The Baron Page 26

  The way he was looking at her made Carol’s throat tighten in fear … or excitement. Neither was acceptable at the moment. Turning the pencil end over end, she surreptitiously slid her gaze up and down his tall, muscled frame. He was wearing an ankle-length canvas duster, cowboy boots, tight, worn jeans with a holster of some kind on his hip, and a red bandanna tied loosely around his neck. He looked a little too wild for the Ocotillo. And the way he stood there, thumbs hooked in his belt, arrogant, impatient—

  “Want me to turn around so you can get a better look?” Cody drawled.

  “Not at all.” She didn’t know if it was his cowboy good looks or his attitude that had her momentarily nonplussed, but neither was going to get the best of her. She could send him away. All she had to decide was whether she wanted to face a disappointed guest.

  Cody rocked back on his heels. “Well?” He nodded toward the phone. “The meter’s running.”

  With a chilly smile Carol folded her hands on her desk. “Your boss said you’re not the regular guide. Have you done this before?”

  Cody looked at her from under the brim of his hat as if he were actually deciding whether or not to answer. Then he shrugged; a whiplike flicker of a grin touched his lips and lit his eyes. “Yup.”

  Carol waited for more of an explanation, but none was forthcoming. Now, however, she was on her own turf. Crossing her long legs, she asked calmly, “Is there a route y’all follow, some normal tour with specified stops and things? I was looking at the brochures and noticed that they all go to Horseshoe Canyon, and Lost Gulch—”

  Cody held out the keys. “You want to drive? No? Fine, then stop worrying. I’ll give them a tour they won’t forget, I promise. Just send them outside; I’ll be waiting in the Jeep. And, Lonesome, anytime you want to check up on me, just book a tour.”

  Without another word he turned and strode out the door, duster billowing and spurs jangling. Carol stared after him for a long moment, then pushed her hair back from her face. Her nerves jumped. He might be gorgeous, but he was one arrogant son-of-a-gun. Then why did his shadow still linger on her like a touch? Why did it beckon her to follow?

  Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Carol pulled herself together. Smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt and the tremor out of her voice, she called Dr. Marcus and went on with her work.

  At two forty-five the doctor tore through the front door and headed straight for Carol’s desk.

  Carol braced herself. All through lunch she’d regretted her decision to let Cody Briggs take her guests out. She had sensed danger; she should have taken a firmer stand. Now she was going to get chewed out for that man’s incompetence—

  “Ms. Lawson,” the doctor said, slapping a hand onto her desk. “That was incredible. I cannot thank you enough. I mean, that was more than a tour, it was an amazing … no, an enlightening experience. Thank you for finding us such a fascinating guide.”

  Carol sat openmouthed for a second when he was gone, then looked across the lobby. Cody Briggs was leaning casually against the glass wall near the front entrance, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, sleeves rolled over tanned forearms, his bandanna rolled and tied around his forehead as if he were some Indian warrior. He’d been waiting for her to look up. Now he stared back at her, one dark brow climbing slightly, an I-told-you-so grin on his face. When he touched two fingers to the brim of his hat in mock salute, Carol’s blood reached a boil.

  The pencil snapped in her fingers, the sound echoing like a gunshot around the quiet lobby. Heads turned. Mortified, Carol glanced down, then up again as if to place the blame squarely where it belonged, on Cody’s broad shoulders. But in that instant he’d left.

  TWO

  “So, Lonesome, how’d I do?”

  Cody’s voice broke the silence of the twilit hotel garden, startling her. He wasn’t certain why he’d made the special effort to be there, to speak to her, but forces that Cody respected seemed to want it to happen. All afternoon an inner voice had whispered her name, and her face had haunted him.

  Now Carol’s blue eyes were flashing. She hadn’t seen him standing there among the long, swaying arms of the ocotillo; he seemed to materialize out of nowhere. “You frightened me.”

  “Yeah. I often have that effect on people,” he said softly, responding to her anger. “Sorry.”

