Romancing the Tycoon

Another realization struck Amy then. Mr. Winterborne hadn’t seen the report. He had no idea what kind of man Calhoun really was. By the time this car reached the airport Amy had every intention of knowing all there was to know about John Robert Calhoun, IV.

VICTORIA SURVEYED her desk once more. She never misplaced notes. Never.

“Mildred,” she said to her longtime secretary who waited patiently nearby, “I’m sorry, but I seem to have lost them.”

“That’s all right. I can bring you a copy of the one I made for the file after Trent dictated the information to me.”

Victoria nodded absently. This simply wasn’t like her. She never lost anything, certainly not something as important as preliminary notes on an ongoing case.

“Thank you, Mildred. I’ll try not to lose this one.”

Mildred went off to make the new copy and Victoria huffed her impatience. Thank goodness the notes hadn’t mentioned anyone by name, only the negative activity that Trent Tucker, one of her best investigators in the art of tracking and surveillance, had discovered. If the notes had accidentally ended up in the trash, rather than being filed or placed in the burn bag for destruction, at least no one would know to whom the illegal activities were connected.

The Colby Agency prided itself on discretion.

Victoria sighed wearily. It was Friday and it was late. She should go home and put work out of her mind. Everyone else, except Mildred, of course, had already left for the day in anticipation of the holiday weekend.

She might as well do the same.

Lucas didn’t want her putting in too many hours at the office just yet.

Warmth welled in her chest.

It was nice having someone to worry about her.

There was absolutely no reason for her to worry about anything except sharing a holiday weekend with her husband and son. Her family.

All else would take care of itself.

Chapter Three

This was bad.

Amy stared at the words on the final page of the Calhoun report. On the surface this guy appeared to be above reproach, but behind the perfect facade lurked incredible evil.

She shivered as she read the words once more. Calhoun was suspected of having ties to the mob and would apparently do almost anything to make money. Amy frowned and shuffled the pages once more. The entire report was squeaky clean except for this one page. At first she’d thought maybe this page didn’t even go with the report, but then she’d read in there somewhere that any additional information discovered would be attached. Well, this was definitely additional information even if unconfirmed. Trent Tucker was working on confirmation at this very moment.

Amy chewed her thumbnail. It was downright awful. Mr. Winterborne certainly wouldn’t have sent his one and only daughter off for the weekend at Mr. Calhoun’s had he suspected any of this. Amy was certain of that, though she was still irritated at the woman’s audacity. She’d stolen Amy’s car and taken off, leaving her to face this mess. But then again, she was trained for this sort of situation. She knew how to handle herself, physically and emotionally.

Amy stilled. Maybe this was her chance to prove her worth as an investigator. She could ferret out the truth over the weekend. Lord knew she didn’t have anything else to do. Right now all the agency had was suspicions. But she could find the connection, she was sure of it. She would have access to Calhoun’s home…to his private files maybe.

A smile spread across her lips as anticipation rushed through her. This could be her first case, even if she had come by it unexpectedly. Beckman had said that Mr. Winterborne wouldn’t be joining them right away and neither he nor the driver appeared to realize that she was not Regina Winterborne. If that held true with Calhoun, Amy would have some time, maybe even the whole weekend, to covertly investigate the man.

The smile turned into an outright grin. Oh yeah. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. If she could make the connection, turn suspicion into fact, then she would have proven not only her ability but her value as an investigator.

All she had to do was play along with this little game of mistaken identity. That Mr. Calhoun was gorgeous amounted to mere icing on the cake. God had finally answered her prayers.

It was fate.

That’s all it could be.

The limo braked to a stop at a private airfield and Amy allowed Beckman to escort her to the Learjet standing by. She supposed that it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Calhoun would have a private jet. He was, after all, an oil tycoon. So she wouldn’t count that against him, but such pretentiousness definitely set her instincts on point. Though she didn’t know any men who owned a jet, she could imagine arrogance went along with that kind of presumed self-importance. Well, she had news for Mr. Calhoun: the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

His secrets were about to be revealed.

