Книга - Taking Home The Tycoon

Taking Home The Tycoon
Catherine Mann


Workaholic millionaire meets feisty single mum!Sexy cybersecurity guru Max St. Cloud's trip to Royal, Texas, is strictly business: he's here to expose a tech-savvy blackmailer. Falling for Natalie Valentine, the captivating widow who runs the local B and B, isn't on the agenda. Plus, Max isn't daddy material and she comes with two kids too many. So why does he rethink his bachelor status after one red-hot kiss?Max's heart is damaged goods, yet Natalie can't deny her growing feelings. But will the recently widowed single mom go to any lengths to show the reluctant family man where he belongs?







Workaholic millionaire meets feisty single mom! Only from USA TODAY bestselling author Catherine Mann!

Sexy cybersecurity guru Max St. Cloud’s trip to Royal, Texas, is strictly business: he’s here to expose a tech-savvy blackmailer. Falling for Natalie Valentine, the captivating widow who runs the local B and B, isn’t on the agenda. Plus, Max isn’t daddy material and she comes with two kids too many. So why does he rethink his bachelor status after one red-hot kiss?

Max’s heart is damaged goods, yet Natalie can’t deny her growing feelings. But will the recently widowed single mom go to any lengths to show the reluctant family man where he belongs?


Determined to put a hint of space between them even if she couldn’t will herself to just walk away, Natalie flattened a hand to his chest.

The hard, muscled wall of his chest.

“I’m complimented you want to kiss me, but that’s not included in the bed-and-breakfast package.”

Max chuckled, the rumble of his laugh vibrating against her hand. “That’s the nicest put-down I’ve ever received.”

Gaining strength, she let out her own low laugh, eyebrows arching, taking him in, trying to focus on the crisp September air instead of his musky scent. Or the way the shadows played up his bad-boy mystique. “I imagine you don’t get told no often.”

“Another compliment. For someone who is rejecting me, you’re doing it very nicely.” His voice was still throaty, and he swallowed, eyes fixed on hers.

“So you hear me saying no to your advance?”

He nodded his head, the line of his lips growing taut. “I hear you. No is no. I just want you to remember I still feel the same way. I want to kiss you. Very much. And if you decide you want to act on this attraction, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

* * *

Taking Home the Tycoon is part of the series Texas Cattleman’s Club: Blackmail—No secret—or heart—is safe in Royal, Texas...


Taking Home the Tycoon

Catherine Mann






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


USA TODAY bestselling author CATHERINE MANN has won numerous awards for her novels, including both a prestigious RITA® Award and an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award. After years of moving around the country bringing up four children, Catherine has settled in her home state of South Carolina, where she’s active in animal rescue. For more information, visit her website, www.catherinemann.com (http://www.catherinemann.com).


To Vee, Sharon, Tiffany and all the volunteers who make such an incredible difference through the Sunshine State Animal Rescue.


Contents

Cover (#u2f3502e0-aa33-57a1-b2d8-b0610beaf829)

Back Cover Text (#u71cd7fdd-7e04-5b23-9881-fff9ee16beb5)

Introduction (#u157791a9-a02f-5b75-adef-fd524d932cee)

Title Page (#uf86f6491-7142-522c-ae94-cae36913713d)

About the Author (#u3ce88d33-5d7f-57f9-9978-e6a87f6455e6)

Dedication (#u54d67a29-4c10-52e1-accb-b230838f876e)

One (#ud7e4cf24-3590-5ebe-960f-7256b6e857fc)

Two (#u5c4bf184-8cc3-51cb-a4ab-1d7cb4d35776)

Three (#uffb2a4b6-0401-57f1-a023-a6e728c0e03d)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ufe419366-f13b-5786-bc41-89eeed4d69c3)

For self-made cybersecurity billionaire Max St. Cloud, his life as a teen on the unforgiving streets of LA—panhandling, Dumpster diving for his next meal and hot-wiring cars for cash—seemed like a distant dream. Fifteen years later, hotshot Max enjoyed the hell out of his life in Seattle.

He adored his fleet of fast cars and hangar full of planes. His state-of-the-art modern marvel of a home was any techie’s wet dream. He had his pick of women equally as committed to their professions. And he was married to St. Cloud Security Solutions, his corporate computer and building security firm.

So why in the hell was he sitting here in small-town Royal, Texas, sporting one helluva hard-on for a scrubbed, fresh-faced woman wearing mom jeans?

The ginger-haired beauty seated in the wingback beside him seemed unaware of his dilemma. A good or bad thing? He wasn’t sure.

Digital tablet on his knee, he shifted in his leather chair, one of a pair by the fireplace in a meeting room at the Texas Cattleman’s Club’s lodge. Given he’d been called in as a security expert, he should be focused on this latest interview into a cyberwar being waged on the citizens of Royal.

Those were the key words: should be. He stole another glance at the woman beside him.

Clearing his throat, Max forced himself to take notes on his tablet because the odds of him remembering the details of this conversation with Natalie Valentine were next to nil. He stared at his notes about her: twenty-nine years old, war-widowed mother of two, wedding-dress designer, owner of the Cimarron Rose Bed and Breakfast in the center of town.

The simple facts didn’t come close to revealing how damned appealing he found her.

“Mrs. Valentine—do you mind if I call you Natalie?”

“That’s fine. Of course.” She scratched a finger along the flour stain on her denim-covered thigh—her empty ring finger. “Actually, I prefer it.”

The flash of pain in her eyes made him feel like an ass for jonesing over another guy’s wife. Even a dead guy. Especially a dead guy. “I appreciate your taking time from your business day to speak with me.”

“I’m still fairly new to the town. Surely there are people better suited than I am to share about the personalities in this area.” Her fitted green T-shirt only made her massive emerald eyes glitter all the more. Her shoulder-length red hair was swept up into an unfussy ponytail. Little pretense. Raw beauty. And those eyes. Damn, they were intrinsically vulnerable and full of heart, yet the tip of her chin spoke of spirit just begging to be uncovered.

He recognized grit when he saw it, a kindred spirit. “I have a different take on you being too new to help. It’s my experience that newcomers can also offer an objective perspective.”

But the stakes were high on this security-consulting gig. Max had been called in by his longtime friend Chelsea Hunt—Chels—to help trace who was waging cybersmears on the good citizens of Royal. Chels had been one of his few true friends back in his early twenties. They’d both been hungry hackers with a bent for justice during a time she ran to LA to get away from her overprotective parents. But Chels had a more cultured upbringing. She’d helped him smooth out his rougher edges as he sought entry into the legitimate business world. She’d believed in him when no one else did. She’d been the sister he’d never had, cheering him on.