  She barely registered his apology, she was so busy trying not to stare at him. In jeans and a T-shirt, his bronzed skin glowing in the dusk, he looked impossibly cool and powerful, untouched by heat or dust or weariness. She felt the strangest urge to run a fingertip along the curve of muscle in his arm and down his strong forearm with its fine dark hair. Every time she was near him, her guard, which she had fine-tuned over the last nine years, seemed to crumble. It made her very nervous.

  “Forget it.” She shrugged, feeling her silk blouse cling to the dampness at her breasts and shoulders. “I overreacted. I’m tired and hot, that’s all.”

  Without warning, Cody reached out and brushed a damp strand of her hair back from her face. Against his dark skin, the paleness of her hair seemed to glow like fairy light. It sifted through his fingers like the pollen of a thousand flowers. He frowned at the unexpected pleasure he was feeling, at the surge of desire that heated his loins, but he was unwilling or unable to take his hand away. Finally he mastered himself. His hand dropped to his side. “It’s the desert. You’ll get used to it.”

  The sound of his voice woke her from the trance his touch had evoked. “Of course.” She laughed shakily, struggling for composure. “I know I will. There’s just so much that’s different here.”

  “Everything’s different here.”

  Carol refused to meet his gaze. She plucked at the throat of her blouse. “Well, it certainly is a far cry from Atlanta. I was at PalmResort’s high-rise property there, downtown on Peachtree.” Quiet, Lawson, she thought. You’re starting to babble. But she couldn’t help herself. “This was a promotion. I … I grabbed it before I ever looked at a map to see where Carefree, Arizona, was.”

  “Is,” he corrected with a grin. “Do you know where you are now?” Stepping so close, she could feel the heat from his body, he pointed off to the east. “Out there are the Superstition Mountains. There, the Mazatzals, then the Verde Valley, the Agua Fria … and then the desert. All the rest, all around, is desert.” He had turned them both in a circle, his body guiding hers as if in a dance, and for just an instant Carol felt light-headed. What would it feel like to really be held in this man’s arms, to move with him to some faint music, swaying, turning?

  Where were these thoughts coining from? Shaking her head, Carol took a step back. “You forgot Phoenix. It’s out there too, unless the pilot was lying when we touched down.”

  “Oh, the city.” Cody dismissed it with a shrug. Then he looked down at her, a sudden playfulness in his dark gaze. “Maybe it isn’t there. Maybe it’s vanished and all that exists are cacti and mesquite, road-runners and javelinas, coyotes getting ready to howl at the moon.”

  “I thought wolves howl,” Carol said softly, her face upturned to his.

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m making it all up.” His eyes were dark and laughing. His words, his gaze were all a mystery daring to be unraveled.

  If she’d been home, or even in die hotel, she’d have thought of something clever to say. Now cleverness eluded her. It was the heat … the shimmer of heat in the air, the heat of his body so close in the twilight. How could mere temperature have such a strange and disquieting effect? Her thoughts were whirling.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said quickly, turning toward the low adobe building where the management employees were housed. “I’m tired and hot. I’ve got to get back to my room.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  She actually quickened her step away. “No, don’t. Thanks anyway.” The minute the words were out, she regretted them. Or did she? That was her usual response to a guy’s come-on. Why change now? Yet she turned to face him. “No, don’t. But thank yo
u anyway.”

  “You already said that,” he replied softly.

  “I know, but I didn’t mean to say it so harshly.”

  He studied her expression with a strange intensity. “You’re hard on yourself, aren’t you? I wonder why.”

  She knew why. She always knew why. The decision she’d had to make nine years ago had taught her that lesson. If she’d been harder on herself then, more careful, more sensible, the world would be different now. Pain enveloped her. With her hands hugging her elbows, she backed away. “Good night, Mr. Briggs.”

  Behind her, Cody lifted a hand. He had this overwhelming need to touch her, to soothe her. But he stuffed both hands in his pockets when she turned back to face him.

  “Oh, by the way, the answer to your question is yes, you did fine today. Dr. Marcus was satisfied with the tour. More than satisfied. I think he actually used the word ‘enlightening.’ ” She finished with a rough little laugh that held no happiness.