There were a number of other things about him she’d like to have revealed, but the job came first. She shivered at the thought of his picture.

Amy utilized the flight time to recall everything she’d ever heard about the Winterbornes. She didn’t know that much but she felt as though she had enough information to fake it. If—very big if—Calhoun had not met Regina as she suspected, pulling off this charade would be easy. But she wouldn’t know until she got there…unless…

She decided to go for broke.

“Does Mr. Calhoun prefer to be called John or Robert?” she asked of Beckman who appeared immersed in the files he’d brought along in his briefcase. She wasn’t the only one who’d decided to make this a working flight, she mused.

Beckman looked up at her over his wire-rimmed glasses. “John,” he said after studying her for a moment. “He prefers to be called John.”

Amy nodded, not certain whether that was a positive response or a negative one. She still didn’t know for sure if Regina had met him. For some reason Beckman looked at her suspiciously now. Had she blown it already? Her pulse tripped into overtime.

Putting his files aside, Beckman leveled his gaze on her. “Miss Winterborne, John is an honorable man. He doesn’t expect this to be easy at first. But, in the long run, it is the right thing to do for both of you.”

Amy had a bad feeling about the “it” he referred to. It was her understanding that Mr. Winterborne intended a business deal with Mr. Calhoun and hoped his daughter would like the man, which would facilitate future business dealings. Maybe she was wrong about that.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said as vaguely as possible with her heart pounding. That bad feeling had morphed into something resembling fear. Call it intuition, call it ESP, but Amy was suddenly certain this whole charade might just be a really bad idea.

“Why, a marriage between you and John, what else?” Beckman said as if she should have known precisely what he meant.

Marriage?

“You really expect Re—” Amy caught herself just in time “—me to marry a man I don’t even know?” Well, there. She’d said it plainly enough. If Regina had, in fact, met John before, Amy’s cover was blown completely.

A kind of haughtiness that bordered on ugly flickered in Beckman’s eyes. “Let’s be honest here,” he said, his tone matching his hateful expression. “It’s not as if you’re some naive little maiden now, is it? As I understand it, you’ve made quite a reputation for yourself among the rich bachelors in the Chicago area. I’d say this is your one chance to redeem yourself.”

Fury boiled up inside Amy. Fury for Regina Winterborne. How dare this man speak so harshly about her when the woman wasn’t even here to defend herself.

But then…he didn’t know that.

Well, she’d just have to do the defending.

“I beg your pardon,” Amy retorted, allowing him to hear and see the depth of her indignation.

Beckman smirked. “Come on, Miss Winterborne, I’ve heard all about your exploits. The last one…what was his name?” Beckman stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Ah yes, Kevin something-or-other. He helped you go through a few hundred thousand of your daddy’s money and then he disappeared. Does that about sum up your most recent relationship?”

Kevin…that was the name of the guy Regina had been speaking with when Amy arrived. She was running off to meet him at that very moment. In Vegas no less. Amy blinked, momentarily disconcerted. Should she just tell Beckman the truth here and now? What if she were wrong? What if Calhoun was all that he appeared to be and Regina was the wacky one? What if Amy had this thing all wrong?

Then she remembered the suspicions in the report. Suspicions that amounted to far worse than having a fling and running through a little money with a scumbag boyfriend.

Amy leaned forward, putting herself several inches closer to the condescending jerk who’d dragged her into this mess. “Mr. Beckman, you have no idea who I am. That you would judge me on such hearsay is appalling. Perhaps I should take up the issue with Mr. Calhoun when we arrive.”

Beckman’s smirk wilted instantly. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Winterborne. I’m certain you’re right.” He squirmed a bit more before he added, “You surely understand that Mr. Calhoun’s well-being is my only concern in the matter. I simply would hate to see his heart broken.”

