The Millionaire's Deception, page 5
He slipped an arm about her waist when they reached the bottom and felt the nervousness in the trembling of her skin. Was she afraid of him? That might explain her skittishness this morning. He needed to get her to relax.
“You have a scrape on your forehead.” He peeled off her helmet, letting her hair spring free. When he dabbed at the spot with his fingertip, her eyes went wide. “Do you have a Band-Aid?”
“I’ll be fine until we get home.” She drew in a breath, and her breasts pushed against her T-shirt.
Damn. He liked that way more than he should. He shouldn’t be watching her body so closely. Paying attention to a woman’s physical attributes wasn’t abnormal. But it should be a means to an end.
“How about breakfast?” he asked as they got into her car.
“I should probably get back to the restaurant.”
“Yeah, right.” He nodded and brushed his hand down her arm to set her up for what he was about to ask. “Do you mind a question?”
“I’m pretty much an open book.” Her guarded behavior said otherwise.
“What do you do for fun? I’d imagine a young woman would want to find a nice guy and maybe settle down one day and have a couple of kids.” He needed to set the stage and get her to thinking about selling. Making her think she was missing out on something started the ball rolling.
“I haven’t thought much about it.” Her lack of eye contact told him the opposite. “I’m only twenty-nine, so my biological clock has plenty of time left on it.”
“You probably don’t meet many men in Wilcox, though.”
“True.” She sighed as if she’d contemplated thoughts of her future in Wilcox more than once. “Right now, I’m focused on making the restaurant profitable.”
Now that he spotted an opening, he needed to move slowly to capitalize on it. “But if you didn’t have to worry about that, what would you do?”
She worried her lip. “I’m not sure. Maybe travel a bit. I’d love to visit New York, maybe San Francisco, Paris. But that might be a pipe dream for me.” She huffed. “I’m not sure I could leave Iowa forever, but having a break or two would be a welcome change of pace.” Her face colored as embarrassment flushed through.
Bingo. Clue number one to discovering her weakness.
Seduction was all about letting out a little bit of line to keep the woman guessing. After throwing his line into the water, he’d pull back and wait. Tomorrow would be the opportune time to make his next move.
…
After a relatively uneventful evening, with His Hotness helping her out in the kitchen to pay her back for letting him stay, Frankie couldn’t settle her racing pulse as she paced around her apartment Sunday morning. She needed some distraction to get through the day. Going rock climbing yesterday had to be nothing short of lunacy, with Rafe looking all studly and inviting. And her mouth? Geez, when would she ever be able to control what came out of it? No wonder he’d pulled back last night and gone straight to his room.
Physical exertion. That might be the ticket to quelling her raging hormones. She slipped into shorts and a T-shirt and laced up her tennis shoes and bounded down the back stairs.
Dribble, dribble, shoot. Dribble, dribble, shoot.
Time for a much-needed sanity check.
Frankie engaged in the only thing that helped clear her mind as she rebounded the basketball against the backboard. Between the Probst protest that didn’t garner a lick of attention Friday night, inviting Rafe to stay at her place, and that crazy rock-climbing expedition, it had been one hellacious forty-eight hours.
Time to exhaust her body, so her mind wouldn’t have an opportunity to do anything other than capitulate.
She dribbled through the layup her father had taught her unscathed—mostly because there was no one around to block her—but she had attended Iowa State on a joint academic and basketball scholarship, so a little guarding wouldn’t have stopped her. Being the leading scorer on the team garnered her some attention, but not the kind she’d wanted.
Boys didn’t want to date the girls’ basketball team’s star. Her father tried to convince her it was because they were intimidated. She figured it was because she was weird. Parents never told you the truth about that kind of stuff. When she quit the team junior year, her parents were devastated. She wasn’t enjoying herself. And of course, she’d been secretly hoping there’d be an uptick in her social life once she left the team. Not so much. Yes, she had dates, but it was never with the swoon-worthy ones she’d lusted after.
She sighed and continued with her diversionary mission.
Dribble. Dribble. Shoot. Dribble. Dribble. Shoot.
“So that’s where all the racket’s coming from.”
That voice disrupted her concentration, and she missed an easy layup. When she turned, her knees went a little weak. She blamed it on yesterday’s climb, but knew it had a lot to do with the smokin’-hot male.
Rafe, hands on his hips showcasing phenomenal abs and biceps to drool about, stood not two feet away dripping in sweat, wearing running shorts, gym shoes, and nothing else.
Her chest hiccuped while her mind took a vacation from reality. In that split second of fantasy, she pictured him looking exactly like that, except for both of them being naked and horizontal. She did an internal head shake. Ms. Francesca was making her head hurt.
