The Rancher Returns (16 page)

“Let me go,” she said, but her voice lacked energy and the man was too drunk to hear her even if she'd shouted.

“Let's dance.”

“No.” She tried to squirm away but found nowhere to escape as the crowd pressed in on them.

All at once a large hand landed on the man's shoulder and tightened. With a yelp, the guy set her free.

“Hey, man. What are you doing?”

The drunk might have been a wolf, but Trent was a ferocious lion. “Leave this club before I have you thrown out.”

If she hadn't been so rattled, Savannah might have enjoyed the way her assailant scrambled away from Trent.

Despite the heat being generated by a thousand dancers, Savannah's skin prickled with goose bumps. The urge to turn tail and run seized her, but before the impulse worked its way into her muscles, Trent slipped his arm around her waist.

Through modeling Savannah had gained an understanding of her physical appeal. Training to become Courtney Day had shown her how to act more confident. By the time Trent had come to New York to visit his sister, Melody, at Juilliard, Savannah was no longer an insecure girl, but a confident, sensual woman he desired. And more importantly, one he could have.

Falling back into old patterns with Trent was easy and comfortable, and she didn't resist as he drew her away from the crowd. He led her to a nondescript door, used a key card to activate the electronic lock and maneuver her through.

As the door clicked shut behind them, leaving them alone in a brightly lit hallway, Trent brushed her ear with his lips. “I see you still need someone to watch over you.”

Being in his debt before she'd asked for his help wasn't a successful approach. “You didn't give me the chance to handle him.”

“Would you like me to fetch him back?”

Savannah fought to control a shiver, knowing that to give in was to let him know how much she appreciated being rescued. “No.”

Trent smirked at her. “You said you wanted a private conversation. How private do you need it to be?”

“Somewhere we can talk uninterrupted.” She glanced up and down the twenty-foot hallway, seeing no one but hearing voices and laughter from around a corner.

“My office is quiet,” he said, fingers sliding along her spine in a tantalizing caress. “Unless you're afraid to be alone with me?”

She twitched as his touch sent a lance of pleasure through her. “Why would I be?”

“You're quivering.” He nuzzled her hair, voice deep and intimate. “Makes me think of the last time we were alone together.”

“That was almost two years ago.” But already the increased agitation in her hormones signaled that the chemistry between them remained as combustible as ever.
Damn.
She hadn't counted on lust being a factor in her negotiations with Trent.

“In the past, we've had a hard time keeping our hands off each other.”

“That explains why you stayed away from me. Why did you stop taking Rafe's phone calls? It really hurt him.”

His blue eyes narrowed. “Ask me if I'm worried how Rafe felt. He was my older brother, yet he never once stood up for me against Siggy. Not when we were kids or when Siggy refused to bring me into the family business. Rafe was the golden child and he liked it that way. So, what? I'm supposed to forgive and forget because he has a change of heart on his deathbed?”

There it was. That chip on his shoulder. The one he'd developed in response to every slight his father had delivered. Trent had been the second son. The spare heir. The boy with eclectic musical interests and strong opinions.

She couldn't disagree with his perception of his relationship with his brother and father. She'd heard the arguments. They didn't appreciate just how brilliant he was. The only opinions Siggy Caldwell entertained were his own. Rafe had learned about the business at his father's knee, never challenging Siggy's decisions.

“Still want to talk?” Trent asked. Had he noticed something in her manner that led him to believe she regretted coming here tonight?

“Yes.”

“Good. I'm dying to hear what brought you to Las Vegas.”

“I need your help.”

“You must be pretty desperate if you came to me.” Trent scrutinized her expression for a beat before taking her by the arm and leading her down the hall. “Let's go to my office. You can tell me all about it.”

* * *

As soon as Trent escorted Savannah into his office and closed the door behind them, he knew this was a bad idea. He blamed curiosity. She'd been trying to get a hold of him for a week.

Yet, he could've picked up the phone at any time and discovered what was on her mind. But he'd resisted. What had changed?