  That little sound made Cody want to pull her into his arms and comfort her, protect her. He could sense the pain she was struggling with, the sadness that shadowed her eyes, her face, her smile. It tore at his heart. She called up feelings from his soul that surprised and unnerved him. He thought he had pushed all that away, too angry to do anything but work and curse, yet every time he got within a mile of her, there came this flood of emotion. Like a flash flood in the desert, it would probably leave chaos in its wake.

  “I’d take that with a grain of salt.” He shrugged coolly.

  “Believe me, I did.” But he’d made her smile. Steering the conversation onto safer ground, Carol lifted one pale brow. “So, I guess the real reason you came back this evening was to brag.”

  Cody pushed his hat back on his head and grinned at her. “As the saying goes, ‘It’s not bragging if you can do it.’ ” The laugh lines around his eyes and mouth softened the sharp planes and angles of his face, making him even more handsome and somehow younger, more boyish, like a young Clint Eastwood.

  Carol rolled her eyes heavenward, seeking relief. This cowboy stuff was just too much. Yet she had to admit there was something irresistible in the broad grin and those glinting dark eyes. Cowboy grin, Indian eyes … broad shoulders and lean hips, spurs that jingle … jangle … jingle. No wonder they called it the wild West. A flicker of a smile danced in her cool blue eyes, warming them to sapphire. “The doctor must be an easy touch.”

  Cody laughed. “Must be. But not you, huh?”

  Carol shook her head, making her blond hair swing in an arc around her face. “Not me. I’m a tough customer.”

  “Are you?” He looked at her, somehow seeing right through to the secret place in her soul … seeing the truth.

  Carol felt the power of his gaze and turned away. “You bet I am. And now I’m going in. It’s been a long day.”

  “It’s going to be a beautiful sunset,” he mused, looking off toward the mesas edging the horizon. “If you’ve never seen an Arizona sunset, you should pull out a chair, put up your feet, and watch the sky. It can be amazing—”

  “Thank you, but I have other plans.”

  “Good. So do I. It wasn’t an invitation, only a suggestion.” The teasing in his smile took the sting out of his words.

  Still, Carol felt torn by conflicting emotions. Trouble was, she was too darn tired to figure it all out. “Good night.”

  He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat, a typical Cody farewell. “Good evening, Lonesome.”

  He watched her walk away, her slender body moving beautifully under her clothes, her pale hair glimmering in the light. She was like a sip of cool water in the desert, this blond, lovely woman … and he suddenly was a very thirsty man. But there was something else, something he’d seen in her eyes that drew him yet pushed him away at the same time. She wasn’t what she appeared, any more than he was.

  Now, eyes narrowed as he strode out into the sun, he headed for his rendezvous with the desert.

  Read on for an excerpt from Deborah Smith’s Legends

  One

  Everything was right with Douglas Kincaid’s world. Behind him, a wall of magnificent windows showcased the glitter of Manhattan at night. He owned those windows sixty stories up with their awe-inspiring view. He also owned the fifty-nine stories below his Gucci-loafered feet. In fact he owned the entire skyscraper, which was named, with Douglas Kincaid’s usual humility, Kincaid Place.

  He owned many other buildings, companies, and homes all over the world. He loved each one. Whether he sold one or traded one or bought many at a time, he always, always, put his name on a building or an enterprise he owned. Even the champion golden retriever who lay at his feet was named Kincaid’s Mighty Majestic. But because Douglas Kincaid didn’t take himself as seriously as the public and the media suspected, he privately called his dog Sam.

  “Fetch, Sam. Get the Casner’s,” he said now, and Sam trotted to a gilt-and-lacquer bar in one corner of the huge room, where he rose on his hind legs and took a bottle of premium Scotch whisky in his powerful jaws.

  Sam returned to his master’s side and woofed in satisfaction when Douglas caressed his head. After splashing Scotch into a crystal tumbler, Douglas set the bottle on a glistening Art Deco side table, sipped his drink, and sighed with contentment.