Reality check as she glanced at her own attire: an Iowa State Basketball T-shirt that had been washed a gazillion times until it was practically see-through and gray sweats that she’d cut off to make shorts. She was positive he didn’t think any of this was sexy, even if she couldn’t see his eyes too well beneath the shade of his New York Yankees baseball cap.
“You’re up early this morning.”
“Went for a run along the Mississippi to shake loose the cobwebs. But I’d love a cup of coffee. Is there a Starbucks I can walk to?”
She rolled her eyes. “Starbucks? Are you serious? But I can make you some espresso that will make you think you’re having an heart attack and orgasm simultaneously.” Holy shit, did she just say that? Clearly Ms. Francesca was on a mission.
He laughed. “Gee, how could a guy refuse that kind of offer?”
She tossed the basketball to him. “But first let’s have a little one-on-one, since I’ve got a steaming loaf of the world’s best bread ready to come out of the oven in about fifteen minutes, and I need to work off the extra calories.”
“You must have gotten up before the sun.” His dribbling style was pretty good, not fancy but passable.
“Sure did. It’s my great-grandfather Guiseppe’s secret recipe. And if I do say so, it is delicious.” She moved in and stole the ball from him when he wasn’t paying attention.
“So that’s how it’s going to be.” He skirted in front of her and blocked her shot.
“Not cool.” She jumped around, waving her arms—okay, maybe she committed a minor foul or two in the process—but he still managed to get the shot to drop. “Don’t get too cocky. I went to Iowa on a basketball scholarship.”
“Saw the trophies in your room.” He hip-checked her. “But I’m still not intimidated.”
“Maybe you should be, big guy.” She surged past him to sink a shot off the backboard. “Can you say score?” Frankie did a celebratory hip wiggle.
He grumbled when she gut-tossed him the ball. His gaze narrowed and his jaw tightened as he dribbled toward her. The hairs on her arms stood at attention as a chill lit up her spine.
“That’s it. The gloves are off.” A predatory gleam lit up his face; he was in it to win it. “I played a little ball myself, so don’t get too cocky.”
“I’ve bested most guys in Wilcox at basketball.”
He snickered. “That’s not sayin’ much. As far as I can tell, the average age is over seventy.”
She did a “come on” motion with her fingers. “My bread is about done, so next shot wins.”
“What’s the bet?”
“Loser has to do something humiliating at the whim of the winner.”
“You’re on.” He barely got the words out when he slipped passed her and headed toward the basket.
No way would she let him win. She could play dirty, too. She stripped off her T-shirt to reveal her sports bra. Her hip-hugging shorts rode about three inches below her navel.
When he gulped she felt the slide of satisfaction shimmy along her torso. Ms. Francesca was temporarily in control.
Check and mate.
She jostled him as he tried to maneuver around her. He might be bigger and stronger, but her father had taught her from a young age to play it hard. And she always had. Even if the competition was positively drool-worthy.
In sync with his movements, she blocked when he tried to shoot, as their bodies wrestled for control of the ball. Come hell or high water, she wasn’t going to let him get off a clean shot.
She went in for the steal at the same time he made his move, and he ended up plowing into her. As she pinwheeled backward toward the asphalt, he made a valiant attempt to cushion her fall as he brought her down on top of him.
“And here I thought the orgasm came with the coffee.” He growled as certain body parts of hers made intimate acquaintance with his.
Their breaths intermingled as her legs surrounded his torso, while his bodily reaction grew by the second. The only thought Ms. Francesca had was how quickly they could get up the stairs and into her bed.
“What the holy hell is going on here?” The familiar voice rumbled through the air.
Chapter Six
“Geez, Ty, you scared me half to death.” As Rafe stood and brought Frankie to a standing position, she seemed frazzled.
Then again, so was Rafe. A friendly game of basketball had become seductive, intriguing, and tempting as hell.
Perfect. She was playing right into his hands. If things fell his way, she’d be thanking him for his wise counsel on getting the biggest bang for her buck, so to speak. He tamped down the urge to smile, especially when he remembered the redneck horning in on his action.
“I don’t know why, since you asked me over to look at his motorcycle.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Rafe. “And I find my former fiancée humping a virtual stranger.”
Ah, shit. Take that back, double shit. Wait. Did he say “fiancée”?
“We were never engaged, you dolt.” She waved her hand in dismissal while her cheeks pinkened. “You were desperate for a prom date, and I was the only girl left in town, and you tried to bribe me to go with you by giving me a stupid dime-store ring. That is not engaged.”
“I wanted to take you.” The guy’s game was pathetic.
