Chapter 1
Fallon Nicole Marshall had always considered herself cool under pressure. After all, she was a well-respected travel writer for some of the top magazines in the country. She routinely dealt with tight deadlines, demanding editors, computer glitches, and uncooperative people. She’d baked in 107 degrees, frozen in 6 below, to get a story and just the right photographs. She had the patience of Job and the tenacity of a terrier. Nothing—if you didn’t consider her need for two cups of coffee each morning—got the best of her anymore. She’d been there, done that.
Or so she’d mistakenly thought.
Slowing down on the highway, Fallon put on her signal and turned her rental onto the paved road three miles out of Santa Fe. Her slim fingers flexed on the steering wheel of the late-model Taurus. She was only marginally pleased that they weren’t damp with perspiration. She might be a bit nervous about obtaining information for her next story, but at least she wasn’t showing her frayed nerves on meeting Lance Saxton again.
It was perfectly understandable that she felt apprehensive—after all, she had been, well, rather abrupt to Lance Saxton two weeks ago when they’d first met. She’d practically accused him of being a thief and walked away from him in self-righteous indignation. Although he had to share some of the blame for that crack about “not handling their financial responsibilities correctly,” she had to take her share as well.
She freely admitted that since her mother had been swindled by the unscrupulous owner of an auction house and Lance owned an auction house she had judged quickly and harshly.
And she’d been wrong.
She hadn’t discovered her mistake until recently. Naomi Reese, her friend and neighbor, had insisted Fallon read an article about Lance in Fortune magazine. Fallon had turned up her nose and ignored the sudden thump of her heart on seeing a picture of Lance in an expensive navy pin-striped suit standing in front of Saxton Auction House, but she’d read the article.
In less than a minute she’d known she’d been wrong. She’d handed the magazine back to Naomi, thanked her, and gone home, telling herself if the opportunity ever presented itself she’d apologize, fully aware that she wasn’t going to initiate the contact. That changed a few days ago.
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 of flower hues.
Fallon hadn’t seen grass so lush since she’d left her hometown of Austin four months ago. She was tempted to slip off her sandals and let the grass tickle her toes. She refrained. All she needed was for Lance to see her and think she was a nutcase. Still, with less than twelve inches of rain yearly in Santa Fe, it would cost a small fortune to maintain the grounds.
Through research she’d learned that the single male heir and last owner had died six months ago from injuries sustained in a skiing accident. Banks sometimes paid for minor upkeep, but nothing more.
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 had 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 had almost fantasized 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.
It was her job as a travel writer to point out the new and unusual, the best places to make that vacation or staycation exciting, fun, and memorable. Reading about the auction in the newspaper had given her an idea for a story—that of leaving time on the schedule for something unexpected, like an auction.
The Yates home was a piece of history that would soon be gone … just as her family’s heirlooms and antiques were gone. She’d never forgive the owner of the auction house who had cheated her mother and made their lives miserable when Fallon was seventeen, but she’d been wrong to lump Lance with the crook.
The Yates possessions weren’t going to be lowballed as the Marshalls’ had been. Lance Saxton, although new to the auction scene, had a sterling reputation as a savvy businessman with a Midas touch. Whatever he touched succeeded in spades. The Yates auction would only be his second in the three months since he’d opened Saxton Auction House. The other had been in Tucson, where his office was located, and hugely successful. The retired movie star’s possessions had sold out after the second day of the four-day sale.
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.
So, she’d taken the coward’s way and asked his cousin, Richard Youngblood, if he thought Lance would be at the Yates house working. Richard had been at his fiancée Naomi’s apartment that morning eating breakfast and discussing wedding plans. They were as giddy as teenagers and so much in love. Fallon was happy for both of them, especially after what Naomi had gone through.
Declining the offer of breakfast, Fallon had gone back to her place next door to leave them alone. Or as much as possible with Naomi’s five-year-old daughter, Kayla, with them. Neither Richard nor Naomi seemed to mind. That had been hours ago. It was almost two. It had taken Fallon this long to work up the courage to drive out.