So some wannabe troll was hell-bent on destroying the lives of members of Royal’s Texas Cattleman’s Club? The sorry son of a bitch had picked the wrong firewalls to infiltrate. As far as Max was concerned, once a hacker, always a hacker. He was certain he could beat this amateur...or team. He had a hunch it wasn’t one man or woman working alone...

“Mr. St. Cloud—”

“You’re Natalie. I’m Max.”

“Yes, then, um, Max, I’ll try to help, but I’m usually running full tilt at my bed-and-breakfast.” Natalie fidgeted with her simple silver watch, checking the time. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I have dough rising for bread and pastries that I need to check on soon.”

With each breath, her chest rose and fell faster, which happened to draw his eyes to the pink rose logo in an oval between her breasts. The paneled walls with trophies and historical artifacts closed in on him. The space seemed tighter. More intimate.

Mom jeans. A T-shirt. And the thought of tasting pastry filling on her lips.

Seriously?

“I realize your time is precious and I’ll try to make this quick.” Quick? Quickie... Damn, she sent his mind down distracting paths. So much for logical, techie objectivity. “You would be surprised at the details you hear without consciously registering them. And there are impressions gained in passing. You have the heartbeat of the town with your B and B...and with the wedding dresses you make.”

Surprise turned her cheeks pink, her eyes widening and lips parting ever so slightly. “You know about my dresses?”

“I do my research,” he said simply. “Experience with individuals in your line of business leads me to conclude that people talk to you, a lot. They share their life stories—about their children, their dates, their dogs, hell, even their medical history. They even, dare I say, gossip.”

“I don’t think of it as gossip really. I prefer to believe they feel comfortable at my B and B, whether they’re spending the night or just stopping to join in a hot breakfast.” Absently, she fingered her watchband.

“And there’s no counselor-patient confidentiality involved in pastry making and stitchery.”

She laughed, a full-throated, sexy laugh that relaxed stress lines from her pretty face. “Clearly.”

“So I would like to pick your brain about...just impressions.” He hated seeing the smile fade from her lips and her eyes, but he did have a job to accomplish. “I’m not asking you to implicate anyone. It’s up to me to put together a whole picture that points to the culprit or gives ideas for ways to smoke him or her out. So if you’re comfortable just talking...let me do my thing.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Do your thing? Is that computer-tech talk out West?”

Well, hell. So much for the badass-businessman persona he’d cultivated from his street-rat youth. He’d just been taken down a peg by a sassy ginger rocking her flour-stained jeans.

* * *

Nearly a half hour later, Natalie was fairly certain her stomach had more fizzing going on than the air bubbles in her likely overflowing dough back at the bed-and-breakfast.

Max St. Cloud was a man. All man. A testosterone powder keg of sexuality. And after over a year of abstinence, her sex-starved body couldn’t help reacting. Her military husband had died a year ago, and he’d been deployed to the Middle East for eight months when he died in an explosion.

Still, though, while her B and B, the Cimarron Rose, might be open to the public, her heart was officially closed for business. She was one hundred percent devoted to carving out a life for her and her two children. Colby and Lexie were her world now. They’d suffered too much loss and change. She owed them stability.

The insurance money had just barely paid off their debts.

Her husband had left behind an overextended double mortgage on their home in North Carolina. Doctor and therapist bills for her special-needs son were costly, but necessary. Working and paying for childcare had stretched her budget to the limit. She’d feared she would have to cave and move in with her parents for her children’s sake, and then her late husband’s military friend Tom Knox had insisted she move close to his place in Texas so he could help and keep an eye on her.

She hated exploiting his kindness, but truth be told, she wasn’t close with her family in her hometown of Phoenix. So she’d taken Tom up on his offer. Her family had never been supportive of her decision to travel the world with her military husband, and they definitely weren’t supportive of his back-to-back deployments that left her essentially a single parent for years.

The bed-and-breakfast had been a godsend that just sort of fell into her lap—the former proprietor was an older woman who decided to move to California to be with her daughter and had sold it for the right price. Exactly the amount she received on the North Carolina house.

Since four-year-old Colby had recently been diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum, running the B and B was a perfect fit for being more flexible to meet his needs as well as keeping up with her two-year-old daughter. It allowed Natalie to stay home with the kids and pursue her dreams of designing wedding gowns, and gave her the one-on-one time to work with a trainer for their young golden retriever to become her son’s service dog. Miss Molly had the smarts and the aptitude, and heaven knew, Natalie needed all the help she could get.

All of which left little time for fizzy flutters in her stomach for tall, dark and dangerous.

Natalie gripped the arms of the leather chair in the Cattleman’s Club lounge. “While I want to help, I’m beginning to lose the thread here on your questions. I feel as if we’re covering ground you must already know from your research.”

“I’m digging for nuances.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re a computer techie. Not a detective.” Okay, so she’d actually been a little rude, but only to give herself distance from Max and his striking aqua eyes with dark lashes, his dark brown, rumpled hair that her fingers itched to comb through. He was quite simply imperfectly gorgeous. This ex-hacker-turned-billionaire tech genius. Bad-boy brilliant. A potent mix.

“I’m experienced with cyberprotection, so it is a combination of both. Quit worrying about what I need to know. Leave that up to me.”

“I just expected this interview to go faster.”

“Your bread and pastry dough. Can’t it be punched down and rise again?”

Now, that surprised her. Because he was right. “A few more minutes, perhaps. But I need to pick up my children from preschool soon.”

He nodded, his booted foot resting on his knee and twitching as he took notes on his tablet. Hiking boots. Expensive, clearly, but worn in. Not worn just for show. “Of course. I’ll move this along, then.”

The image of those well-worn boots and faded jeans contrasted with the button-down shirt and pocket protector. God, why couldn’t life be simple for once? “At least Cecilia, Simone and Naomi—they’ve gone from suspects to victims. Nothing seems off-limits to this creep in what secrets are revealed. Exposing Cecilia’s birth certificate in spite of her closed adoption. Sharing private medical details about Simone’s in vitro pregnancy. Then announcing Naomi’s pregnancy and stealing her chance to share that special news? It’s crazy around here. All of us feel vulnerable.”

She crossed her arms against her chest, a poor attempt at a shield from all this mess. Still, it made her feel better, if only temporarily.

“You have nothing to hide.”