  Outside his darkly elegant office snow drifted over the city. Inside an exquisite music system whispered a seductive jazz selection. The atmosphere was perfect for his reflective mood. The night, New Year’s Eve, was perfect for beginning a new venture. He finished his drink, rubbed his hands together in anticipation, and grinned.

  Douglas Kincaid was ready to put his name on a wife.

  He leaned back in an opulent wing-backed chair, gave a droll salute to the party going on beyond a one-way wirror, then pressed the button on a speakerphone. “All right, Gert, let’s go through the list.”

  An exasperated sigh preceded his assistant’s French-accented voice. “They’re all so unworthy, Monsieur K!”

  He chuckled. “I have to start somewhere. Blondes are just round one. Go ahead, Gert.”

  “Always the blondes, yes. There are five of them. If you will look to the right of the Picasso near the staircase, you’ll see the Duchess of Atworth. She’s speaking with Monsieur and Madame Trump.”

  Douglas studied the packed ballroom framed by the one-way mirror in his hideaway. Finally he spotted the Duchess, engaged in animated conversation with his friends Donald and Ivana. “Not bad,” he told Gert. “But too young.”

  “The older ones are more demanding.”

  “I like a challenge. Next?”

  “The singer Platinum. You recall she sent you that autographed bit of lingerie? She is seated at the grand piano with the maestro.”

  “Hmmm. She seems to be tickling him while he tickles the ivories. I need a woman with more discretion—and much better taste in clothes. Black leather and sequins aren’t the style in evening gowns this season, are they?”

  “Only in Hollywood, Monsieur.”

  “Next.”

  “Beside the waterfall, flicking her cigarette ashes into Monsieur’s priceless crystal vase, is the state supreme court judge who fixed Monsieur’s parking ticket.”

  He smiled. “I’m likely to marry her just to taste nicotine again. I can’t risk that kind of temptation. Next?”

  “A moment, Monsieur K. I’m searching.”

  While he waited, Douglas let his gaze drift over the crowd and impatiently tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. Suddenly his field of vision was filled completely with shimmering green silk wrapped around a tall and very voluptuous female body.

  Sam woofed softly.

  “I agree,” Douglas told him.

  His one-way mirror had been overwhelmed by glorious feminine curves swathed in a clinging, floor-length gown. Their owner was so tall and so close that the mirror could only capture her from the neck down. Except for the glass wall between them, Douglas could have reached out his hand and touched her, som
ething he found himself very interested in doing.

  She bent over and gazed at herself in the mirror, unknowingly presenting him with an intimate close-up of a mature, beautiful face plus a mane of elegantly shaggy blond hair that looked as if a man’s hands had just ruffled it.

  Staring straight at him were large eyes the amber color of his Scotch. She pursed a regal, almost solemn mouth and checked its tinted edges with the tip of a glossy nail. Wrinkling a proudly sculptured nose, she blew a kiss at herself, though it could have been aimed at Douglas. Leaning even closer to the mirror, she adjusted her low-slung bodice. Douglas suddenly found himself admiring a stunning pair of barely covered breasts.

  Gert’s exasperated sputtering came over the speakerphone. “Mon Dieu! She’s an exhibitionist! She’s brought her melons to market and put them on display!”

  Douglas fell back in his chair and roared with laughter, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the big, beautiful woman who had usurped his whole mirror. Elemental sensations slipped through his blood, and his laughter faded as breath deserted him. “Who is she?” he demanded quickly, his eyes never leaving her.

  “Uhmmm, let’s see … let’s see …” He could hear Gert shuffling papers in her office. She yelped softly. “I have no photograph of this one, no statistics, nothing. She isn’t on my list! How could this have happened? She’s a gate-crasher! But how—oh, those fools in security! I’ll have their heads for this. This has never happened before. Are they all asleep?”

  “Stunned, not asleep, I imagine.” Douglas continued to gaze admiringly at the woman, who was now running the tip of her tongue across a smudge of color on her lower lip. Douglas leaned forward and placed large, blunt fingers against the glass directly across from her provocatively moving tongue. Raw desire whipped through him so swiftly that he shivered.