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 contents for the auction had driven into town for a late lunch. There was no one there but him. If he didn’t answer, Fallon would 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 office. 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 doorknob 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.”
Before saying “I’m not sure if you remember or not, but I’m a travel writer,” Fallon ran her tongue over those lips he’d dreamed about.
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 good-bye, 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 themselves. 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’s 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.” Lance had learned that lesson the hard way.
Fallon’s 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 Lance 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.
There were times when he thought of his own mortality, even at thirty-six. 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.
Instead of being annoyed with Fallon, he really should be thanking her. If she hadn’t put a stop to things that afternoon they met, they would have probably ended up in bed and his life would have been in turmoil again. Besides, he’d like the Yates history and legacy to be preserved as well.
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.”
He noted that perspiration dampened the flawless skin on her forehead. Perhaps he was rude to keep her out in the heat. “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 Fallon. “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 of the house.”
“There are other pieces he made mixed throughout with the more famous makers like Chippendale,” Lance said. “The house is a treasure trove of furniture, artwork, 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 Yateses, 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 had 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 office, hoping he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.
* * *
Fallon caught herself admiring Lance’s muscular build, the easy way he moved—all right, his butt—and quickly turned away. Now wasn’t the time to go all girlie over a good-looking man. Lance had been gentleman enough to overlook her bad manners in the past, and she had a story to do.
However, twenty minutes later she wasn’t so sure anymore. The house was as fantastic inside as it was outside, the furnishings beautiful. Thaddeus’s wife had liked English antiques, and so had their daughter. There was none of the heavy masculine stuff Fallon had half expected. The only leather she had seen was in the game room, a pool table. To do the story, she needed to be able to talk about specific pieces of furniture and what they meant to the family.
If she had had her mind on the article instead of on a certain part of Lance’s anatomy, she wouldn’t have forgotten that important detail. There was only one way to correct matters. She started down the elegantly curved staircase with a mahogany handrail and didn’t stop until she was in front of the door Lance had indicated. She knocked.
“Come in.”
Plastering a cheerful smile on her face and hoping she wasn’t disturbing him, she opened the door. He sat behind a massive desk in a room filled with bookshelves. This room had been the Yates library.
Lance lifted his dark head, his gaze direct and his expression patient. On either side of him were undraped floor-to-ceiling windows. Framed by sunlight, he was gorgeous. The thought ran through her mind that he didn’t smile as easily as the man she’d met weeks ago. A pity.
“Yes?” His voice, once warm and tempting, was now coolly professional.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but were there any diaries that might put significance on the individual pieces of furnishings or household articles?” she asked, crossing to stand in front of his desk. “As I said, Mr. Yates was said to be sentimental. The house is a showcase, but I want my readers to know the why and the how.”
“Yes. Thaddeus Yates and his daughter left notes, but they’re part of the auction and I’d rather they not be handled,” Lance explained, removing his eyeglasses.
Disappointment slumped her shoulders. “I see.”
He seemed to hesitate, then came to his feet and around the desk. “’I’ve read the notes and am familiar with everything. If you’d like I could give you a brief tour.”
“Lance, thank you.” He really was a nice guy. “That would be wonderful.”
“We could start in here.” He turned toward the built-in bookcases on the walls. “Thaddeus had these made in New Orleans. Some people just purchase books to fill out a library because of their binding or size, but Thaddeus loved to read and so did his wife and daughter. Each book was selected by one of them.”
Fallon lifted her camera and took a couple of shots, then walked over to the shelf and pulled out a slim book. “Wuthering Heights. I wonder, was the mother or the daughter the romantic?”
“Safe to say it wasn’t Thaddeus. Men know better.”
Fallon frowned. “You don’t believe in romance?”
“Not many practical men would.” Lance opened the library/office door. “We can continue upstairs. You’ll note that, although extensive remodeling has been done, the original wood molding around the fireplaces and walls remains. This way.”
Fallon wasn’t ready to leave the conversation on romance, but she wasn’t given a choice. Replacing the book, she turned to follow Lance.