“Everyone has secrets.” And she had so many parts of her past that she wanted, more than anything, to wish away.

“You look pretty squeaky clean on the internet.”

Her secrets weren’t internet worthy. They just made for grief and nightmares and a difficulty in trusting in picket fences anymore. “Well, having our friends hurt is wounding, too.”

“I’m not giving up until this bastard is found and stopped.” His large hands clenched into strong fists along the arms of his chair.

Very large hands.

Lord, she didn’t want to think about clichés about the size of hands and feet right now. She kept her eyes firmly off his boots, damn it.

But the way those hands then unfurled and carefully handled the thin tablet had her envisioning nimble touches and more...so much more.

There was no denying the conviction in his voice, and she couldn’t help admiring that. He truly was here to help, and her adopted town needed that help. The people here deserved the best. They’d done so much for her, welcoming her and her children with open arms. She should be helping rather than being so caught up in her own concerns.

This town had welcomed her wholeheartedly and she wanted to feel a part of things, to make a contribution however she could. And she really only had one thing to offer.

She tipped her chin and, before she could change her mind, blurted, “Mr. St. Cloud—um, Max—you can stay at my B and B free of charge, as my thanks for helping out the town.”

She might not have as much as some residents of this wealthy town, but she had her pride and she could offer something to help out Royal in its time of need. She was not going to fall victim to some smooth-talking player. For the next few days—or even weeks—she could hold strong.

Besides, it wasn’t like she was his type of female.

“Thank you very much, Natalie. I will gratefully accept.”

He smiled.

And holy hell, that gave her pause. His smile lit his eyes and made her stomach flip in a way she’d forgotten was possible.

What had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Cell phone in hand on his way to his rental vehicle, Max charged through the Texas Cattleman’s Club parking lot. The old-world men’s club dated back to around 1910, and was a large, rambling single-story building made of dark stone and wood with a tall slate roof. He needed to touch base with Chelsea and report on his progress with interviews this afternoon.

And let her know he wasn’t going to be staying with her after all. He’d made—his mouth twitched—alternative plans. He unlocked the rented Lexus SUV—a larger car was a must to transport his gear.

Natalie’s offer had stunned the hell out of him, but he hadn’t even hesitated. Would seducing a suspect jeopardize his investigation? Sure.

Lucky for him, she wasn’t a suspect.

Thumbing speed dial for Chels and setting the phone for hands-free talking, Max steered past the stable, pool and tennis courts, all TCC member perks. And all freshly maintained. Chels had told him part of the clubhouse roof and many of the outbuildings had been damaged in a massive tornado a few years back. The group now took special care to reinforce the roof and had added some height to the ceilings so the main building seemed airier than before.

For a club steeped in tradition, a lot had changed in the TCC lately. He might not be a member, but he’d done his research since this group seemed to be the focus of the hacker’s attacks. Colors had been brightened. It wasn’t such an “old boys’ club” anymore, especially because women were now full members.

He accelerated out of the lot and headed toward town, toward the B and B, just as Chelsea answered his call.

“Max!” Her voice chimed through the car’s speaker as he drove. “Hello, my friend. How did the fact gathering go after I left?”

“Interesting... Nothing conclusive yet, but lots of pieces to review and leads to follow once I get my gear set up.” He’d come straight from the airport.

“I can’t thank you enough for dropping everything and coming here personally to help.”

Chels’s voice filled the car as he made his way down the road. His eyes darted from the asphalt in front of him to the dusty town.

“That’s what friends are for. We go way back. I still owe you for teaching me about which fork to use,” he joked, tapping his brakes to let a minivan out of a parking lot. She’d taught him more than that. She’d helped him learn the nuances to moving in circles of society he needed to build his business.

She’d also given him the nod to be himself and not let those societal boundaries contain him. Heaven knows, she was an edgy original herself. They really could have been siblings, as they were made from the same mold in many ways.

Slowing, he drove past a school yard teeming with children living idyllic lives of normalcy so different from his. Adults rushed to organize their students into an efficient line for parent pickup. Each little face trusted that their parents or a car pool member would arrive right on cue.

Even from a passing glance, he saw the effort it took to contain the wildness of the children bursting with excitement to return to their home lives and after-school activities—activities that did not include Dumpster diving.

“But you surely have higher-paying clients—especially since you’re doing this pro bono, in spite of our offers.” She exhaled a hard sigh and he could envision her shoving back her thick honey-blond hair impatiently. “And this feels, perhaps, below your pay grade. You could have sent one of your staff.”

“This is sensitive. The info this bastard is sharing hurts you and your friends. I trust my staff, but I don’t want you exposed any more than is needed.” The criminal had made this personal by launching slanderous attacks on Chels’s friends here. Someone had infiltrated their personal data and found dirt for blackmailing—everything from revealing a man’s love child, to concocting the appearance of an affair to destroy a marriage, to dabbling in land documents to threaten land holdings. Nothing was secret or sacred to whoever had it in for the people of this town.

Anger rippled through Max as he turned off the main road, eyes squinting in the glare of the September sun.

“Thank you.” Her voice wobbled, full of emotional appreciation. She’d always hated to feel like an imposition, and he never wanted his old friend to feel that way.

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.


Two (#ufe419366-f13b-5786-bc41-89eeed4d69c3)

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 of her, she saw him.

Max St. Cloud.

Even from their limited interaction, she’d recognized his features. The door of the black SUV opened and he slid out. His booted feet thudded on the ground, causing dust to encircle him ever so slightly.

Colby nudged her with his foot, causing her to stop gaping for a moment. Her son didn’t look at her and didn’t touch her outright, but instead kicked the ground with his sneaker, and fidgeted with the plaid shirt he wore.

As if sensing his unease, Miss Molly bounded over to him, planting a wet kiss on his cheek. He smiled slightly, but lines of caution still colored his stance.

Margie knelt beside the dog and Colby. Her sharp blue eyes looked up to meet Natalie’s. “New guest? The cyberdetective in from Seattle, right?”

“Yep. That’s him,” she answered, taking in his slow, confident gait, the ease and appeal of his plain white T-shirt. Natalie’s stomach tumbled. With a deep breath, she smoothed her hair, tried to build the wall back up around her emotions.

He was a boarder.

A guest.

Nothing more.

And the butterflies in her stomach damn well needed to listen.

But what could happen with her kids here?

Nothing. Because they were her whole world.