Long-buried emotions, aroused by the familiar scent of her perfume, provided the answer. His fingers itched to slide over her smooth skin. From his first sight of her in the club tonight, he'd been fighting the longing to back her against a wall and ease his mouth over her quaking body.

He released her arm and turned his back to her. Picturing her naked and moaning his brother's name reminded him why he'd been keeping his distance.

He slipped behind a wet bar that ran perpendicular to the wall of floor-to-ceiling monitors tuned to various key areas in the club. Fixing her a drink gave him something useful to do until the urge to crush her mouth beneath his abated. Trent gave himself a hard mental shake. Obviously he hadn't thought through this scenario when he'd suggested they use his office for their private conversation. Being alone with Savannah shouldn't trigger his libido. He thought he'd gotten over her the instant she'd said “I do” to his brother. Damn if he'd been wrong.

Disgusted, Trent pulled a bottle from the fridge and surveyed the label. “Champagne?” When she shook her head, he arched an eyebrow. “Aren't we celebrating?”

Her frown asked,
Celebrating what?
“You know I don't drink.”

“Oh,” he drawled. “I thought perhaps after being married to my brother, you might have started.”

Savannah made a face at him but didn't rise to the bait. “I'll take some sparkling water if you have it.”

Amused, Trent dropped ice into a glass and poured her a drink. Fixing a lime to the rim, he pushed the glass across the bar toward her. As much as he could use a scotch to settle his nerves, he refrained. Dealing with Savannah was complicated enough without a fuzzy head.

A familiar mixture of fondness and rage filled him as he watched her sip the drink.

From the moment the naive eleven-year-old with the big blue eyes had moved into the servants' quarters of his family's Beverly Hills home, he'd been drawn to her. Unlike his twelve-year-old sister, she'd exhibited none of the gawkiness of preteen girls. And her lack of street smarts had driven Trent crazy.

As a kid he'd slipped into rebellious and resentful mode pretty early. Being a troublemaker came easy. He wasn't anyone's hero. But he'd come to Savannah's rescue more times than he could count. She'd been a magnet for anyone eager to take advantage of a young girl from some backwoods town in Tennessee. To look at her you'd think she would turn to smoke if you touched her, but in fact there was supple muscle beneath her soft skin, something he'd discovered firsthand when he'd taught her a couple self-defense moves.

In some ways, she was still the same ragamuffin who'd needed protection from the mean girls in school and the boys who thought to take advantage of her naïveté. But being on her own in New York had given her a new set of skills. For one, she'd learned how to go after something she wanted. And for a while it was pretty apparent that what she'd wanted was him.

Which was why it had come as such a surprise that she'd chosen to marry his brother. Despite the years she'd spent in LA and New York, she remained a small-town girl at heart. She had no lofty dreams of fame and fortune. She'd never known stability growing up, so as an adult, Savannah craved marriage and children, a secure, safe life.

Her vision of a traditional family situation was completely foreign to Trent. His father was an ambitious tyrant who'd married late. His misogynistic behavior had driven his wife away not long after Melody was born. The prenup their mother had signed granted her nothing if she fought for custody of her children. Trent had never been surprised that she'd chosen the money.

Was it any wonder he had so little interest in marriage and family? But knowing how important it was to Savannah should've warned him to keep his distance. He might have, but she was irresistible to him.

No matter how many times he'd cautioned himself to stay away, he couldn't stop coming to her rescue. Only once had he abandoned her to trouble—the day she'd declared her intention to marry Rafe.

“Widowhood becomes you,” he said. If he'd hoped to shock her, he failed.

Reproachful blue eyes fixed on him. “That's a terrible thing to say.”

“Perhaps, but it doesn't stop it from being true.”