* * *
As they went through the house and as she listened to him talk, she realized he cared about the furnishings. It wasn’t just money to him. He seemed to understand what the house meant to the mother and daughter who had acquired most of the furnishings.
Back downstairs, Lance led her to the dining room. “Surrounding this late Georgian dining table is a suite of Empire chairs. It can comfortably seat twelve. Thaddeus’s daughter, Colleen, personally picked this out on a trip to England.”
Fallon snapped a photo, then lowered the camera. “Clearly she intended this for large family gatherings.”
“Her son, Herbert, was two at the time,” Lance said. “While traveling she wrote that she and her husband wanted more children. Her son understood the legacy. Ten years before his death, he had his last name changed to Yates.”
Fallon’s fingertips grazed the table’s polished surface. “Like the sterling flatware you showed me in the linen closet, she wanted these things to be handed down to the next generation, but it didn’t happen.”
Not a flicker of emotion crossed Lance’s face. “No, her son never married.”
“I hope the new owners love and appreciate the house and the furnishings as much as Herbert’s mother,” Fallon said.
“Why would you say that?” Lance asked with a frown.
She hunched her slim shoulders. “She just put so much into this place, had such hopes. It’s sad that they had to die with her son. Maybe with the next family living here, that won’t happen.”
Fallon heard a door open, then close. Voices.
“That will be my employees returning from lunch,” Lance explained.
Fallon glanced at her watch and gasped. Her gaze quickly lifted to Lance’s. She’d been there almost two hours. It had been easy talking and listening to Lance. But he hadn’t given off any signals that he was interested in picking up where they’d left off—before her unfair accusation.
She had to admit, she was disappointed. She’d certainly messed up. Perhaps it was for the best. She was leaving in less than a week. “I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”
“It’s all right.” He lifted his long-fingered, manicured hand toward the door. “I’ll show you out.”
Fallon followed Lance out. In the open area, she saw two young men and an older woman going up the staircase.
Opening the front door, Lance stepped back so she could pass. As soon as she did he said, “Good-bye. If you have any more questions, or want to come back, you’re welcome.”
“Thanks.” She tossed her notebook in the car and placed her camera in the case, then straightened. Lance still stood on the wide porch. He could just be being polite, but maybe he’d been thinking about what might have happened between them just as she had.
“You want to meet at Brandon’s restaurant for dinner around seven?”
Lance’s gaze narrowed. She’d caught him off guard and it pleased her immensely. “It will make up for my poor behavior when we met, and thank you for not holding it against me today.”
He stared at her a long moment, as if trying to figure her out. She’d like to think she was one of a kind.
“I’ll see you at seven.”
She grinned and felt like dancing. She hadn’t realized how important the answer was to her until he’d agreed.
“Seven it is.” Waving, she got in her car and pulled off. Through the rearview mirror she saw Lance still standing there. He was such a dichotomy. Who was the real Lance, this self-composed man or the flirtatious one she’d met weeks ago? She was determined to find out.
Chapter 2
Fallon tried to convince herself that it was just a business/thank-you dinner. Not even changing her dress twice before settling on an off-the-shoulder raspberry-colored dress convinced her otherwise, nor did the three changes of sandals and earrings. However, she gave up trying the moment she saw Lance, tall and mouthwateringly delicious, waiting outside the restaurant for her.
Her heart did a crazy jitterbug; her legs weren’t quite as steady as they’d been moments earlier. He stood a few feet from the long line of people waiting to enter the Red Cactus.
She was ten minutes early. She’d told herself it was to allow time to park and not because she was anxious to see him again. She rolled her eyes. It was bad when you started lying to yourself.
Lance reached her in seconds, his dark brows furrowed. “Are you all right?”
So he was perceptive. “Just thinking,” she said. At least that was the truth. “I tried to make reservations, but they were booked. You want to wait?”
“I admit, I’m not the patient type when waiting for a table,” he told her. “Fortunately, I took the precaution of calling and making reservations, just in case.”
She smiled up at him. “Thanks.”
