image. I went along with him.”

“And it worked. You convinced the record-buying public that you were the real thing.”

“I was. What did it matter where I grew up? They wanted country songs—and that's what I gave them. That's the business we're in, Ms. McClure, or have you forgotten?” He drained his drink and set the glass on a nearby table. “There are a lot of things about me that you don't know—or maybe even have misconstrued. Why don't you take a chance and get to know me better? Stay with me.”

He was standing only inches from her. The warmth of his body seemed to touch her skin. “I try not to make a practice of taking chances,” she said softly, never letting her gaze waver from his. “They could become dangerous.”

“And you're trying to convince me that you aren't attracted by risk?” he asked dubiously. Before she could respond, he continued. “Don't bother to waste your breath. No woman could have achieved what you have without taking a few gambles along the way.”

“And the chances I have taken didn't include sleeping with someone to get what I wanted.” She tilted her head upward, daring him to pursue the subject.

“I know that. Neither have I.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “No female executive ever got you in a compromising position?” she asked.

“Not until now.”

Maren's heart seemed to skip a beat. When she raised her glass to her lips, her hands were trembling. There was something disturbing in his quiet gaze and in an instant she realized just how desperately he wanted her. “This is very difficult for me,” she admitted, her voice suddenly rough.

“That makes two of us.”

The air between them was tense. Maren knew that if Kyle were to touch her, she would fall willingly into his arms. She wanted to believe that his desire for her was more than just physical; she needed to know that there was more involved than lust. The idea of spending the night with a man she barely knew made her uneasy. Things were moving much too rapidly, and it was difficult to keep her feelings for Kyle in perspective.

“I think there are a few things we should get straight,” Maren volunteered as Kyle shifted and walked toward the fireplace. He rubbed the back of his neck as if to erase the tension developing between his shoulder blades.

“Ground rules?” He captured her with his questioning gray eyes.

Her smile was frail. “I suppose you might call them that,” Maren allowed.

“Okay, shoot.” He leaned against the rough stones of the fireplace and crossed his arms over his chest. The fabric of his shirt strained against the muscles of his shoulders and back. One foot was poised on the raised hearth. Maren noticed that his thigh muscle was tightening. Kyle's pose was obviously seductive, and Maren wondered if it were spontaneous or contrived.

“I talked to my lawyer today,” Maren began.

His gaze never faltered. No trace of emotion threatened to distort the even features of his face “And?”

“She advised me—”

“She?”
he interrupted. His jaw tightened and his eyes seemed to darken dangerously.

“Elise Conrad. My attorney.” Maren could read the suddenly wary look crossing his eyes. “This
is
the nineteen eighties, Kyle. There are such things as female lawyers.” For a reason she couldn't define, Maren felt defensive.

“Don't I know,” Kyle returned evasively. He lowered his hand to his knee, still keeping his gaze fixed on Maren. “What did this woman, pardon me,
your attorney,
suggest?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Elise said that you should give me a firm offer for Festival in writing, and that I shouldn't sign
anything
until she has had the chance to go over it.”

‘Sounds like an attorney,” Kyle muttered angrily.

“It sounds fair.”

“Then I guess you'd better tell me exactly what you want for your business,” he decided aloud. “And I'll want a full financial report on Festival. Then you'd better determine whatever other terms you want: cash outright or contract? Employment agreement? Anything else. I think
my
attorney will insist upon them.” His face had hardened menacingly and in a fraction of an instant Maren witnessed a transformation in Kyle. One minute he was a sensitive man intent on seducing a woman, the next he was a ruthless executive bent on only one thing: getting what he wanted for his company.

“You act as if this transaction might get a little vicious.”

He shook his head and frowned. “You're the one who brought in an attorney,” he reminded her.

“You expected me not to?” She was incredulous. “What kind of an idiot do you take me for?”

His frown disappeared as he gazed into her eyes. “I think of you as a lot of things,” he admitted. “But an idiot? Never! I hope that we can accomplish the purchase of Festival without shedding too much blood, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared.”

“Are you always so calculating?”

‘Only when I have to be, and I'd say that with you, as far as business is concerned, I'm going to have to be careful—damn careful.”

“And that bothers you?” she guessed.

He lifted his shoulders and shook his head. “Not really. I just don't want to spend the rest of the weekend arguing about dollars, cents and Festival Productions.”

“No?” Cocking her head to the side, she smiled, showing the flash of even white teeth. “Why don't you tell me exactly what it is you want to do?” There was an alluring invitation in her seductive indigo gaze.

Though Kyle was several feet from her, she felt as it they were nearly touching. His eyes caressed her and held her gaze in an intimate and familiar embrace. As he rose and crossed the room, Maren felt her heart begin to pound mercilessly in her chest. His masculinity unnerved her; his self-assured power disturbed her equilibrium. “I just want the chance to get to know you…” he replied, reaching her and touching her shoulders lightly. The warmth of his fingers permeated the light fabric of her linen jacket, leaving a torrid imprint on her skin. “Why can't you understand that?”

“I do,” she admitted.

“But?” His dark eyes coaxed her.

