Taking Home The Tycoon. Catherine Mann

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