Falling for the Texas Tycoon

“I hate to take you out of your way. If I can’t find a service to do this tonight, I could drive them over to Brian myself,” Alan offered.

“Aren’t you working on the presentation for the investors?”

“Did Brian tell you that?”

“He gave me a schedule of our meetings with clients, what he was covering and what you’re covering. I know you’re busy. My evening’s free. I really don’t mind stopping by. Just give me directions and tell me exactly where you live.”

After a brief hesitation, Alan did just that.

A half hour later, the security guard at Alan’s building showed Lisa to a private elevator that went directly to the penthouse floor. Alan had apparently given the man her name and told him she’d be arriving within the hour.

The elevator was smooth and speedy, rushing her to the seventh floor in a matter of seconds. When the doors parted, she stepped out into a hallway with plush wine carpeting. The paintings that hung along the corridor were watercolors of ranch scenes.

When she stopped before one and studied it, she saw Christina Barrett’s signature in the corner. Obviously Alan was proud of everything his daughter did.

Lisa had almost reached the paneled mahogany door of the penthouse when it opened and he stood there, looking like neither a businessman nor a Texas rancher. Dressed in khakis and a long-sleeved, black Henley shirt, his rough-hewn face shadowed by a beard line, he looked too sexy for words and not altogether glad to see her. His blue eyes assessed her. She knew he couldn’t see much, because she’d buttoned and belted her coat against the inclement weather.

“Didn’t you park in the garage?”

“I found a spot across the street and just dashed over. I’m not fond of parking garages. They make me feel claustrophobic.”

“That surprises me. You give the impression you’re not afraid of anything.”

“I didn’t say I was afraid of parking garages. I just prefer not to park in them.”

He held up a staying hand. “I shouldn’t have made the observation. I don’t really know you. I’ve just gotten a few impressions.”

She’d gotten a few impressions of her own. Alan, for all his charming Texas manners, was a bit of a loner. How she knew that she wasn’t sure. Maybe he was different around family. Maybe his daughter knew the real man underneath. But Lisa didn’t suppose many people did.

He motioned her inside. “If you want to warm up a bit before you dash back out there, I have a fresh pot of coffee brewing.”

Having coffee with Alan—in his apartment, no less—wasn’t a good idea. Coming here had been a bad idea. Still, she looked around with interest. “No, I’ll just pick up whatever you want Brian to look at, then I’ll be going.”

Alan’s condo was a showplace. The same rich carpeting from the hall covered the living room. A navy leather couch and huge recliner were arranged across from a high-tech entertainment center, plasma screen TV, stereo system, CD player. Other electronic gadgets sat on the shelves—an iPod and an Xbox, along with a rack of CDs. The buttered plaster walls were devoid of art. She could see into the dining room with its shiny mahogany table that looked as if it had never been used. Alan might stay here when he was in Portland, but he didn’t really live here. It was too uncluttered, too clean, too polished.

He went to the library table along one wall and picked up a cardboard tube. Handing it to her, he asked, “What’s the real reason you wanted to pick these up?”

His perception amazed her. She’d found most men accepted simple explanations and didn’t look much deeper. But she was discovering that Alan wasn’t like most men.

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