Her daughter, Alexa, bolted from her side, a flurry of kicked-up leaves trailing behind her. She stopped as Max clicked open the picket-fence gate, her little dress still filled with rippled motion. Lexie pulled on the sleeves of her light jean jacket and smiled at him.

“Mister, wanna pet my dog?” Lexie’s spritely voice cooed. She pointed back to where Natalie, Margie and Colby stood together.

Natalie rushed to her daughter, then smoothed back her outgoing child’s hair and tucked her close. “Lexie, Mr. St. Cloud has had a long day. He needs to go to his room.”

“His room?” Lexie glanced up with wide eyes and long lashes. “For a time-out?”

“No, sweetie, he isn’t being sent to time-out. He hasn’t misbehaved.” Although the gleam in his eyes indicated he was open to the option. “He is a guest and we need to be polite.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She turned to Max. “You hungry? We got pastry, Mr. Cloud.”

Natalie started to correct her daughter and he held up a hand.

“It’s all right, Natalie.” He knelt in front of the toddler. “I like pastry. I hope you’ll save some for me for breakfast.”

Margie crossed the lawn to join them and tugged one of Lexie’s curls lightly. “Show him to his room, Natalie. I’ll keep working with Miss Molly and watch these two.”

“Thank you, Margie. That’s very generous of you.” A blush heated her cheeks. Margie continually went above and beyond what was required of her during these training sessions. When she wasn’t training dogs, Margie was part of a search-and-rescue team. A woman in her sixties, she had spent her whole life helping other people.

Margie waved a hand, a tough hand with a scar she’d gotten from a dog bite long ago. “Go on. I’ve got this under control.”

Natalie nodded, motioning for Max to follow her up the porch and into the B and B.

“I’ll show you to your room, Mr. S—um, Max.” Her tongue had tripped as she remembered he insisted that she call him Max. The lack of his last name made her feel unsettled, put them on a more familiar setting, as if they were old friends or something. As if the boundaries between them were already dissolving...

It was a dangerous thought, one she could not risk.

“Your dog is quite friendly—your daughter, too.” The smile in his voice felt genuine as she opened the door to the B and B, the immediate scent of cinnamon filling the air.

She appreciated the homey scent, which grounded her. It was something to focus on aside from the strong male presence beside her.

“I apologize if she talked your ear off.” Lord knew, Lexie could talk for hours without much effort.

He paused in the threshold, eyes scanning the area, seeming to scrutinize and process what was before him. She followed his gaze, noting the quirks of this place that she had started to love. Like the wooden knob on the staircase that popped off occasionally. “This is a bed-and-breakfast. I expected the family-style approach.”

He clicked the door behind him, making the space seem smaller just by being there.

“I’m curious why you took me up on my offer. Surely you’re used to more upscale accommodations,” she said, moving through the hallway, her feet soft on the plush vermillion patterned carpet.

“Did you want me to say no?” He cast a sidelong glance at her.

She felt that curious stare even as she kept her eyes forward on where they were going. They passed the door to the bright white-and-yellow kitchen, the room she seemed to always be in. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”

They turned the corner and climbed up the second staircase in the house. The stair corridor was lit by sconces on the walls. The bath of golden light always made her think of some grand Regency-era novel. The Cimarron Rose was not the size of an estate, but this particular passage in the house always felt stately, like it belonged as a backdrop for some other time period.

“Do you need the space for paying customers? I don’t want to take business away from you.” His offer echoed in the stairway, accompanied by his determined footfalls.

They reached the landing and she moved away from him, a fierceness entering her voice. “I have another open room if someone needs to check in.”

“I didn’t mean to sting your pride.” He sounded sincere. He paused again and looked at his surroundings, eyes fixating on a landscape portrait of a sunrise on the plains. Horses darted across the painting, free of all trappings of humanity. She’d bought that painting upon moving to Texas, feeling a kinship with the unbridled herd.

“You’re fine. You’re just being thoughtful, to me and the whole town. I want to do my part to say thank you and this is the only way I can contribute.”

He laughed, a rich sound like caramel. His hand touched her wrist, the scent of his spiced cologne dripping in the space between them. “Then I’ll gladly accept the room and the pastries, too.”

Her stomach did back flips as she arched an eyebrow his way. “How do you know they’re any good?”

“I did my research.”

“Don’t you let anything in life be a surprise?” She opened the door to his room. Late-afternoon sun streamed in through the old, warped glass window, casting shadows over the bed and threshold.

“Not if I can help it.” He took a step closer to her. The light from the room seemed to pierce through his T-shirt, showcase his well-maintained chest. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, the muscles flexing.

The electric pulse of his smile sent her reeling. She watched the way his lips folded into a smile. A spark. No—ten thousand sparks danced in the air. “I need to get back downstairs.”

She took a step back, stumbled a little.

“To your children,” he said with a knowing look in his eyes.

If she just leaned forward, into him, what would happen? The idea was tempting.

But it wasn’t a reality she’d let herself pursue. Natalie straightened, drew herself up to full height. “Actually, the children are with the local dog trainer. She’s on the clock.” She wasn’t going to let this man know how much he’d rattled her. She was a businesswoman. Not as wealthy as him, but her job mattered, her life was full. “I need to return to my customers. Let me know if you need anything during your stay.”

A flame lit his eyes.

Ah, hell. She hadn’t meant it that way. Or had she?

Either way, she needed to shut up, now, and put some distance between herself and this muscle-bound distraction.

* * *

Dropping to sit on the edge of his overstuffed king-size bed, Max surveyed the room. Over the past few hours, he’d transformed the space into a makeshift computer lab. The oak desk, which originally had a globe from the early 1900s, a stack of old novels and a vintage-inspired notepad on top of it, along with three screens, a mouse, a hard drive and an elaborate, curved keyboard. Nothing was plugged in yet, but the layout would do.

He stood and pulled out an array of wires from one of his bags. Crawling beneath the oak desk, he began hooking up the system, determined to catch the creep who had dared go after Chelsea’s friends. After setting up the cords, he slunk into a plush leather chair and turned on the computer network system. An array of muted dings and computer groans greeted him, making his room in the Cimarron Rose feel a bit more like home.

While he waited for the remote access to connect with his home system, he spun around in his chair. The cream color of the walls made the room feel cozy, especially with the rich browns and oranges that made up the decor. A vintage map of the world was sprawled above the four-poster bed, and other travel accents—an old camera, repurposed suitcases—punctuated the room.

He glanced at his watch and was shocked. Somehow the setup of his mobile workstation had taken him a few hours—it was nearing midnight. He needed to stretch.

