The Playboy Meets His Match

“What about your parents?”

Again she caught the briefest shuttered look before he turned his head away and switched off the dining-room light. They moved down the hall. “My parents were divorced. I haven’t seen my mother since childhood, and my dad died last year.”

“I’m sorry you lost your father. My dad died when I was eleven.”

“I miss my dad,” he said gruffly. “Eleven must have been a rough age to lose your father.”

“It was, but my parents were always very involved with each other and not as much with us kids. Particularly my mom. My mother was just not meant to be a mother. I was always mother to my sisters and that was all right with me and good for Mom. Dad helped with the girls.”

“So you were mother to your sisters. Was your brother Hank the second dad?”

“Hardly,” she answered dryly. “Hank’s wild. When Dad died, Hank got more wild. He’s in trouble half the time and he’s out of touch with the family. I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

“I sort of remember that he’d been in some scrapes,” Jason said politely, and she could imagine that if he knew her brother, he knew some of the predicaments Hank had been in.

“If you know Hank, you must ride in rodeos.”

“I used to, but I haven’t had time in the past few years. I was a saddle bronc rider. I did a few months of bull-riding, broke my arm and quit.”

“I don’t know how many bones Hank has broken.”

“Here’s the living room,” Jason said, switching lights on in a formal room that was exquisitely furnished and looked as if no one ever used it, much less a houseful of men. It was the one room that did not appear to hold any antique furniture, and it struck a slightly strange note with the rest of the house.

“This is a nice room,” she said, noticing that the blue satin drapes were faded, but still looked elegant.

“Yeah, well, we don’t spend time in here,” he said, switching off the lights. His voice was harsh, and she realized there were undercurrents in his family that he didn’t talk about. She suspected he didn’t talk about a lot of the facets of his life. She was beginning to decide the real Jason Windover might be hidden from the world.

“Here are the bedrooms,” he said, switching on lights and moving down the hall as she looked into rooms that were spacious, masculine and comfortably furnished. “My bedroom is the master bedroom at the end of the hall and I’m going to put you in here tonight, right next to me, so I can hear you.”

He switched on a light and crossed to the closet. She looked at an elaborate Louis XVI bed of dark, hand-carved mahogany. A tall chiffonier matched the bed. The room had pale-green and off-white colors, and, as she looked around, she wondered how many other women had stayed in it.

He tossed out a cotton robe. “Here’s a robe. I’ll give you some of my T-shirts so you can get into something cooler. There’s the bathroom and towels are in the cabinet. Change and we’ll get something to eat.”

She nodded and he motioned to her. “First, come see my bedroom, and I’ll give you the T-shirts.”

She followed him to a spacious bedroom with a brick fireplace, shelves of books, another large television, a tall, rosewood armoire with an ornate cheval glass beside it. A second keypad for the alarm system was in his room, so he could switch it on or off from either end of the house. A king-size four-poster bed dominated one end of the room and a stack of books stood on a table beside the bed. She strolled over to see what he read and looked at titles about the Second World War.

“You like history.”

“Yes,” he answered while he rummaged in a drawer and handed her a stack of folded T-shirts. “My grandfather was in the landing at Normandy in the Second World War. He kept a diary of sorts and because of that, I got particularly interested in that war.”

Jason thrust the pile of shirts into her hands.

“Thanks. I’ll need only one.”

“Take them all. After we say good-night, don’t try to leave the house. I have the alarm turned on. If you open a door or a window, it will trigger the alarm. When we go to bed, I’ll change the setting and the alarm will go off if you step into the hall. You’re in a cell here. It’s just much nicer than the one in Royal.”

She nodded again, left his room and went to hers, closing the door behind her. She showered and washed her hair. She found a dryer and dried her hair. It had a natural curl and was unruly, but tonight she didn’t care. She pulled on a navy T-shirt and slipped back into her sweatpants and then left to find him, returning to an empty family room and then going to the kitchen where he was making sandwiches.

He glanced over his shoulder and then turned to look more carefully at her, and she wished she were back in the lumpy sweatshirt. The T-shirt clung, and the look he was giving her was making her tingle all over.

“My goodness, Meredith, you clean up good.”

“My friends call me Merry,” she said breathlessly, knowing she needed to re-engage her brain. The man was definitely not one of her friends. Nor would he ever be one.

He crossed the room to her, stopping only inches away, and she hoped he couldn’t hear her drumming heartbeat.

“So we’re going to be friends,” he drawled in that deep, sexy voice. He reached out to touch her hair, letting locks slide through his fingers, and she was aware of the faint contact. “That’s interesting.”

“I spoke before I thought,” she admitted.