Long, lean fingers gently took her arm. Her skin heated, tingled.
They continued inside the restaurant, past the stares of those waiting in line. Fallon was almost compelled to explain that they weren’t cutting, they had reservations.
Lance didn’t appear to notice. He stopped in front of the hostess’s podium. “Reservations for Saxton at seven.”
The pretty young woman in a slim-fitting black dress smiled and picked up two oversized menus with red boots and cacti on the front. “Certainly, Mr. Saxton. If you and your guests will follow Lacy, she’ll seat you at your table.”
Smiling, Lacy accepted the menus. “This way, please.”
Lance’s hand moved to the small of Fallon’s back and she almost yelped. Heat radiated through the cotton fabric as if on bare skin. Lance could really be a problem—if she let him.
“Here you are,” Lacy said.
Lance pulled out a chair at the table for two for Fallon, took the seat across from her, and accepted the menu. “Thank you.”
“Your waiter, Shawn, should be with you shortly. Can I get you anything to drink?” Lacy asked. “Wine, cocktail, or flavored tea perhaps?”
“Fallon?” Lance asked.
Fallon wasn’t much for alcohol, but tonight seemed to be the one to be a little daring. “Black mojita.”
“Pomegranate iced tea.”
“I’ll get those right out,” Lacy said, and left.
Fallon propped her arms on the table and hoped she wasn’t too obvious, but the man certainly was easy on the eyes. “How are things shaping up for the auction?”
“Good. The catalog with the most expensive pieces arrived this morning,” he told her. “The employees you saw this afternoon are finishing up listing the smaller items.”
“From what I saw, you all have a humongous task ahead of you,” she said. “The glassware alone is extensive and impressive.”
“It will get done.” The words were clipped, final.
Fallon believed him. Lance wasn’t a man who impressed her as tolerating excuses—and that included himself. “Then you deserve a night to relax. Have you eaten here before?”
“No. I spent summers here growing up, but I haven’t been back since I graduated from college.” He glanced around the crowded restaurant. “Brandon has done well for himself. I hear the food is delicious, but I guess you can tell from the long line and the restaurant being booked.”
“I’ve seldom tasted better,” she told him. “One of the first stories I did on Santa Fe was on the Red Cactus.”
“How long have you been a travel writer?” he asked.
“Since my junior year at college,” she related. “I get to travel to exciting places and get paid for it.”
His dark head tilted to one side. “But I don’t think money is your motivating reason.”
Surprised delight swept through her. “It’s not.”
“Your drinks. I’m Shawn. I’ll be your waiter.” A tall, slender man dressed in a white shirt and black pants placed the glasses in front of them and took out a pad and pencil. “Are you ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?”
“Fallon?”
“I already know I want the triple sampler and the onion rings, but I don’t think you’ve had time to study the menu.” Fallon closed her menu.
Lance opened the menu, briefly glanced at it, and said, “I’ll have the porterhouse, medium, with a baked potato, butter only, asparagus, and house salad with ranch dressing.” Lance handed the man his menu.
Frowning, Fallon followed suit. “How did you do that?”
“Speed-reading.” Lance picked up his drink. “So what drives you?”
She realized two things: Lance didn’t want to talk about himself, and there was definitely more to him than his sexy good looks. “Growing up in Austin, I dreamed of being a news correspondent and traveling all over the world.” Her fingers closed around the stem of the glass. “When that didn’t work out, this sort of just happened when a magazine wanted a fresh article on Austin. The story led to another and another. By the time I graduated from college, I had logged a lot of miles on my mother’s car and written over fifty articles. I like traveling and discovering things people might have overlooked. After graduation, I just kept going and writing.”
“Where were you before you came here?” he asked.
“Where the rich and famous play, Martha’s Vineyard.” She laughed. “Besides the historic fishing villages, it has breezy beaches, adorable towns, delicious food. The lobster was out of this world.”
He gazed at her over his glass. “The wealthy are here as well. Is that what drew you?”
“No,” she answered. She would not be miffed with him. “People and places draw me. Martha’s Vineyard and here can be expensive, but both can be enjoyed by families on a budget, one of the things I take great care to point out.”
