Moonstruck. Джулия Кеннер
come back. Why would he? It was one hell of a lot harder to hear his parents’ constant rumbling that he’d never amount to anything from fifteen hundred miles away. Here, with them only a few miles down the highway, the sound of their discouragement was almost deafening. As if they could only see the dyslexic boy he used to be—the cocky kid who made it a point to make friends since he couldn’t make good grades. Who got in fights with the boys and compromising positions with the girls. His school counselors had labeled him a troublemaker who wouldn’t apply himself, and his parents had agreed. At least as much as they ever agreed on anything. And even when Ty moved to California and applied the hell out of himself, they still only saw the useless cutup.
And damn him all to hell for still caring.
But he did. Might not want to, but he still gave a damn, and that was why he’d always believed that there was nothing in the world that would make him return to Dallas.
Of course, he’d never imagined Roberto Murtaugh, either. But when this year’s Academy Award winner for best actress had introduced Ty to the Dubai-based billionaire at a Hollywood party, Ty had heard opportunity knocking loud and clear. He might not be able to read a balance sheet without the numbers twisting and turning and floating off the page, but he damn sure knew how to make those numbers grow. He’d sat Murtaugh down and outlined everything he’d accomplished during his years in Los Angeles. From starting out at nineteen as a hungry entrepreneur who worked in every club that would hire him, to the day they cut the ribbon at the grand opening of his fifth club.
Not surprisingly, Murtaugh had heard of Ty. Even in Los Angeles, when a guy as young as Ty starts raking in as much money as he was making—when he spins the success of his brick-and-mortar clubs into Internet social-networking sites—the media takes notice. At first he was dubbed the Boy Wonder, but by the time he’d been in the business a few years and had reached his twenty-eighth birthday, they’d taken to simply tagging him with a party-boy moniker. Tabloid fodder, with his frequent starlet dates and high-end lifestyle.
That was all right with Ty. The more the spotlight shined on him, the more popular his clubs became. And the truth was, he had absolutely no intention of changing the way he lived. His nightlife lifestyle had dragged him up from abject poverty, earned him more than his fifteen minutes on Good Morning America, started the press buzzing about him, and brought Hollywood royalty knocking on his door, asking for tickets and passes to special events and crowded nights.
If that meant he had to be labeled a party guy, then he could handle the title, even now at the age of thirty.
For that matter, he was willing to put up with whatever it took to keep growing his business. To be the guy his parents were so certain he could never be. Successful. Wealthy. Respected.
Apparently, ‘whatever it took’ included moving back to Dallas.
He’d hit it off with Murtaugh, but the billionaire’s bankroll hadn’t filled up by trust alone. And when Ty pitched Murtaugh his idea of expanding Ty’s celestially named nightclubs into Europe and Asia, the investor had been both interested and wary.
“I like you,” the older man had said. “But you have proven yourself only in one city. How do I know you have the spark to make this work?”
“I do,” Ty had said. “Tell me how to convince you, and I’ll do it.”
“I have two properties,” Murtaugh had said. And then he’d smiled and told Ty exactly what he wanted. Simple enough. Ty had eight months to whip one of Murtaugh’s nightclubs, Decadent, into shape. Work with the staff. Consult. Do whatever magic needed to be done. And at the same time, Ty was supposed to bring to life a currently boarded-up establishment that Murtaugh was considering selling. A butt-ugly property that hadn’t ever turned a profit. He and Murtaugh had agreed to a fifty-fifty split, and the property would launch as an offshoot of Heaven, Ty’s very first and most popular California nightclub.
Assuming both properties got off the ground and were in the black within Murtaugh’s rather insane time frame, Murtaugh promised he’d bankroll Ty’s expansion.
It was, Ty thought, too good to be true.
And as soon as Murtaugh had told him the location of the properties, Ty saw the big old trick the universe was playing on him.
Accomplish his biggest dream—become the Wolfgang Puck or Gordan Ramsey of the club scene—but walk through hell first to do it.
Of course he’d said yes.
He’d been in Dallas for about six months now, and had two left on his sentence. And he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of this damned town.
He forced the thoughts out of his head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He was there now, in the club, and for at least a few minutes, the woman in his arms was making the fact that he was stuck there significantly more pleasant.
From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d planned to go over and talk to her. Take her back to the VIP section of the club. Buy her a drink. Ask her to dance.
Never once had he imagined that she’d throw herself into his arms and kiss him like she meant it. Like she wanted it.
She moaned a little, her soft body pressing close to his. He could taste the champagne on her lips, and he’d watched her down at least a couple of flutes full as she’d scoured the place, searching for someone. A someone not him, though he had to admit that the idiot’s loss was most definitely his gain.
He felt hot, needy and he wanted to touch her. Not simply the way he was touching her now, but all of her. He wanted to feel her skin beneath his fingers, slide his palms over her bare breasts. Close his mouth over her nipples and feel them harden as his tongue licked and stroked.
He wanted, and if there was one thing Ty usually made sure of, it was that he got what he wanted.
At the moment, frankly, he wanted his private office. Unfortunately, he’d never set up an office at Decadent since his role here was that of consultant. Instead, he’d rented a small office in the Wardman Towers downtown, and downtown was much too far away for his current purposes.
But, damn, he wished it weren’t. Because no matter who’d been on her mind when she’d first stepped into Decadent, right now, the woman in his arms was all about him. Or she was until—
“Claire?”
The male voice came from his left, and the woman in Ty’s arms, aka Claire, pulled gently away, her eyes wide, her expression wary.
“Oh. Joe. What a surprise seeing you here.”
Of course it wasn’t a surprise, as Ty could easily see.
“I saw you across the room. Thought I should come over and say hi.”
“Right.” Claire’s smile was of the overly polite variety. “That’s great.” Her hands fluttered, as if she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them. “Happy New Year.”
“You, too.” He turned to Ty, his hand held out in greeting. “Ty Coleman, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Joe Powell,” he said, holding out his hand. “Power Publicity.”
Ty shook the man’s hand, flipping through the Rolodex of names he kept in his mind. He’d learned a long time ago that he couldn’t rely on jotted notes, and he’d trained himself to remember names and faces. This name, he recognized. Joe Powell had the reputation of being one of the most up-and-coming PR men in Texas, and he was on Ty’s mental list of people he wanted his assistant to call to schedule a meeting. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to have to bother Lucy with that now—unless he missed his guess, Joe Powell hadn’t come over to see Claire, but to introduce himself to Ty.
“Listen,” Joe said, “I’m not the type who plays coy, and the truth is, I came here tonight hoping to meet you.”
Bingo, Ty thought, then noted Claire’s confused expression. Joe might know who he was, but Claire was clueless. The realization surprised and pleased him, because he couldn’t even remember the last time that a woman had been