Young Savannah had possessed a guilelessness that left her open for the world to read. And take advantage of. He'd expected her to be eaten alive in the cutthroat world of modeling and acting in New York City, but she'd figured out a way to survive. When he'd visited Melody during her junior year at Juilliard, he'd been checking in on Savannah, as well. At first he'd been surprised. The naive girl wasn't gone, but she'd become a little wiser. She'd also gained an air of mystery. He'd been intrigued.

He still was.

“Perhaps you should tell me why you're here, dear sister-in-law.”

Her lips formed a moue of distaste at the specific emphasis he put on the last three words. Trent took no pleasure in highlighting the chasm between them, but it needed to be done.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Trent had been dodging her for a week, assuming something of this sort. For sixteen months he'd been waiting for her to admit that marrying his brother had been a mistake. It irritated him that she hadn't. And now she wanted something from him.

“I'm not interested.”

“You haven't even heard me out.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

Her facial muscles tightened, lending her expression a determined look he'd never seen before. She'd always seemed untouched by demons that drove most people, unfazed by success or obstacles. What had changed? Marriage to his brother? Motherhood?

These were questions best left alone. Trent didn't need to venture down the rabbit hole of turbulent emotions conjured whenever he spent time with Savannah. Better to speed her on her way back to LA and be done with temptation.

“Maybe we don't have anything to talk about, but
I
have a great deal to say.”

“Why don't you make an appointment with my office for some time next week.” He knew he was taunting her but couldn't help himself. She'd become another in a long list of people who brought out his bad side.

“I've already been here five days and you've been avoiding me. I'm closing on the sale of my house tomorrow afternoon, so Dylan and I are leaving in the morning. I had hoped to have everything settled before we returned to LA.”

Against his better judgment—because he was playing directly into her hands—Trent asked, “What exactly did you intend to have settled?”

“When Rafe died, he left his shares of West Coast Records to Dylan. That means until Dylan's eighteenth birthday, I'm in charge of the business.” She shook her head. “I need help.”

Now Trent was starting to see where she was going. “You've got Gerry.” Gerry Brueger had been Siggy's second in command for twenty years. Passed over for president when Siggy stepped down and installed Rafe as the head of the company, Gerry would jump at the chance to take over.

“It's not that simple. I need a CEO I can trust. Someone who gets the business and can turn things around.”

“So hire someone.”

“That's what I'm trying to do.” She cocked her head and scowled at him.

“Me?” This was not at all what he'd expected. Trent shook his head. “Not interested.”

“It's your family's company.”

“It's my
father's
company.” And his brother's. They'd never wanted him to be a part of it. “Besides, my father isn't going to welcome my interference.” He noticed that her gaze shifted away. “Have you talked to Siggy about this?”

“It's my decision.” But she sounded less confident than she'd been moments earlier.

“So you haven't mentioned any of this to Siggy?”

“He sold a majority of his shares in the business to Rafe. Dylan inherited them. Siggy isn't in control of the company anymore.”

Her naïveté was showing. She might think she was in charge, but she was in for a huge battle if she thought she could bring Trent into the record company. He almost felt sorry for her.

“Sell the company back to Siggy and wash your hands of it.”

“It's not that cut-and-dried.” She set her untouched glass of water on a nearby table and squared her shoulders. “He won't buy back Rafe's shares, but I know he's planning to control things behind the scenes. Siggy intends for Dylan to run the company someday.” Savannah paused and compressed her lips into a thin line. With a sigh, she continued, “In the meantime, I can't run it and I don't trust your father to be able to turn things around.”

“Turn things around?” Trent had heard rumblings that West Coast Records was having financial problems. No surprise there—Siggy Caldwell's approach to the music industry was uninspired and his eldest son had been a chip off the old block. “What's going on?”

“I'm not exactly sure, because I've been getting the runaround from Gerry, but I think they're behind on paying royalties to their artists.”

“When did this start?”

“I don't know. Shortly after we were married, Rafe confided to me that the company was struggling financially before your father retired.” That had occurred three years earlier. “And after the cancer started eating away at Rafe, he wasn't making the best decisions. I'm sure things got much worse then.”