He placed his glass aside. “You’re different.”
“Good or bad?” she asked.
“I haven’t figured it out,” he said, staring at her intently.
Butterflies took flight in Fallon’s stomach. She reminded herself that she was leaving in less than a week and hoped she listened.
“Your food.” The waiter served them both. “Is there anything else I can get either of you?”
“Fallon?”
Fallon mentally shook herself and looked at her plate. “I’m good.”
“Same here. Thanks.”
Fallon tucked her head to bless the food, then reminded herself this was a thank-you dinner. Finished, she reached for her quesadilla and took a generous bite. Moaned. Savored. She did love good food. When she opened her eyes Lance was staring at her. The heat in his eyes almost singed her. He wasn’t being distant now.
He broke contact first and reached for his knife and fork. “Why didn’t the news correspondent dream work out?”
Fallon wondered how he could revert back to being impersonal after eating her with his eyes, then realized it took practice. But why would he have learned such self-control? Her natural curiosity to see what others didn’t kicked in.
He looked up when she didn’t answer. “I hope I’m not being too personal.”
She reached for her drink. She sipped and studied him over the rim of her highball glass. He didn’t fidget, just kept her gaze. That took practice as well. There was definitely more to Lance than met the eye. Perhaps he deserved the whole story, but not tonight. “Something tells me you wouldn’t care if you were.”
The corners of his sensual mouth quirked. “How is your food?”
“Delicious.”
“That’s always good to hear.”
Fallon glanced up to see Brandon Grayson, owner of the Red Cactus, a wide grin on his handsome face. “You couldn’t cook a bad dish if you tried.”
Brandon’s grin widened. “If you ever have trouble getting a table, ask the hostess to find me.”
“I’ll do that,” Fallon said, pleased. She’d met Lance and Brandon at a late luncheon at his wife’s family-owned hotel, Casa de Serenidad.
Brandon shook Lance’s outstretched hand. “Good seeing you again.”
Lance nodded toward Fallon. “Thank Fallon. She suggested we eat here.”
“But Lance was smart enough to get reservations,” she said, amused. “So this is a joint effort.”
“Faith taught me that two is always better than one.” Brandon glanced between Lance and Fallon.
Fallon hoped she wasn’t blushing. She didn’t dare look at Lance. “Your wife is wonderful. Naomi is so excited about the wedding reception at her hotel. She still can’t believe she and Richard were able to obtain one of the smaller ballrooms.”
“Nothing Faith likes better than planning events for special friends and family.” Brandon shook his dark head, the long braid hanging down his back moving sensuously. “She, Mama, and Catherine were on the phone early this morning talking about place settings and flower arrangements for the tables.”
“This morning Richard and Naomi were going over the final guest list,” Fallon said. “His parents arrived yesterday, and tonight they’re going over it to finalize everything.”
“It will be good seeing Uncle Leo and Aunt Gladys again. When we talked last night, they sounded just as happy as always,” Lance mused. “I bet they never thought they’d come home to find Richard planning his wedding.”
Fallon’s brow lifted. “You sound as if you never expected him to get married.”
“Marriage isn’t for everyone,” Lance said, the amusement gone from his face.
“Maybe not for everyone, but I’m glad I found Faith,” Brandon told them. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Fallon picked up a taco but watched Lance. If she didn’t miss her guess, there was a certain woman in Lance’s past and it hadn’t ended pretty. Fallon continued eating for a bit but couldn’t resist asking, “You don’t approve of Richard marrying?”
“I never said that.” He polished off his steak and shoved the plate aside, his annoyance obvious. “I haven’t gotten a chance to know Naomi very well, but she appears sweet and loving. Exactly the type of woman for Richard.”
It was on the tip of Fallon’s tongue to ask Lance about the type of woman he thought suitable for him, but thankfully she caught herself before blurting it out. “Yes, she is and, after what she went through with her first marriage and a few days ago, she deserves to be happy.”