Pacing around his room, he made his way to the far corner to the window. He scanned the area, noting the play of shadows in the yard...and someone on the wrought iron bench beneath the oak tree.

Natalie.

Natalie beneath the tree with a glass of wine looking as relaxed and natural as a wood sprite.

There. That was his opening. She sat under the oak, her strawberry blond hair soaking up the moon glow. Serene and unguarded. Filled with an urgency to talk to her, he started down the stairs.

Careful to close the door behind him without a sound, he strode toward her, his feet drawn to her before he even figured out what the hell he was doing here. “Do your guests get wine?”

A smile formed on his lips as she turned to find the source of his voice.

She tilted her head back and forth, an exaggeration that exposed the length of her neck and the grace of her movements. Eyebrows raised, she looked at him and lifted her glass. “I’m not sure my grocery-store vintage is up to your elite standards.”

“How do you know what my vino standards are?” he returned, just as playfully, taking a seat next to her.

Natalie pursed her lips, folded her legs into the lotus position and turned to face him on the bench. “Seriously? Someone with your income?” She took another sip and held her glass up to the moonlight as if to examine its nuances. “You wouldn’t pick this.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be my first choice, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy a glass. Well, unless maybe you have beer instead.”

She laughed softly, lowly. “I guess I did offer you a place to stay as my part of thanking you for helping with this cyberwacko.” She started to push herself up from the bench. “I have four left from a six-pack of beer in the fridge. It was for Tom Knox when his family visited.”

He put his hand on her wrist. “You don’t need to wait on me. I can get my own beer. If you don’t mind me reaching around in your fridge, that is.”

She sank back down. “I’m more than happy to rest my feet.”

Max went back inside to the kitchen. The cabinets were painted white, a vibe reminiscent of the 1970s. A beautiful orchid was placed on the kitchen table—vibrant violet.

He made his way to the stout yellow fridge and popped it open. An array of juice boxes and snacks covered the shelves. After some shuffling, he found a beer and headed back outside.

Earlier today, covered in flour, Natalie had been enchanting. Sitting beneath this tree, drenched in starlight and moonlight, she was ethereal. Her hair, loose, natural, rested elegantly on her slender shoulders.

Damn. He should have gotten two beers. No going back now. Opening the bottle, he sat down next to her. She lifted her glass and he clinked his bottle against her drink. “Cheers, Natalie. To solving a mystery.”

“To altruistic millionaires.” She laughed, then sipped her wine.

Billionaire. But he didn’t think that would do much to advance his cause of getting closer to her.

Was that what he was doing?

Hell, yes, he wanted to taste her. Right now he wanted to kiss her more than he wanted...anything.

He took a swig of his beer, the hoppy flavor settling on his palate.

In this moment, underneath the stars and tree limbs, Natalie seemed so easygoing, so much less guarded than she had that afternoon. “Glad you found your brew.”

“It was tough at first, tucked behind the juice boxes.”

She laughed, choked a little on a sip of wine, then pressed the back of her wrist to her mouth. “Sorry about that. I should have warned you.”

“Not a problem. You’re a mom. I figure juice boxes come with the territory.” Natalie just nodded in response, staring out toward the road.

A night orchestra filled the space between them. Low chirps of active crickets, the occasional rustle of a slight autumn wind through the branches. In the distance, he could hear car tires rolling over the mixture of dirt and pavement. No wonder she liked this time of night. “Your kids are cute. Your daughter sure is a little chatterbox.”

“I think sometimes she is filling in the blanks for her brother.” She stared into her glass, lightly swirling the wine along the sides of the crystal. “My son’s been diagnosed on the spectrum for autism.”

“I’m sorry.” Her sudden desire to share this private moment struck a chord with Max. As if by instinct, his hand went to hers and he squeezed it reassuringly, noting the way she squeezed back. Max brought his hand back to his side, aware of the absence of warmth.

“I’m just glad we got the diagnosis. Early intervention is key to giving him the most life has to offer. Actually, that’s true for any child. Proactive parenting.”

“And you’re doing it alone.”

“I am, which doesn’t leave me any free time. You need to understand that.”

“You’re a superb mother. You don’t need to ever apologize for that.” Another swig of beer. As he swallowed, he tried to push his own childhood back to the dark morass of his mind. When he was six, his mother had abandoned him. No explanation. Just gone. He became yet another child of the foster care system, cycling through homes, but never finding a permanent place. Never finding a family of his own. Unadoptable. All these years later, the label and reality still stung.

“We’re training Miss Molly to help Colby in a number of ways.” She combed her fingers through her hair as she turned to face him.

He shifted to face her, closer, as if the rest of the world was outside their pocket of space here. “Like a service dog?”

“Eventually. Right now she would qualify as an ESA—emotional support animal. However, there’s no public access with that, but Colby’s doctors can quantify how she helps ease his panic attacks. With training, we hope to hone that to where she can assist him in school, the store, and make so many more places accessible to him. My son is also quite the escape artist, so it helps having Miss Molly stick close to him. She barks when we call, even if he won’t answer.”

“I don’t mean to sound dense, but why not just get a dog that’s already trained?” Parenting, along with the world of disability and service animals, felt like a foreign language to him, but he was eager to learn more.

“The waiting list for most agencies is one to two years, if they’ll even partner a dog with a child as young as Colby. Few groups will. We didn’t have a lot of options left to us in this arena.” He took in the slump in her spine, her downcast eyes and the pain pulsing in her tight-lipped smile.

He scooted closer to her, raised her chin. Shining emerald eyes met his, and a deep exhale passed from her lips to his receding hand. “But you investigated. You found answers.”

Natalie the fighter. Natalie the woman who didn’t quit. He admired that.

“Of course. We worked with the trainer and with Megan at the local shelter. They were fantastic in identifying a dog with potential for the job.”

“That’s impressive.”

She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “There’s always the chance Miss Molly won’t be able to complete the training to the level we hope. That’s a risk with any dog in training. But we’re already getting some help with Colby now in the way she offers comfort and sticks close to him. And we’re committed to keeping her regardless of how far she progresses in her ability to learn.”

“Even if you have to start training with another dog?”

“Yes, even if. For now, though, we’re taking things a day at a time, doing the best we can.” A stronger, more resolute smile formed on her face, as if she was replaying some scene in her mind.

“You’re doing a damn fine job now,” he affirmed before taking another sip of his beer, listening to the continued sound of crickets.