“You don’t want to be friends?”

“I don’t think it’s possible.”

He focused on her face, moved closer and tilted up her chin. She was too aware of his finger holding her chin, too aware of all of him. “I am sorry about your scraped cheek and hands. You shouldn’t ever have something like that happen. I hate that I caused your scrapes and bruises. I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” she said, wishing he would move away, but unable to move herself. Another one of his riveting looks nailed her and she gazed back, too aware of the silence stretching between them. “You’re standing too close,” she said, aware she was hemmed in by him and the kitchen cabinets behind her.

“I am? I disturb you?”

“You’re not adding me to your list of broken hearts, Jason, so just move back and give me room.”

“All those challenges,” he said quietly without moving an inch, placing his hands on the cabinets on both sides of her and moving even closer. “Now do you really expect me to ignore them?” he asked softly. “You’re the one who brought them up.”

“I didn’t mean any of them as challenges to you. I’m not impressed. I’m not interested. I don’t want to go to dinner or anything else with you.”

“You might hurt my feelings.”

“There’s no way I can do that,” she said, finding every word more difficult to get out. He stood entirely too close and he was entirely too handsome. And she was being far less than truthful when she told him she wasn’t impressed. Oh, my. She’d bet the house that his kisses would melt any recipient into a bubbling blob.

“I have a heart that can be broken just like anyone else’s.”

“I think your heart is locked away behind impervious armor and no woman will ever get to touch it.”

He ran his finger along her throat, a faint touch that sizzled. “I’m not invincible.”

“I don’t care to find out. I think you said we were going to drink something,” she reminded him, trying to look away and glancing first at his mouth, fleetingly wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Why would she wonder something like that about a man like Jason Windover? Had her brain gone completely to mush?

“Oh, sure,” he answered as if that were the last thing on his mind. “What would you like?”

“Just some pop.”

He moved away, and she could breathe again. Watching him as he walked around the kitchen, she was thankful his attention had shifted from her. He brought her pop poured over ice in a tall glass, and he carried another beer and she hoped it would knock him out for the night, yet he had a way of slowly sipping them that made them last.

Finally they were settled back on the sofa in the family room. Jason sat too close with one arm stretched on the back of the sofa and one leg bent, his knee on the sofa only inches from her thigh. He offered her a sandwich which she declined. He helped himself.

“I think you should forget about Dorian and go home,” he said, taking a bite of his cheese sandwich.

“Maybe so.”

“You don’t mean that. You’re just patronizing me until I’m out of your sight. You can’t change him. You can’t accomplish anything. You’re just a fly buzzing around his head annoying him.”

“Maybe that’s all, but he deserves to be annoyed.”

“Merry, I said it before and I’ll say it again. Women have jilted men and broken their hearts. Men have jilted women and broken their hearts. When it isn’t a deep commitment, you just pick up and get over it.”

“I’m sure that’s the philosophy of your life,” she said, becoming aggravated with him again. “My sister is losing weight. She’s broken-hearted. Her work is getting neglected. Her life is suffering.”

“She’s got to get over him. Introduce her to new guys,” he said, finishing his sandwich and taking a sip of beer.

“She doesn’t want to meet any guy right now.”

“I’ll repeat, when there hasn’t been too deep and too lasting a commitment, then broken hearts mend.”

“Thanks, Abby, for that bulletin.”

“It’s the truth. They weren’t married. They hadn’t known each other for years.”

“That’s so easy for you to say! She’s heartbroken and I want him to know he can’t walk all over someone and then turn his back and walk away. I want to cause him some grief. He’s hurt her and taken her money—”

Jason turned to look at her. “Dorian took money?”

“Yes. Holly didn’t have a lot, but she’s very thrifty. She has a good job and she’s saved quite a bit for having just been out of a college a few years.”

“Are you certain he took her money?”

“Now you’re interested,” Merry said, once again annoyed with him. “Money’s important to you, but Holly’s broken heart isn’t.”

“There’s a difference. If he took money, he may have broken the law,” Jason said quietly, and she realized she had his undivided attention now.

“Tell me exactly what Dorian did,” Jason said.

Three

A broken heart was one thing—but missing money was quite another. All of Jason’s cold, negative feelings about Dorian returned. Suppose he had been right about the man all along? Money was missing at Wescott Oil and some of it had turned up in an account in Sebastian’s name. Someone had taken that money and tried to frame Sebastian for murder. A man had been killed, and the guilty party was a cold-blooded murderer.

Jason realized Merry was studying him intently. “What?” he asked.

“What’s going through your mind? Dorian taking Holly’s money disturbed you.”