“Richard will see to that, and that her ex never bothers her again,” Lance said with a hint of anger in his voice. Any man who hit a woman was scum—no matter the provocation. For all the hurt Ashley had put him though, physically harming her had never entered his mind.
He picked up his glass and saw Fallon watching him with those bedroom eyes of hers. She was trying to figure him out. He’d also caught her watching him during dinner. She was still interested in him. If he was honest, he was more than interested in her. But if things went further, she had to know it would be purely physical. No emotional involvement or happily ever after.
“What about you?” he asked abruptly. Fallon might be the kind of woman who wanted forever.
She straightened, her tempting breasts jutting forward. Lance tried not to stare and worked not to let his body go into overdrive. Nothing was happening tonight—if ever.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What’s your view on marriage or are you engaged already?” he asked, irrationally angry at the thought of her marrying anyone.
“I fully intend to marry one day and have a family, but it’s difficult with traveling so much,” she told him. “I’m seldom in one place longer than a few months. Hardly long enough to have a lasting relationship with anyone.”
So, she wanted forever. That left him out. Even without traveling, lasting relationships were difficult. He should know. “Would you like coffee or dessert?”
“If I eat another bite I might pop.” She wrinkled her nose. ‘”I’ll have to get the cheesecake another time.”
Lance signaled the waiter. “The bill, and please add a slice of cheesecake in a to-go container for the lady.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Fallon reached for her purse. “My invitation. My treat.”
“My reservation.” He reached for the bill presenter as soon as the waiter approached. Lance barely glanced at it before shoving a large bill inside and handing it back to the waiter. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, sir, and a good evening to both of you.”
It would be better if it ended with both of them in a bed, but that wasn’t happening. Lance stood, picked up the to-go container for the cheesecake, and reached for her chair. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Fallon came to her feet and glanced at him over her shoulder. “That’s not necessary.”
“Since I plan to follow you home, I think it is.”
* * *
Fallon kept looking in the rearview mirror. First dates—if they went well—usually ended with a good-night kiss. But considering theirs had started out as a business/thank-you, Fallon wasn’t sure what to expect at the door. Lance had certainly sent out mixed signals. She couldn’t get a handle on him.
For once, the parking spot in front of her door was vacant. She pulled in next to Naomi’s SUV. There was a light on in both of their apartments, but since it was barely eight thirty Fallon was sure Naomi and Richard were still at his parents’ place.
Shutting off the motor, Fallon got out of her car with the cheesecake and searched the parking lot for Lance. She saw him seconds later. It was easy to pick out his muscular build, the easy stride of his walk. He appeared self-assured, but there was something there that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. With her leaving at the end of the week, she wouldn’t have time to figure out what.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I couldn’t find a parking space.”
“That’s all right,” she said, horrified to hear the breathlessness in her voice. She quickly reached into her bag for her key and turned to open the door. It opened on the first try despite her shaking hand.
“Most women have to search for a key.” Lance shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks. “I should have known you’re too smart for that.”
“Comes from traveling and moving so many times,” she said. Then she faced him and took the plunge. “Would you like to come in?”
“I should get back,” he told her, his expression bland. “There’s still a lot of paperwork and tagging to be done before the auction.”
She honestly didn’t know if she was disappointed or not. Starting something with Lance might feel good, but she wasn’t sure it would be good for her. “Good night, and thanks for today and dinner tonight. And this.” She held up the dessert.
“You’re welcome. Good night.”
She entered her apartment and couldn’t help one long, last tempting look at him. She’d see him at Richard and Naomi’s wedding, but somehow Fallon knew if she and Lance didn’t connect now they never would. She started to swing the door shut.
The flat of his hand stopped it. His hand flexed on the door as if he wasn’t sure of himself. “It goes without saying that if you want to come out to the house again, you’re welcome. I’ll be working there all day tomorrow.”
Fallon couldn’t keep the wide grin off her face. “I’ll be there the same time. I want to write up my notes.”
“I’ll see you then.” Reaching out, he closed the door.