“Miss Molly already passed her Canine Good Citizen test. We’re not taking this lightly. It’s against the law to pass off a fake service dog.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Max stretched his arms, expanding his chest, and let out a low sigh.

“I’m sorry to be defensive. People understand Seeing Eye dogs and dogs that assist with mobility. But when the animal is helping with developmental or emotional disabilities, people can be incredibly...rude and unenlightened.” Just as before, Natalie’s gaze turned downward, pain evident in every part of her.

“Then enlighten me.” He tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear.

She angled her head away. “I think we need to be careful here.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, wanting her to spell it out. What they were feeling.

“I didn’t invite you here as anything but a guest.”

“Understood.”

“An attraction is just that. An attraction. It doesn’t have to be acted on.”

“Fair enough.” He rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his bottle, retreating for now. But only to regroup. “I appreciate your generosity with the room. Your place here offers a homey feel I don’t find often in my travels. Now back to talking about your dog. I want to know more about the training.”

Even in the moonlight, he noticed a blush rise on her neck. She sipped her wine, before talking into the glass. “You’re just being polite.”

“I’m curious. Explain it so my techie mind understands.”

“Okay, have you heard about studies on dogs that can sniff out cancer?”

“I have.” He nodded, gesturing with his beer. “I assume it’s like drug-sniffing dogs.”

“Nice analogy. And there are dogs that alert to seizures and diabetes glucose drops.”

“Keep talking.” He genuinely wanted to know. And God, he also liked the sound of her voice.

“Those all involve chemical changes in the body, with physical tells. Think of processing issues and stress from autism in the same way. We can teach the dog to anticipate problems, assist in managing the environment... Your eyes are glazing over.”

Narrowing his gaze, he processed the implications of what she was saying.

“No, I’m thinking. It makes sense.” He leaned forward, looking past her, eyes alert on the surrounding area, always looking and observing. A calm street in a calm town, no threat to either of them present here. Old habits stayed with him, probably would forever. Including his drive to help, which was giving life to a deep protectiveness for this woman carving out a life on her own in the face of challenges that would have caused many people to crumble. “Have you got an online presence to chronicle your journey with Miss Molly and Colby?”

“In all my free time?” she asked drily.

“You could make a difference for others. Let me help set something up for you. I can make it very user friendly. And you would be surprised at the reach you can get with adding in guest bloggers like your trainer, your vet, people here in town.” He grinned. “The cyberworld isn’t all bad, you know.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Her slender fingertips traced the rim of her wineglass, and she tilted her head in wonderment.

“Because what you’re doing is important. You wanted to help. I like to help. I’m a lucky man. I can do what I want with my time. No worries about income. It’s not a huge sacrifice really. I’ll get one of my techs to work with your trainer. Free publicity for her, since she’s volunteering her time at a discount to you. Call it paying things forward.”

Her eyes lifted in surprise. “That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

A crooked smile spread across his face. “I’m not doing it just to be kind.”

“Then why are you?” She leaned into him, desire flashing in her eyes.

“It’s a good thing to do...” He angled closer, unable to resist. “And because I really, really want to get on your good side so you’ll let me kiss you.”


Three (#ufe419366-f13b-5786-bc41-89eeed4d69c3)

Determined to put a hint of space between them even if she couldn’t will herself to just walk away, Natalie flattened a hand to his chest.

The hard, muscled wall of his chest.

Gulp.

“I’m complimented you want to kiss me, but that’s not included in the bed-and-breakfast package.”

He chuckled, the rumble of his laugh vibrating against her hand. “That’s the nicest put-down I’ve ever received.”

Gaining strength, she let out her own low laugh, arching her eyebrows, taking him in, trying to focus on the crisp September air instead of his musky scent. Or the way the shadows played up his bad-boy mystique. “I imagine you don’t often get told no.”

“Another compliment. For someone who is rejecting me, you’re doing it very nicely.” Voice still throaty, he swallowed, eyes fixed on hers.

“So you hear me saying no to your advance?”

He shook his head, the line of his lips growing taut. Sincere. “I hear you. No is no. I just want you to remember I still feel the same way. I want to kiss you. Very much. And if you decide you want to act on this attraction, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

The courtyard dimmed ever so slightly. The moody stars seemed brighter as the lights from the B and B went out one by one. People were making their way to bed. She ought to be moving in that direction, too. Away from Max. Away from the way his aqua stare sent her reeling.

“You assume the attraction is mutual.” A lame defense. She knew it as soon as the words flicked from her tongue into the night air.

He stayed quiet and held her gaze.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Attraction exists. But I think it’s fair to say people don’t act every time they’re attracted to someone.” She looked past him, toward the street. A neighbor walking a border collie shuffled by in a half daze. The sound of gravel shifting beneath paws and feet gave her something else to focus on besides the tempting muscled man in front of her.

“Touché.”

“You’re conceding?” Narrowing her eyes, she tucked a few strands of hair behind ear, unconvinced.

Max passed the now-empty beer bottle from hand to hand, the green glass glinting. “Not giving in. Just noting your point, since you noted mine. We are attracted to each other. I consider that a huge win. I’m a patient man, especially when the stakes are important.” He leaned forward, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Very important.”

“A kiss? Really?” She’d never met a man patient for a kiss.

He leaned close, so close his breath caressed her face. “Yes, really. What I believe is going to be a really amazing kiss.”

He smiled at her, collecting his empty bottle and her glass as he stood. His absence allowed for the light breeze to brush her exposed skin, leaving her aware of just how close they’d been sitting. How easy it would have been to act on any of her feelings and temptations. How she simply could not allow herself to do that.

As if she needed another reminder. Watching him walk back to the B and B, Natalie swallowed hard.

Just a boarder. Maybe if she repeated that enough times, it’d be true. Glancing up at the muted stars, Natalie realized it would be quite some time before she would find sleep.

* * *

Next to the kitchen, the craft room was Natalie’s favorite place to spend time creating—everything from her dresses to accessories she sold in The Courtyard. The little artisanal mall was a big hit in town, and a nice source of extra income for her stretched budget.

She knew she was lucky to have a creative outlet that blended with her life as a single mom. In a house drenched in color riffs of reds and yellows—remnants, in some ways, of a Texas sunset—the craft room boasted a lighter, airy setting. The light sea-foam-green wall stood in contrast to the other cream walls. Tufts of tulle, lace and silky fabrics huddled in the corner, sparking whimsy into Natalie’s life.

She ruffled through the half-finished sketches of bridal dresses on the glass desk rimmed with gold, nearly knocking over the arrangement of blue hydrangeas—her favorite.