Amy doubted his sincerity but let it go at that. Besides, she was pretty sure Mr. John Robert Calhoun, IV, could take care of himself. He certainly looked man enough. Another shiver swept over her skin. In fact, she imagined he could take care of most anything. Like a toe-curling, full-body orgasm. The kind magazines raved about all the time. The kind she’d never had. What was she saying? She hadn’t had one, period, in about two years. Work, she reminded herself. She was too busy for a personal life.

John Calhoun, IV, would be about work. No matter how good-looking, no matter how seemingly perfect, she would not be swayed from her ultimate goal. Cracking his apparently impervious veneer and revealing the fraud behind it would certainly test her ability. Would show once and for all that she was agent material. Amy had faith in herself. She’d wanted this opportunity for far too long to allow anything to stop her. Not for love nor money would she be deterred.

Mr. Calhoun had better be on his toes because Amy Wells was onto him.

JOHN JERKED his string tie loose once more and muttered a curse. Why the hell did it matter what he looked like? This weekend wasn’t about what he looked like or even what he wanted in life, it was about closing the deal his father had worked half a lifetime to bring to fruition.

He should just greet the woman naked and let her see all there was to see. She was, if the powers that be had their way, going to be his wife. Why bother with a courtship ritual? It wasn’t like any of it mattered?

This was a business merger. One he wasn’t fool enough to not see the benefits of, but one he didn’t have to like.

John had dated extensively, had had his share of physical relationships. But he’d always assumed that when he settled down for the long haul it would be with a woman who would love him for the man he was, not for the oil business he operated.

That wasn’t going to happen. Love, trust, neither of those ingredients would enter into the negotiations. He tugged the tie into a bow once more. Hell, why bother with any of these pretenses? Why not just call over the justice of the peace and have the ceremony performed this very weekend? No point in dragging out the inevitable. All that would do was prolong the agony.

John had never been a glutton for punishment. But he would have more than a wife in name only. That was the one thing he had to make clear this weekend. Infidelity was not his style and he refused to be forced down to that level for sexual gratification. If they were to be married, he would have her in his bed…willingly.

Though he had never met Regina Winterborne, the one photograph he’d seen when his father shoved it in front of his face promised an attractive woman. Her dark hair had been up in a ponytail and equally dark glasses had shielded her eyes, but she’d looked appealing otherwise even if the photograph had appeared to have caught her off guard. He had to ask himself, however, why a woman like that would allow herself to be manipulated into a loveless marriage?

For the same reasons he allowed it, John supposed.

He was the only heir, as she was. Their fathers obviously had their futures plotted out to the best interest of their respective companies. John wasn’t oblivious to the long-term benefits. But, dammit, this was the twenty-first century. Arranged marriages were a thing of the past. Offspring didn’t go to these kinds of extremes anymore to please their parents.

Well, he admitted, most didn’t, anyhow.

But here he was, primping to meet the woman he was supposed to marry in order to facilitate a business merger.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he said to his reflection in the full-length mirror.

He wouldn’t go back on his word. That was a given. John never broke a promise. He would see this weekend through and, if possible, he would come to an agreement with the woman. But he would have to know that there was hope for something more. That was the one promise he made to himself.

He would spend this weekend getting to know Regina Winterborne and, when it was over, if there was even a hint of hope, he would take the next step. But first he had to know that falling in love was at least a possibility. It wouldn’t take long to make that determination. He had three days and three nights. She would leave on Monday afternoon. The fact that her father probably wouldn’t be able to join them until around noon on Sunday was all the better. He needed time with the woman alone. Without interference from anyone else, including Nate. John intended to send him on his way as well. This had to be between John Calhoun and Regina Winterborne.

By the time their seventy-two hours together were up, he would know if she was the kind of woman with whom he could spend the rest of his life…to whom he could give his heart.

As sentimental as it sounded, that was the bottom line for John. Though his mother had been dead for more than a decade now, he still remembered the way his father had looked at her. The way she had looked at his father. That was what he wanted. Admittedly, under the circumstances, he might have to wait for it. But he had to have some promise that it could be forthcoming.