“We’ve had something going on here in Royal,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “You’ve met some of the Texas Cattleman’s Club members,” he remarked dryly, and she did have the grace to blush.

“I just wanted to find out where Dorian was. I’m sure it was a dreadful shock to have a woman violate the inner sanctum of your precious club.”

“You weren’t exactly quiet about it,” he said, thinking that was all he’d heard about the day after Merry had burst into the club demanding to know Dorian’s whereabouts. Merry was a fiery, feisty, Texas tornado, stirring people up everywhere she went. Was she that way at home in Dallas? He found it difficult to keep his mind on the conversation, on Dorian, on problems, when she was sitting close and looking so enticing.

Since her shower, Merry’s hair was silky, springing free to curl slightly around her face and spill onto her shoulders. Its deep auburn color held highlights of gold and fiery orange. In the kitchen he had wanted to kiss her. And he had almost tried because he thought she wanted him to, but the moment had passed. Now he wanted to stretch his arm out about three more inches and touch her. He resisted the urge, focusing on their discussion.

“Do you remember meeting Sebastian Wescott?” he asked.

“Dorian’s half brother. I thought he was nicer than Dorian.”

“Ahh, we agree on something,” Jason said, having resisted touching Merry as long as he could. He wound locks of her hair around his fingers, letting her soft curls slide over his hand. There was a flicker in her smokey eyes and pink tinged her cheeks, so she had noticed and she wasn’t objecting. Was the lady feeling the same sparks that he was?

“Sebastian inherited the Wescott Oil empire and when Dorian arrived in Royal and let his presence be known and that he was a long-lost half brother, Sebastian took him in and got him a job at Wescott Oil in computer services.”

“Sebastian Wescott should know that he has taken in someone who is deceptive and unscrupulous. Dorian is a real snake.”

“We’ve inducted Dorian into the Texas Cattleman’s Club because he’s Sebastian’s half brother. He seems to have fit himself into life in Royal.” Only half thinking about Dorian and Sebastian, Jason talked while his thoughts were on Merry, her big eyes, her soft hair that he was winding around his fingers. She sounded sincerely annoyed with him. His usual ability to charm a woman seemed to be failing. But, he reminded himself, they hadn’t gotten off to the best of starts. Still, for whatever reason, he wasn’t accustomed to women disliking him and it bothered him. It also bothered him greatly that he was the cause of her skinned cheek. Her skin was as soft as a rose petal and he wished he could undo the harm he had done.

“And—”

He realized he had stopped talking as he studied Merry and wondered about her.

“Sorry. My mind wandered. Where was I?”

Her brows arched while her gaze filled with curiosity. “Where did your mind wander?” she asked softly.

His pulse jumped. “To you. What you’re like, your soft hair—”

“Your attention better wander back to Dorian Brady.”

“That’s not nearly as much fun.”

“It’s safer.”

“Scared, Merry?”

She gave him a sultry look that sent his temperature soaring. “Not at all. I’m not your type, so let’s get back to facts. What were we talking about, Rob Cole?”

“Don’t be in such a rush to change the subject, now that it’s on us.”

“There is no ‘us.’ Tell me about Rob.”

He was tempted to keep flirting with her, but good sense took over, and he knew she was right.

“Rob Cole’s wife, Rebecca,” Jason continued, trying to disengage himself from a spell that Merry seemed to weave effortlessly, “found the body of Eric Chambers, a man who worked at Wescott Oil and was murdered.”

“How awful!”

“Eric had been strangled. Eric was Vice President of Accounting at Wescott. Money was missing at the company. When some of it was found in a private account of Sebastian’s, he was arrested and accused of the murder. There was a very incriminating e-mail that Sebastian supposedly sent to Eric.”

“That sounds terrible,” Merry said. “At the trial Sebastian must have walked, or I wouldn’t have met him at the club.” She shook her head, causing the locks wound in Jason’s fingers to slip free and he wondered if it really bothered her that he was touching her hair. The last thing he ever intended to do was force even the slightest unwanted attention on a woman. Yet, when they had locked gazes, Merry had been as immobile as he. And in the kitchen when he had moved close, she had been breathless. Just minutes ago, she had flirted with him. Curious about his effect on her, he ran his finger across her knuckles while he watched her face.

When he saw the faint flicker in her eyes, his pulse jumped. Maybe his attention wasn’t unwanted after all.

He took her hand in his gently, careful not to touch her scraped skin. “You have small, delicate hands, Merry.”

She yanked her hand away and balled it into a fist in her lap. “What happened after Sebastian was arrested?”

“The case was dismissed. He had an alibi that he couldn’t talk about, but his attorney found a way to prove that he couldn’t have committed the murder, so someone was obviously trying to frame him. Someone planted evidence in Sebastian’s office that indicated he was responsible for the missing money.”