The room itself, such a stark contrast to the rest of her house, made her feel like she’d stepped into a fairy-tale land. A place outside the reality of her existence. A place where she channeled the grief of losing her husband into more productive, selfless endeavors.

Like running a small, custom-wedding-gown business. Sewing was threaded throughout her entire life for as far back as Natalie could remember. Great-grandmother Elisa had taught her to crochet, and after that Natalie found the act of creation comforting. She’d soon transitioned into sewing, sketching and eventually designing her own clothes.

Natalie had always found art in these moments of baking and sewing. These weren’t merely goods to be sold, but pieces of her soul she sent out into the world.

Turning away from the desk after consulting the sketch, she tried not to think of the man staying in the room above. Focus on the here and now. In a slight state of disarray, she noted the piles of airy fabric in her three sewing machines—evidence of her works in progress. More than just her work, it was her creative outlet. A piece of the world just for her.

In the very back corner behind the white couch accented with gold pillows, where her two friends were sipping mimosas, she smiled at the completed gown—a wispy lacy dress with a sweetheart neckline. Perfect for a boho bride. Their figures formed a silhouette against the drawn blind to keep prying eyes out. No one needed to see the masterpiece until after it was complete and the bride made her debut.

Even with the blinds drawn shut, an expansive skylight allowed golden September light to wash over the room, adding to the otherworldly airiness.

Sketch in hand, Natalie made her way to the white couch where Emily Knox sat, green eyes rolling back as she bit into one of the apple turnovers. She swallowed and dabbed her pink lips with a napkin, a smile forming on her whole face. “You have outdone yourself this time, Natalie.” Emily placed the turnover back down on the glass-and-gold coffee table, her nimble, long fingers finding the champagne flute.

Natalie couldn’t help thinking about the drink with Max, how easy it had been to talk to him, to lean into his touch. How quickly he’d filled her home, her thoughts, her life.

Emily took a sip of the mimosa and then raised her glass to Natalie, appreciation radiating from her eyes and her yum. After she set the glass down on the table, Emily carefully arranged the knickknacks and uneaten pastries, pulled out her camera and snapped a picture. She fluffed her honey-brown hair, content to review her image. Emily saw photographically, and her ranch-based home provided a continual canvas of inspiration.

“Please. It’s nothing.” Natalie shoved her left hand into her pocket, searching for her misplaced measuring tape.

“No, honey, this is delightful,” Brandee Lawless offered, staring at her reflection in the ornate mirror. Her dress wasn’t quite finished.

A pit of guilt welled in Natalie’s stomach as she examined the state of Brandee’s dress. She was a mash-up of the girl next door and a woman who would fight for her ranch and dreams with every fiber of her body. Brandee was set to marry Shane Delgado, a rancher and millionaire real-estate developer.

The wedding was approaching, and Brandee’s dress was more of a suggestion at this point. Classic lines that felt just right for Brandee—and that was about as far as Natalie had this dress figured out. Silk skimmed over a more structured underdress, and while Natalie imagined lace integrated into the design, the exact positioning was still a work in progress.

Brandee licked a hint of cinnamon from the corner of her mouth. “I’m praying Max St. Cloud can find the person responsible for these cyberattacks. It’s just...deplorable what this person is trying to do to the people of this town.”

Emily nodded, her normally sunny features darkening. “So much hatred in one person. It must be personal, which is scary because if so, the person could be close.” Her voice grew taut, as if the words had to climb over a lump in her vocal cords. “But to try to destroy my marriage. How can a person have a vendetta against so many of us?”

The cyberattacker had sent photos to Emily trying to make her think her husband, Tom, was cheating on her with Natalie. Someone had taken photos of Tom helping Natalie and her children, photos so strategically taken one could almost believe he had a second family. Tom had just been trying to help, had been suffering from a hefty case of survivor’s guilt over her husband’s death. Life had been hard on all of them.

Thank goodness the Knox marriage had survived and was stronger than ever.

Now Emily and Natalie were even friends. Truth was stronger than hate.

Natalie strategically hugged Brandee, careful not to press any of the loose pins into her. “Let’s not allow that awful person to steal anything more from us by taking our joy. We can’t stop him or her—not yet anyway—but we don’t have to invite that negativity into our lives. There are so many reasons to rejoice.”

Brandee nodded. “Did you hear? Nick and Harper’s latest ultrasound showed the twins are both boys. It seems like the population is exploding in our little town.”

Emily snorted on a laugh. “Isn’t that the truth? It’ll be your turn, Brandee, soon enough. We need to keep that joy in mind.”

“You’re right.” Brandee smiled widely. “Nothing should taint every moment leading up to my wedding.” She twirled around on the pedestal, recalling a lithe ballerina. Even in the half-finished dress, she was a swirl of bridal beauty.

Shoving off the couch, camera slung around her neck and mimosa in hand, Emily strode over to them. “Mimosas and friendship and photos. To weddings. And gorgeous gowns.”

“I’m sorry the gown isn’t complete.” Wringing her hands, Natalie stared at the heap of fabric, beads and lace. At all the yet-to-be-realized potential.

“This is a custom job. I understand that, love that and adore the idea of photos of the gown in progress, fittings and changes.” Brandee shrugged, another smile lighting up her face, brightening her eyes. “It’s a metaphor for life. The joy and process doesn’t stop on the wedding day.”

The work.

Natalie blinked back tears. Damn it, she usually didn’t let her armor crack this way.

Emily glided forward and wrapped her in a gentle hug. “Oh, God, Nat, I’m sorry.”

Natalie willed in one steadying breath after another. Comfort almost made it tougher, but she practically shoved the tears back into her body. Another steadying breath, and she patted her way free of the hug. “Please, don’t. It’s been a year. I’m moving forward with my life. I’m beginning to remember the happy times that deserve to be celebrated.”

Her attraction to Max had been a mixture of relief, in that it assured her she was moving forward, and wariness, because now she needed to figure out if she was ready.

Reaching out to her friend, Brandee gave Natalie’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “You’re incredible.”

Natalie choked on a laugh and sniffled back the last hint of tears. “I wish. But thank you. Making these dresses brings me happiness.” She didn’t need a man—didn’t need Max—because she was happy and fulfilled with the life she’d built.

“And about this moving forward... Would it have something to do with Max St. Cloud staying here?” Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Brandee exchanged a glance with Emily, who offered her a mimosa.

Natalie made notes in her sketchbook, not that she needed to, but it was easier than meeting their eyes.