Anything less was unacceptable.

A light knock on his bedroom door dragged John from his troubling musings.

“It’s open.”

The door eased away from the frame and Liam stuck his head inside the room. “They’re here,” he said in his usual annoyed tone. Liam had worked on the Wild Horse for as long as John could remember and he hated when his normal routine was disrupted. “Nate called in and said they’d just turned onto Stampede Lane.”

“Thanks, Liam,” John said, mustering a smile for the old man.

He grumbled something resembling a “you’re welcome” and shut the door.

John took a last look at himself. His jeans were clean and freshly starched, as was his white shirt. The black string tie and freshly polished boots finished off the getup. Good enough for church, good enough for this, he decided. Anything more than that would have been too much. He had no intention of going out of his way until he saw further. Until he knew she was worth the extra exertion.

That was callous, he railed silently. But this was enough to make any man callous.

Settling his Stetson into place, John descended the stairs and opted to wait in the long entry hall that welcomed visitors to his family home. Stampede Lane was actually the driveway to the property, but it extended three miles so he had another moment or two.

He glanced around the room and wondered what a city dweller would think of his home. Not that he really cared. He’d loved this home his whole life. His mother had designed it and, as far as John was concerned, the southwestern villa was the most beautiful place in north Texas. If Miss Regina Winterborne didn’t like it, well that was her problem because this was where they would live.

His father had moved into a retirement community nearly three years ago. Not because John wanted him to, by God. He’d tried everything to talk his father into staying. But the stubborn old man had insisted that moving was what he wanted. Shortly after settling into the small but luxurious apartment community, John had realized why. J. R. Calhoun, as he was known to his friends, was in hog heaven. There were at least ten retired widows living in the community to every one retired widower. J.R. spent five nights out of seven having dinner with one available female or the other.

He did reserve Sunday nights for his one and only son. And Friday nights were for poker and catching his breath, he laughingly told John.

John really couldn’t blame him. His father had been incredibly lonesome since his wife of nearly forty years had died. John had the ranch as well as the business under control. What was there for him to do, J.R. had insisted? And he’d been right. He might as well enjoy his final days on this earth in whatever fashion he chose.

But John had a feeling that rugged old bucks like his father lived forever. Or, at the very least, long enough to see that his only son’s life was charted out just the way he wanted it.

John squared his shoulders and pushed the thoughts away. He had to stay focused this weekend. He had just seventy-two hours to determine if he could spend the rest of his life with Regina Winterborne.

AMY TRIED to stifle a gasp but failed miserably as the car parked in front of the house belonging to John Calhoun.

Mr. Beckman glanced at her, clearly surprised by her reaction.

The Calhoun home was no more ostentatious than the Winterborne place. But there was something more personal about it. Like the Winterborne mansion, the house was very large. But rather than a castle-like structure, this was a southwestern-style villa, complete with a red-tiled roof. Serving as a lush backdrop were north Texas’s vivid green pastures dappled with clusters of trees and horses. Acres and acres of white rail fencing closed in the pastures that went on for as far as the eye could see. The infinite beauty was interrupted only by the occasional barn.

There were no meticulous gardens as there had been at the Winterborne estate, but the grounds were nicely landscaped just the same. A couple of four-wheel-drive, crew-cab trucks sat near the house, and there was not a luxury automobile in sight. The limo that had brought them from the airport to the ranch was a rental, as had been the one back in Chicago.

Mr. Beckman opened the car door and gestured for Amy to get out first. He had chosen to sit in the passenger compartment with her on this leg of the journey. She’d at first thought he had grown suspicious of her since she’d asked so many questions, but he’d seemed completely at ease as the miles had rolled out behind them.

“Welcome to the Wild Horse Ranch,” he said as he emerged from the limo to stand beside her. “I’m sure you’ll find your stay here a pleasant one.”

Amy turned around slowly so that she could take in every detail without the obstruction of tinted glass. It was even more beautiful than she’d first thought. Even a city girl like her could appreciate the sheer natural splendor of it.