“That’s dreadful!”

“Dorian might stand to gain a lot if Sebastian were out of the way. It’s one thing for a man to break your sister’s heart. It’s another to cross the line and steal her money.”

“The money isn’t as important as deceiving her.”

“Maybe not, but it tells me more about Dorian’s character.”

“It doesn’t say one thing more about him than what I’m telling you that he did in deceiving Holly.”

“All anyone knows about Dorian’s past is what he’s told us,” he said. “Tell me about the money.”

“All right. Holly let Dorian talk her into opening a joint account. He said that when they married everything would be jointly shared anyway. He told her he didn’t believe in keeping things separate. What was his was hers and vice versa. So she did.”

As Merry talked, Jason watched her. If he had good sense, he wouldn’t flirt with her or touch her. This was definitely not a woman he wanted to date. Not in the next million years. And yet—what was it about her that drew him? A few casual touches shouldn’t hurt anything. She was going to ignore them anyway.

“By your standards I’m sure she didn’t have a lot,” Merry continued. “Holly worked hard and went without things and saved. She had several thousand dollars, and he just cleaned it all out and was gone.”

“That’s an entirely different matter than running out after telling a woman he loved her.”

“It’s different if you think money is more important than love!” she snapped indignantly and he knew he had just lowered himself in her sight again, but he was lower than a snake already so another notch wouldn’t matter.

“Do you have records of this joint account and of the withdrawal?”

She flushed again, and he wondered whether she was making everything up. “Dorian kept the records. He told Holly that he was moving the account to a bank where they would get better service. She gave him all the receipts. I don’t have proof of anything he did. He was very clever.” Big eyes stared at him. “You don’t believe me, do you?” she asked, sounding resigned as well as aggravated.

He thought before he answered. “I sort of believe you, but I sure as hell wish you had proof. Do you know how much better it would be if you could pull out bank statements, that sort of thing?”

“He took the money,” she said stubbornly. “And I’ll bet he’s tied in with whatever is going on at Wescott Oil. The man is greedy, ruthless and totally unscrupulous.”

Jason stared at her while he mulled over his own negative feelings about Dorian. He shouldn’t let them color his judgment now, though.

“I’m not convincing you,” she said and she sounded discouraged and resigned.

“I’m listening and thinking about it, but proof would make a world of difference. You know the old saying about a woman scorned.”

She stood. “I’m exhausted and I’d like to go to bed.”

“Sure.” He came to his feet. “In the morning do you want to sleep in or do you want me to call you?”

“I would much rather sleep in.”

“Suits me fine,” he said, thinking of appointments he would have to juggle to stay home with her. Yet the thought wasn’t unpleasant. “I’ll be up early. I work out first thing. You may use my exercise room if you want.”

“Thanks. I usually work out in the morning, too.”

“I’m not surprised at that,” he remarked dryly.

Switching off lights, he walked down the hall with her. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He had rarely dated short women and hated to have to stoop down to kiss one. It was much more pleasant to have an armful of tall, soft woman than to have to bend himself into a pretzel shape to get a hug and a kiss. “Are you between jobs right now?”

“That’s right.”

“So you can take time to get out and slash tires and break into men’s private clubs and all that?”

Her eyes narrowed and she shot him a look that should have dealt as big a blow as her fist, but he wasn’t one to be intimidated by looks.

“Dorian Brady is evil, and I don’t think he should do his wicked deeds and not have some comeuppance.”

“Maybe you should let the law worry about comeuppance.”

At the door of her bedroom, she turned to face him. “You can’t keep me here indefinitely.”

“I don’t intend to. I got you off the street tonight and as long as you leave Dorian alone, you can go your own way. Will you leave the man alone?”

She seemed lost in thought. “I suppose,” she said with a sigh.

“I think he’s suffered.”

“You are birds of a feather,” she remarked darkly.

“I told you before that I’ve never promised a woman marriage, never taken a dime of a woman’s money. Please do not lump me with Dorian Brady,” Jason said, annoyed with her again. She was like eating hot peppers—tasty, but full of sting.

“All right. I apologize for lumping you with him,” she said.

“Thank you.” He placed his hand above her head, resting his palm against the jamb. Moving closer, he tilted her chin up. “You know, the night doesn’t have to be wasted.”

“Wasted?” she asked, sounding breathless. He slipped his hand to her throat and discovered her racing pulse. He wasn’t waiting for her arguments or protests that he was sure would be coming. Pretzel twist or not, he wanted to kiss her. He slipped his arm around her waist, stepped closer and leaned down.

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