Fallon threw the dead bolt and headed to her bedroom. She hadn’t gotten the kiss, but tomorrow was another day.
* * *
Fallon woke up with a smile on her face. She didn’t even think of denying it was because she was going to see Lance. He intrigued her as much as he made her want to take a bite out of him. Laughing, Fallon bounded out of bed and hit the shower. She’d never had such a crazy thought in her life.
Twenty-three minutes later, she was knocking on Naomi’s back door. In Fallon’s hands were two mugs. One held a mixture of coffee creamer and sugar. The other mug was empty. She might bum coffee, but she always came with what she wanted in it.
It was seven ten, but Fallon knew her neighbor and friend would be up and alone. Naomi taught kindergarten and would be up getting ready for work. And since her ex was no longer a threat, Richard wouldn’t be spending the night.
Fallon heard the locks disengage seconds before the door opened. “Good morning,” Naomi greeted. “Help yourself to coffee.”
“Bless you.” From long practice, Fallon prepared herself a cup of coffee, then sipped.
“I fixed extra waffle batter,” Naomi said. “If you hurry you can tell me about your date before Kayla joins us.”
Taking another sip, Fallon went to the stove to check on the sizzling sausage patties. She picked up a metal spatula. “Nothing to tell.”
Naomi closed the lid to the waffle maker and faced Fallon with a frown. “Richard said he asked about you a couple of times before you went out there yesterday.”
“That was then and this is now, as the saying goes.” Fallon lifted two turkey patties from the skillet.
The whistle of the waffle machine sounded. Naomi removed the waffle and added more batter. “How do you feel about that?”
“I’m leaving at the end of the week.”
“Don’t remind me.” Taking the spatula from Fallon’s hand, Naomi removed the other patties. “If you weren’t coming back for the wedding in six weeks, I’m not sure I could stand it.”
Fallon hugged her, then leaned her head against hers. “Same here. Like I said, the apartment gods were smiling on me this time. It’s been great living next door to you these months.”
Naomi straightened. “You and Catherine helped me stop being afraid and reach out for Richard. You’ve been wonderful with Kayla. I’d say it was the other way around.”
“Yeah, it’s been nice.” Fallon removed the waffle when the alarm sounded. “Mama and Megan are anxious to have me home before I leave for my next assignment.”
Taking the platters of meat and waffles, Naomi placed them on the kitchen table. “If you weren’t leaving, would it make a difference with things between you and Lance?”
“I’m not sure.” Fallon sipped her coffee. “Bad timing. I’m going out there today to take more notes.”
“Then there’s still a chance.”
Fallon shook her head. “Lance is a hard man to read.”
Naomi placed another plate on the table. “So it will take more effort. Won’t the end results be worth it?”
All Fallon had to do was think of the searing look Lance had given her the night before. “Yes.”
“Then go get him.”
* * *
Late Tuesday afternoon Lance finally heard the sound that he had waited all day to hear, the chime of the doorbell. So, she had finally come—if it was her. She was almost two hours later than the day before. He’d begun to worry about her fifteen minutes past the time he thought she should be there.
Bad. Very bad.
No matter how much he told himself to keep it professional, some part of him—the stubborn part that had helped him succeed in business if not his personal life—wasn’t listening. He’d almost called Richard to check on her, then reasoned that if something had happened Richard would have notified him.
If Richard knew.
Lance threw his pen on the desk and came to his feet. He hadn’t done a solid ten minutes of work all day. Women messed up a man’s orderly life. He knew that better than most. Yet—
A knock came on his office door. “Mr. Saxton, your guest, Ms. Marshall, is here.”
Relief, excitement, uneasiness—so many emotions crowded Lance’s brain he couldn’t sort all of them out. He’d never been this conflicted about a woman or anything else in his life. He tended to see things in black and white—no gray—since the year his mother had married another man and made Lance feel like an outsider in his own home.
“Mr. Saxton?”
Letting go of the resentment, Lance unclenched his fists. The past needed to stay in the past. “Come in.”
The door opened. He caught a brief glimpse of Carmen, his housekeeper; then Fallon stepped into the room and she became his entire focus.
