Tycoon's Temptation: The Truth About the Tycoon / The Tycoon's Lady / HerTexan Tycoon. Allison Leigh
Dane looked up from the bumper he was removing from the Shelby. Shane Golightly stood in the sunlight streaming through the open bay of Stu’s garage. “So?”
Shane’s jaw cocked to one side. He looked over his shoulder to where Stu had his head under the hood of Hadley’s pickup, then walked closer, ostensibly studying the Shelby up on the rack. “Why are you still in Lucius?”
Dane pulled off the safety goggles Stu had loaned him, letting them hang loose around his neck. “You treat all visitors to such a welcome? No wonder this town is no bigger than my thumb. Chamber of Commerce must love you.” He jerked his head toward the window between the office and the service bays. “Your sister is in there, talking to Riva.”
“Stay away from her.”
“I’ve never been one to follow other people’s orders.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Shane kept his voice low. “It may suit me, for the moment, not to run you out of town, but don’t expect that to last. Hadley doesn’t need someone like you messing in her life.”
“Maybe she doesn’t need her brothers messing in her life, either. Ever thought your attention might be better focused on Evie?” As far as Dane was concerned, it was the blond-haired sister who needed some intervention in her life, not the thoroughly engaging Hadley.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dane donned the goggles again and picked up the crowbar. “Ask Hadley. I’m just a guy trying to get his car fixed.” He knew Evie had retrieved the SUV early that morning, because he’d overheard the sharp words the woman exchanged with her sister and had barely contained his urge to interrupt them and defend Hadley since Hadley didn’t seem to do much of it on her own.
The sheriff snorted. “Yeah, and I wear a pink tutu on Friday afternoons.”
“Whatever floats your boat, Sheriff.” Dane attacked the mangled bumper again.
Shane leaned in a little closer. “Just a warning here, Tolliver. You’re hiding something and we both know it. If you hurt my sister, you’ll regret it, I promise you.” Then he straightened and headed around the car toward the cramped office.
Dane finally found purchase with the crowbar, and the bumper peeled away with a screech. He dropped the crowbar and caught the ruined bumper and dumped it to one side.
The god-awful racket he created felt curiously satisfying.
He pulled off the work gloves and goggles and left them on the workbench. He lifted a hand in a wave to Hadley, who was watching him through the office window, and told Stu he’d check back later on the car’s progress.
Stu nodded. He’d already agreed to get Hadley’s truck fixed before putting his attention to the Shelby with the provision that Wood loan some of his elbow grease to the autobody repairs. Lord knew Stu didn’t want him having any reason to be in Lucius a minute longer than necessary.
With the Golightlys seemingly occupied, Dane returned to his room at Tiff’s where he spent a few solid hours on the phone with his assistant, Laura. It didn’t matter that it was a Saturday. Most weeks they worked seven days straight. What was inconvenient, though, was dealing with business without aid of a fax or computer or anything other than his cell phone and his own notes spread across the foot of the bed. But they managed to keep the necessities under control. And dictating letters was pretty much the same regardless of the setting.
“Oh. One more thing.” He told her about his conversation with Mandy Manning at the Tipped Barrel.
“Be sure and wire her the funds today to cover the damages,” he said when she finally started winding down. “And don’t send enough that someone accuses anyone of bribery,” he muttered. A soft knock on his bedroom door interrupted the annoyingly fresh memory of Shane Golightly’s accusation of bribery. He ended his call and pulled open the door.
Hadley stood on the other side, her arms filled with linens. “Hi.”
He’d done no more than wave hello and goodbye at Stu’s garage, and had deliberately gone to the Luscious Lucius for breakfast in order to avoid her.
Not exactly chivalrous behavior, nor adult. But kissing her the night before hadn’t been the smartest thing he’d ever done, either. One of the most pleasurable? Yes. Smart? No.
“What’s all that?” He gestured to her burden.
“Emergency candles and clean linens. And an extra blanket for your bed. The temperature’s supposed to drop again in the next day or two.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes as she looked past him into the room. “If it’s not an inconvenient time, I’ll get you all set up.”
He knew there was no way she could see the contents of his notes spread on the bed from where she stood, or the engraved Rutherford Industries logo topping them. But he didn’t intend to chance a closer look from her, either.
“I won’t get cold.” Particularly not now, knowing that her lips tasted sweeter than they looked. Or knowing that she slept as close as the other side of a wall. That when she’d risen that morning, he’d listened to the sound of water running in the old-fashioned bathroom tucked between them and had cursed his imagination that had never before plagued him with such painful vividness.
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble. And I know how many blankets are on your bed, Wood. Same as were on everyone else’s.”
“Yours?” He was a glutton for punishment.
She blinked. “Well, yes. And truly, the weather forecasters are all saying the temperature—”
“Fine. Give me the stuff.” He reached for the blanket and she tried handing it to him, but the entire bundle in her arms fell in the process. Fat white candles rolled across the hall and yellow terry cloth towels, white sheets, and soft blue wool surrounded her, an ocean of color. “Sorry.” He knelt and she knelt and their heads knocked.
He cursed, feeling the slight impact against his injured forehead with the force of a sledgehammer.
“Oh, Lord.” Her hands caught at his shoulders. “I can’t believe I did that. Sit down.”
He didn’t have much choice with her tugging at him the way she was. He sat down, leaning his head back against the doorjamb. He’d never really seen stars before, but when he closed his eyes, pricks of light sparked behind his eyelids.
He was vaguely aware of Hadley stepping over him, dislodging the jumble of linens. He heard water running and then she returned.
“I’m going to take off the bandage, okay?” Her fingers were cool and gentle on his face as she peeled it away, then she sucked in her breath. “Oh, Wood.
This cut looks terrible. Come on. I’m taking you to the hospital, right now. We should have done it right after the accident, no matter what you wanted.”
She pressed the wet, cold washcloth to his forehead, then tucked her hands under his arms, as if she fully intended to lift him up if he didn’t cooperate.
“I’ve had worse cuts.” And he hadn’t seen stars then because he’d generally been out cold after the fact. He stopped her efforts by closing his hands around her slender waist. “Stop.” He pulled her down, and her slight weight settled over his thighs. It went some way to alleviating the throbbing in his head, since his blood immediately headed south. He kept her in place with one arm and held the cloth to his head with the other.
Nirvana.
“Worse cuts from what?” Her voice was breathy. Soft.
He opened his eyes a slit and looked at her. “From a long time ago,” he admitted. “Racing days.”
She sucked in the corner of her lip for an infinitesimal moment that nevertheless felt indelibly etched in time. “Horse racing? Foot racing? Car racing?”
“Car.” NASCAR, to be exact.