“It’s not what I expected,” she admitted, certain that Regina Winterborne would have said the same thing.

Beckman smiled. “Most people react that way when they first visit.” He escorted her up the walk while the driver removed the bag from the trunk. It was the first time Amy had thought about clothes. She sure hoped she and Regina wore the same size. As she recalled, the young woman who’d left her in this predicament looked about the same size as her.

“I’ll be going back into town once I’ve made the formal introductions,” Beckman explained, breaking into her wardrobe worries.

For the first time since this adventure began, Amy felt an inkling of uncertainty. “You won’t be staying?” That could mean that she and John Calhoun would be alone. Then again, she didn’t really like Beckman, why did she care if he left?

Because at least she knew him. She stopped on the portico and stared at the massive door that led into the enormous home. What lay beyond that intricately carved wooden door was the unknown. A man who had secrets…dirty secrets if the suspicions she’d read panned out. Secrets she wanted to reveal in order to thwart whatever evil plan he had in store for poor, unsuspecting Regina Winterborne. To do that she had to step through that door and stick to the ruse she’d been dragged into and ultimately decided to use to her advantage.

The only down side was that she was on her own.

What had felt like the perfect plan now seemed foolish and shortsighted.

But what could she do? She was here. This man thought she was Regina Winterborne. What choice did she have but to see this through?

None.

If she ever wanted to be a Colby agent, she had to prove her worth. Not to mention that if she blew it now without getting the goods on Calhoun, she’d have a heck of a time convincing Victoria that she hadn’t jumped in over her head.

Sadly though, Amy feared that she had done just that.

The door suddenly opened wide and the cowboy she had admired in the photograph stood before her.

He was taller than she’d imagined. His shoulders were even wider than she’d guessed. But the one asset to which the photograph had truly failed to do justice was the eyes. They were the bluest she’d ever seen. Piercing, startling blue. And right that second they were focused fully on her.

“Welcome to the Wild Horse, ma’am,” the cowboy said in a deep, husky voice that sent goose bumps skittering across her skin.

“Th-thank you,” she stuttered in time with the stumbling of her heart. My God, the way he said ma’am gave her goose bumps.

“Miss Winterborne,” Beckman cut in, startling Amy all over again since she’d completely forgotten his presence, “this is John Calhoun. John, this is Regina Winterborne.”

“Come in.” The cowboy looked from her to Beckman. “Both of you.”

With that Amy was led into his home. Her breath caught again as her gaze traveled over the cathedral ceiling with its massive wooden beams, and the whitewashed stucco walls, and on to the terra-cotta-tiled floor.

Except for a leather sofa, the furniture clustered about the room consisted mostly of wooden pieces and all of it was dark and polished to a high sheen. Plaid and striped throw pillows accented the butter-soft leather of the sofa and proud wingback chairs.

But nothing in the entry hall or the enormous great room into which he led her took away from the real mind blower—the man. If Amy had ever laid eyes on a more gorgeous specimen of the male species she had no recall of it now.

John Robert Calhoun, IV, was definitely the perfect man.

Her gaze collided with his and she didn’t miss the same approval mirrored there. Judging by what she noted in his eyes he liked what he saw as well. Heat kindled low in her belly and her heart fluttered, but then suddenly sank like rock in a freshwater pond as did her smile. John Calhoun thought he was looking into the eyes of his future wife. And he liked what he saw.

Too bad she was just a stand-in—one who intended to uncover all his well-hidden secrets.

That goal suddenly felt all wrong.

But it was too late to back out now.

The game had already begun.

Chapter Four

She wasn’t what he’d expected.

It was true that John had only seen the one picture of Regina Winterborne and in it she’d worn dark glasses. The long, silky dark hair he’d anticipated. The petite frame softened by slight feminine curves he’d noted in the photo. But it was the sheer innocence and vulnerability in her eyes that startled him. That calf-caught-in-the-fence look of fear.