She was stunningly beautiful and off-limits. Before he knew it, he was moving. He didn’t ask or hesitate; he just took her into his arms, his mouth finding hers. He expected a mild resistance—which he was fully prepared to overcome. What he didn’t expect was for her to melt in his arms, to soften and wrap her arms around his neck, letting her sleek, elegant body mold itself against him. He was a bit shocked by his behavior, but passion was stronger than caution.
Heat and desire shot through his veins. He took the kiss deeper, his tongue thrusting and sliding across hers and feasted off her incredible soft, sweet mouth as one hand swept down her elegant back. Finally he lifted his head and swept his mouth across hers, intending to kiss her again.
“That’s some hello,” she said, but her voice trembled as much as she did in his arms.
He couldn’t recall a woman being that shaken by a kiss, but staring down into Fallon’s deep brown eyes, he had the feeling again that she was different—and therefore more dangerous to his peace of mind.
Still, his thumb traced over the dampness of her lower lip. Before now he would have thought himself a cautious man—life had made him that way. Yet—“I regretted I didn’t kiss you last night.”
“So did I,” she admitted.
His head dipped. She pushed out of his arms. He let her go—for now.
“I’m leaving Sunday on the seven-thirty morning flight to Austin,” she said, her voice steady, her gaze direct. “I don’t do affairs.”
He believed her. His bad luck with women was holding. After three years of going through the motions, he’d finally met a woman he’d like to get to know better out of bed and she wasn’t available. “I wish you weren’t a woman of principle.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Which means you’ve been around the wrong type of women.”
Since she was right, he didn’t comment, just went to stand behind his desk. He needed to put some distance between them. “You’re late.”
“Naomi’s coworkers gave her a surprise bridal shower after school. I went to pick up Kayla.” Fallon grinned, quick and easy. “The principal was concerned that some of the gifts might be of the adult variety, and she was right. I’m here now.”
“So you are.” He took a seat and picked up his pen. “They’re still doing inventory, but feel free to roam and take pictures.”
Her eyes widened, her hand went to her chest.
He came out of his seat and crossed to her. “What is it?”
Her gaze went to him, then skittered away.
He’d seen that evasive look from women too many times in his life. He’d hoped never to see it again. He started for his desk. “I won’t keep you.”
“I was hurrying and forgot my camera,” she said softly, but he heard and swung back around.
“At your apartment?”
Folding her arms, she looked out the window over his shoulder. “The car.”
He stared at her. She’d been that anxious to see him?
“Don’t get the big head,” she told him, lowering her arms. “The house has a lot of appeal as well.”
“Yes, it does.” Not only could he get a big head, but he also could lose it over the woman with a half smile on alluring lips whom he was beginning to crave.
“I better get to it.” She went to the door.
“Do you have any plans for dinner?” he asked, hoping to sound casual.
She wrinkled her pretty nose. “Two-day-old spaghetti.”
“I think I can do better than that,” he said.
“You cooking?” Folding her arms, she leaned against the door.
“Not one of my talents,” he told her. “Fortunately, Carmen is an excellent cook, although I’m not sure what’s on the menu tonight.”
“I’m easy.”
His brow lifted.
She flushed. “I meant—”
“Believe me, I know full well what you meant.” The laugh just slipped out. It was rare to see a woman blush, even rarer to laugh in the company of one.
Eyes narrowed, she came away from the door. “You’re laughing at me.”
“It would seem.” He pulled a folder closer to him. “Carmen prepares dinner for me before she leaves at six. Usually it’s something I can reheat since I have a tendency to get buried in my work, so any time after six we can eat.”
She returned to the door. “I can get involved as well. One or the other of us will come find the other if the other gets hungry.”
“Ah, I think I understood that,” he said, smiling. She really was fun.
She grinned. “Later.”
The door closed and Lance stared after her, his smile slowly fading. Fallon Marshall was proving to be more than a pretty face and incredible body. He just hoped she was as open and as honest as she appeared.
Copyright © 2013 by Francis Ray.