Taking Home The Tycoon. Catherine Mann
His pal had always been an in-your-face, indomitable spirit, ready to kick ass for a cause one moment and outrageously issue a skinny-dip dare in the next. That someone had his friend so afraid and off balance...pissed him off.
“No thanks needed, Chels. I’m here for you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to see this through.”
“You’re a good friend. I look forward to catching up with you while you’re staying with me.” Even over the phone, he could picture her smile. Loyal. Genuine.
And now he had to figure out how to tell his pseudo sister that he’d made other arrangements for his stay in town.
“Um, about that. I really feel bad about putting you out, so I made arrangements to stay at this nice little B and B called the Cimarron Rose.”
Silence stretched for a few heartbeats.
“That’s Natalie Valentine’s place. You interviewed her today after I left, right?” Her question came out quiet, noncommittal.
He couldn’t get a read on her—was she defensive or enthusiastic? Chels wasn’t usually guarded around him, so she must be fishing.
Well, he wasn’t feeling the need to share about his attraction. While Natalie might be new to the area, it was clear she’d become the town darling. The small community had embraced the young widow, and he sure as hell wasn’t the boy-next-door type of person. “Yes, I spoke with Natalie Valentine today. That’s how I heard about her place. It seems like a solid fit for me, given I don’t know how long I’ll be here.” He’d done some additional online digging into her business after Natalie left. More detailed, yes, more personal.
The house was a far cry from the penthouse hotel suites he usually frequented. The B and B looked cozy—it was a white wood home, with large porches, ferns and rocking chairs. The ancient oak spread welcoming branches casting long-reaching shadows.
And it was as far from the harsh streets of LA as he ever could have imagined. The town sprawled, buildings seemed to resist the urge to converge, to press against one another. There was space here. Places to go and exist. Places to hide, too.
“Okay, that’s cool, Max,” Chelsea said slowly.
“You aren’t going to argue?” he asked, surprised. “That’s a first.”
“Nice. Not,” she joked right back.
“I would just expect you to warn me off her, given you know who I am, how I am. She’s a war widow with two children.”
“Of course I know you. Very well, in fact. And I know someday you’ll stop running.”
Unease crawled up his spine. “Are you trying to push me toward her? Matchmake?”
She chuckled lowly. “I wouldn’t dream of maneuvering your life.”
Yeah. Right.
Staying silent, he kept on driving, noting the old 1960s’ tin diner on the side of the road. A mix of old, rust-peppered cars were scattered throughout the parking lot, contrasting with newer, sleeker models. He had to be close to Natalie’s place. Based on the concentration of buildings—the diner, a strip mall and a grocery store—he guessed this was the center of town.
“Max, really, I just figured you must be drawn to her if you’re staying there. You have to admit, that isn’t the kind of accommodations you usually choose.”
True, perhaps. But there was a time he would have considered the Cimarron Rose pure heaven and far out of his reach. In many ways, it still was. He’d chosen a different path for his life. Impersonal. Sleek.
Impenetrable. Just like his cybersecurity.
So how to deal with Chels’s Cupid leanings?
Don’t even take the bait. This was about him and Natalie. And who the hell even knew where it might lead? But he wouldn’t want there to be gossip. “Natalie offered.” Remembering that moment pleased him. She had seemed to surprise herself with the offer, but she’d been sincere. Hell, something told him she’d needed to make the offer and contribute to keeping her town safe. He liked that. “She seems to want to help. I’m comfortable with the choice, and it will give me the opportunity to get the pulse of the traffic flowing in and out of town in a way I wouldn’t be able to do staying at your place.”
“Right,” Chels said skeptically. “Okay, so you’re staying there because it’s comfy. Got it. Are you sure there’s enough bandwidth for you there?”
As if he would rely on anyone else’s connection?
“Ah, come on, you know me better than that. Since when do I travel without remote-access capabilities?” He had his own equipment and boosters up the wazoo.
“Okay, I’ll be frank. I know you too well to buy these cagey answers. Natalie is not the kind of woman you usually pursue, so I think you need to be careful, for your sake. I care about you, bro.” Chels always had a knack for being blunt, even when Max didn’t want to hear it.
She was worried about his feelings?
For real?
“Who even said I’m chasing her?” he asked too quickly. Damn it. Still, he wasn’t giving ground. He pulled into the B and B’s lot.
No. This wasn’t the kind of place he typically stayed in. The pictures online hardly did the place justice.
The white cottage with reddish-brown trim was framed by an oak tree that seemed to use a tree branch to gesture invitingly to the front door. A warm glow emanated from the windows.
His eyes were drawn to the side yard—to Natalie. A golden retriever danced around, nuzzling Natalie’s son. Her daughter stood leaning against her leg, head thrown back in a giggle, red pigtails dancing.
“I just said I’m staying at her place. In fact, she generously offered a room to thank me for helping out with the investigation.”
“Uh-huh, okay, Max...”
The rest of his friend’s words droned in his ears as he couldn’t tear his eyes off Natalie. She’d exchanged her flour-flecked clothes for a simple, long sundress that grazed her curves. She was still earthy but fresh, and her hair swung free.
As if she could tell he was entranced, she turned, looked straight at him. His breath caught in his chest. Like a fist right to the sternum. There was no denying the impact.
He turned off his car. “Chels, I gotta go.”
Time to check in to his new digs.
And check out his new landlady.
Concentrate, Natalie sharply reminded herself, looking into the dark eyes of Miss Molly, the golden retriever puppy who had a very specific purpose within their family unit. Natalie wanted to make sure her autistic son had every advantage in the world. And so she’d hired a trainer to help transform Miss Molly into the model service dog. Miss Molly had a lot of potential to help her son.
But not if her mind kept wandering during training sessions like this. Max’s handsome face drifted in and out of her mind. He’d unnerved her, caused a rupture in her day-to-day routine—a routine she had carefully constructed since losing her husband. The daily structure was everything she had—it gave her a sense of stability and power.
Enter Max. A big, bad, devilishly handsome tech billionaire. So much for humdrum. For a moment, Natalie couldn’t believe she’d offered for him to stay at the bed-and-breakfast. Under her roof. She took a deep breath, pushed him from her thoughts and tried to mirror the movement Margie, Miss Molly’s wiry dog trainer, was making.
The sound of an SUV engine mingled with Lexie’s giggling at their golden retriever’s head tilting at Natalie’s command. Lifting her eyes to the road in front