“But I can't help but think that the owner of Sterling Recording Company might have ulterior motives for seeing me.”

“You expect me to seduce you into selling Festival?”

“I expect you to
try.
”

“Then what's to worry—since you're onto my game plan?” he mocked, with a twinkle of expectation lighting his eyes. He lowered his head and his lips hovered over hers for a breathtaking instant. “What I wouldn't do for just one chance,” he sighed as his lips touched hers in a kiss as warm as it was sensual. Maren didn't move, but felt as if every muscle and bone within her body were melting. Strong lean arms wrapped possessively around her, and Kyle's hand slipped under the hem of her jacket to touch the bare skin exposed by her backless sundress. At the touch of his fingers against the sensitive skin, she shuddered, and she felt his muscles tense. He groaned in frustration as his tongue traced the soft flesh of her lips before probing the warm recesses of her mouth.

A soft sigh escaped her as she hungrily returned the fervor of his kiss. Her heart was beating mercilessly in her eardrums, and a warm ache was uncoiling deep within the most secret part of her. Never had she felt desire so molten; never had she so boldly responded to a man.

“Stay with me,” Kyle encouraged as he dragged his lips from hers and kissed the column of her neck. Shivers of anticipation raced down her spine.

With all the effort she could muster, she gently pushed him away, placing her palms on the hard muscles of his chest. “I'll think about it,” she agreed.

“What are you trying to do to me?” he demanded, his breath as ragged as her own. “One minute you say no, the next yes. What do you expect from me?”

“Time—”

“I'm not made of stone,” he replied. “And neither are you. Do you get a kick out of teasing me?”

“That's unfair, Kyle. Teasing is for children and teenage flirts. I'm only trying to be sensible and go slowly. I don't want to do anything either of us might regret.”

His hands fell to his sides. Frustration darkened his eyes. “You don't have to play games with me, Maren. I thought we understood at least that much from our conversation last night. I don't expect you to pretend to be a born-again virgin, for God's sake.”

Maren's lips pursed. “Virginity isn't the issue—and really, neither is sex.”

“Forgive me, I'm missing the point.”

“Casual sex is what I'm worried about.”

“You could have fooled me.”

She ran her fingers through her hair. How could she make him understand? “You're a very famous man, Kyle. You're used to fan adulation, and groupies—”

“And casual sex,” he finished for her.

“Yes!”

“You've been reading too many trashy movie magazines,” he accused, “and you haven't listened to a word I've said in the last forty-eight hours.” He stalked away from her angrily, only to turn and face her with accusing, omniscient eyes. Every muscle in his face had hardened. “But this really isn't about me, is it? This cat-and-mouse game and talk about commitment has to do with the man who hurt you.” She didn't respond and his fist clenched angrily at his side. “If I ever have the misfortune to meet the bastard, I'll personally destroy him,” Kyle promised.

The telephone rang impatiently, and Kyle answered it gruffly. The anger seething within him continued to rage. It was a one-sided conversation, punctuated only by Kyle's pointed remarks. “Just who do you think you are?” he asked. “Don't you think you ought to consider Holly's feelings…. I wish I could talk you out of this…. Take this as a warning; I'm not about to bail you out, not this time, not ever…”

Rather than eavesdrop on the personal conversation, Maren decided to leave Kyle and whoever was on the other end of the line in privacy. Earlier she had noticed a door leading from the living room to a covered deck, and when she tried the handle, she found the door unlocked.

Kyle's anger continued to rage, and the last statement Maren heard before the sound of the sea drowned out the remainder of the conversation was “…you know that I'm never too busy for Holly,” Kyle conceded, disgust audible in his voice. “…You'd better believe that you're in for the battle of your life…” The rest of his warning was lost to Maren as she quietly closed the door behind her and stood near the wrought iron railing surrounding the porch. Far below the rugged cliffs was the sea. Maren breathed deeply of the salty air and listened to the roar of the surf as it crashed against the buffer of dark rocks protecting the lonely stretch of sand.

The sun had lowered into the sea, coloring the aquamarine water with streaks of gold. Maren was leaning on the railing, staring at the distant horizon and the dark silhouettes of sailboats when she heard Kyle approach. “I didn't mean to listen in,” she apologized, still staring out to sea.

“You didn't.” He stood next to her and focused his attention on a craggy jetty to the north. “Rose always has had an incredible sense of timing,” he muttered. At the mention of Kyle's famous ex-wife's name, Maren's stomach knotted. Of course—why hadn't she guessed that he was talking to the petite blond country singer? As if to dismiss his ex-wife completely, Kyle touched Maren on the cheek. “Come on, let's go inside and I'll show you where I work.”

Kyle led Maren to the far end of the deck. Opening the door, he escorted her into a room that appeared to be his office. “This is the den,” he explained as they entered the oversize room. “When I'm not in L.A., this is where I spend most of my time.”

The desk was cluttered with papers. The walls were covered with gold records and pictures of a girl with dark hair and intense green eyes. Maren suspected the portraits were of Kyle's child. The furniture was expensive but slightly worn, and Maren could picture Kyle very much at home in the comfortable, eclectic room with its expansive view of the sea.