“Why would you say that? He’s just a boarder, staying here while helping the town.” Natalie worked to keep the heat from rising to her cheeks.

Brandee snorted halfway through a sip of her mimosa. “Seriously? I saw you two out front playing with the kids and when you walked past each other in the hall on our way in here. The two of you all but launch electric static snapping through the air when you’re in the same room.” She turned to Emily. “Am I wrong?”

Emily refilled her crystal flute. “Just the looks you two exchange damn near singe my hair.”

Natalie conceded the obvious, making her way to the sewing machine. “He’s an attractive man, Emily.” Arranging the material, she began to work, hoping the sound of the machine would disrupt this conversation.

“And you’re an attractive woman.” She swept both hands through the air to form Natalie’s shape.

Clutching satin, Natalie sagged back from her sewing machine. “I’m a tired, overworked mom.”

“Hmm...” Brandee clapped her hands together. “Maybe you need a spa day.”

Natalie’s spine stiffened defensively. “I’m not going to launch some Cinderella-vamp makeover to snag a man.”

Tut-tutting, Brandee shook her head. “No argument. I’m going to schedule it for next week. This is for you. Just for you. You deserve it.”

Emily smiled knowingly. “And in case you haven’t noticed, you already snagged his attention.”

Natalie shot to her feet. “I’m going to get us more pastries and something to drink without alcohol.”

With quick steps, she made her way to the kitchen, popped open the largest cabinet and extracted an ornate crystal pitcher—her great-grandmother’s. Absently, she tossed the already-sliced lemons from the fridge into the pitcher, filled the bulk of the container with ice cubes and added water. As the impact of water caused the ice-cube cluster to melt and disperse, she heard a steady, almost undetectable sound.

The pitter patter of a slight drip. The sink was leaking ever so slightly. Another thing to fix—after she finished this gown session, of course.

As Natalie began to make her way back to the craft room, the scene from outside the oversize window arrested her gaze.

Max.

But not just Max. He sat at the pink-and-white Little Tikes picnic table across from Lexie. Her chatterbox daughter was serving him imaginary tea, and had just extended a feather boa to Max, who good-naturedly rested the bright purple boa on his shoulders.

As Natalie clutched the water pitcher, she swallowed.

Trouble.

Maybe that spa day wasn’t what she needed. Maybe instead she needed the frumpiest burlap sack and chastity belt money could buy.

* * *

For the past three days, Max had been holed up at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. The beginnings of investigations were always the same. A blur of faces, words, files. For Max, the initial phase of the investigation was at once the most frustrating and most fascinating.

All the contingent possibilities took shape before him—the various paths seemed to reveal themselves as he met with the key town players.

Max had to continue to watch how the men postured, wait for nuggets of information to be dispensed. Analyze. Repeat several more times until something like a lead developed.

After a long Wednesday of scanning through the files of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, his eyes demanded some rest, craved home.

He corrected himself. He craved his makeshift bed in his transitory space—the theme of his life. Home was never locatable, and this dusty town was not home, either.

Max barely registered the drive back to the Cimarron Rose. Flashes of leaves turning from bright green to yellow and the lack of cars on the road both gave Max a feeling of timelessness. Ironic, considering everything except for this car ride had turned his world on its head. Max’s time at the bed-and-breakfast had been a surprise, to say the least. Not just because of a certain auburn-haired bombshell with sweet, sad eyes that melted his soul. But he’d been surprised how drawn he was to two of the cutest rapscallions on the planet as they rode their tricycles and played ball. Max usually avoided interactions with children, but now it seemed he was living under the same roof as two of them. He should be irritated. Or avoiding them.

Not having freaking tea parties, for God’s sake. He laughed to himself, recalling the way Lexie had sidled up to him, her invitation to have a cup of tea was the most earnest request he’d ever heard.

Just like that, two-year-old Lexie—who had inherited her mother’s eyes—had him, a big, bad billionaire, eating out of her hand in no time. He’d even worn a boa at her tea party, much to Lexie’s delight.

It seemed, though, that four-year-old Colby would be a tougher nut to crack. Could a kid that age be brooding? This one was. How much was the autism and how much was the boy’s personality? Max wasn’t sure, but he definitely had felt an instant kinship with the boy, who appeared to be a tech geek in the making with his video games and his aptitude at the computer.

But the kinship went deeper. Though their experiences were inherently different, Max knew what it was like to always be positioned on the outside of “normal” routines. As he made his way to the door, he found himself wondering what he could do for Colby. He would figure something out, a way to connect with the kid.

Now, though, he was having a harder time processing his reaction to Natalie, and the instant twinge of arousal that kicked through him every time she entered the room. Hell, even when she was bent over her sewing machine working on a new design for a wedding dress. So Max had decided to give himself a breather by spending some time working on the case these past three days.

But for now, there was no avoiding the need to go back to his room to compile his latest round of interviews and some data he’d gleaned from the Texas Cattleman’s Club’s files.

As he pulled into the parking lot, he noted the stillness of the air, the lack of guests. So many of the guests who had been there over the weekend had checked out, leaving him largely alone in this place.

As he was turning the doorknob, a scream assaulted his ears. Heart hammering, ratcheting into overtime, he dropped his things at the front door, his body posed to launch in the direction of the distress.

Worry coiled around bones, and an unsettling image of Natalie cornered in the kitchen seemed to permeate every nook and cranny of his mind.

But then another sound.

A squeal of wicked laughter. And another. Suddenly, the bed-and-breakfast was filled with the sound of hysterical laughter, emanating from multiple people. Heart steadying and curiosity rising, he followed the sounds.

His inner investigator egged him on.

The squeals and peals of laughter intensified as he neared the bright kitchen.

Nothing could have prepared Max for the sight in the kitchen. Water pooled everywhere on the tile, and more water continued to bubble from underneath the sink, creating a kind of indoor, shallow water park. Lexie theatrically splashed around, combining water stomping with something that looked like ballet. Her laughter and antics even incited the ever-reserved Colby to motion. Miss Molly ran circles around them, barking and wagging her tail in a golden fan.

Natalie’s rich laughter warmed the kitchen, made the disaster seem less like a crisis and more whimsical. Water soaked her shirt and her loose hair dripped, clinging to her.

Those radiant green eyes were calm—she was just as carefree as she’d been under the tree several nights ago.

Stunning.

In every situation—flour dusted, bathed in moonlight, drenched in water—Max felt drawn to her.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/catherine-mann/taking-home-the-tycoon/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.