“That was after Abigail, Tiffany, Sheila, Dawn, and Miranda all shot you down. And you hoped giving me that ring would get you laid. Who do you think you’re kidding?” She shivered. “Besides, that was over ten years ago. Time to move on, Ty.”
“Hey, you called me and I came running, didn’t I?”
“That’s only because I promised you a free meal.” She patted his slight paunch.
The guy shook his head, then narrowed his gaze on Rafe. “What are you doing staying in her parents’ place? That’s not right. If you ask me, it’s awfully convenient that your bike won’t start. Sounds like you’re trying to taking advantage of Frankie.”
“Don’t go there. You know I can take care of myself.” When Rafe glanced at Frankie ,she shrugged and mumbled. “Word gets around fast. Small towns.”
Rafe figured he had two options: engage in a pissing contest with this guy that would no doubt end badly or pacify the jerk. Either way, the goal was not to let the man look at his bike. It would take all of two seconds to figure out he’d pulled the wires.
“Are you certified in motorcycle repair?” Rafe asked.
He shuffled. “No, but I know what the hell I’m doing. In fact, I know what the hell you’re doing as well.”
For a moment or two, a bout of paranoia came to life inside Rafe. Naw, the guy couldn’t know who he was or why he was in town. “I’ve had my bike worked on by non-Harley mechanics, and it’s been a freakin’ disaster. I’d rather see if I can find a place nearby and have the bike towed there. But I’d like to thank Frankie for giving you a call.”
The guy eyed Rafe like he was weighing the merits of the excuse. “The whole thing smells awfully fishy to me.” He then looked at Frankie. “He’s made all this up to get in your pants.”
He could have sworn he saw a shiver pass through her before she spoke. “Nonsense. In fact, I do believe I’ve handled your drunken advances a time or two without any violence.”
“Unless you count your shotgun,” Rafe added.
“Well, there’s that.” She shook her head. The way her hair shimmied over her shoulders brought a whole other dimension to the situation. “The offer still stands for dinner. Come by later tonight, okay?” Between her tone and body language, there was very little room for misinterpretation. She was definitely giving the guy the brush-off. The part that bothered Rafe was why he felt so good about that.
…
“Are you open seven days a week?” He dipped a slice of bread into the garlic-seasoned olive oil.
Frankie felt the flutter of nerves as she slid a cup of espresso in front of him. “Yep, although I open from four to ten on Sunday for dinner only.”
“This place sucks a lot of your time. How are you ever going to have a little fun if Crossroads Café is your life?”
Many a night she pondered the same thought as she worried about how to pay the bills. Her parents’ life insurance policy only went so far—especially when she had to replace the roof and one of the ovens. Yep, it was a rough year.
“I know this might sound strange, but I can’t imagine my life without it. Besides, cooking, being part of a restaurant, is who I am. While I’d love to travel, like I said yesterday, I can’t imagine how I could get away to do that.” She thought about the kernel of an idea that had been bubbling inside her chest for a while now. If she could somehow get a loan to do what her father had envisioned all those years ago and grow the restaurant, she’d have no reason to sell to Probst. More business meant more money, and she’d be free to take some time off occasionally. Or she could write a cookbook with the recipes that had been passed down through her family. But she’d need to have professional pictures done, and right now it all seemed overwhelming.
“Maybe because it’s the only thing you know. You’re afraid of the unknown.” He intertwined his fingers with hers as they sat at the small butcher block island. “I worry about you being a young woman stuck in a town with old people and ex-fiancés.”
She shrugged. He had a point. “Isn’t everyone? I guess there’re a few people who jump at the chance to skydive for the first time or the thrill of climbing Mount Everest, but I prefer the familiar. My only challenge here is paying the bills every month.” It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him her idea about the cookbook. But she hardly knew him, and no doubt he’d think her idea was pie-in-the-sky.
“Hey, that’s my specialty. I consult with businesses who are looking to cut corners, expand their business, or maybe to close up shop and move on. If you’d like, I could look at the books and give you my opinion.” When he smiled, her heart did a little flutter step. “It’s the least I can do for letting me stay here.”
A bubble of emotion lodged in her chest. She’d kept her worries from everyone for the two years since her parents died. To say it was a lot to carry on her shoulders was an understatement. The fact that she’d divulged her concerns to a near stranger bothered her. But she’d always been a great judge of character in the past, and he definitely seemed like he was on the up and up. She trusted him. He was sleeping not twenty feet away from her at night, after all.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best thing to focus on, Ms. Francesca.
“I don’t even know your last name.”
“McCall. Let me run up stairs and get you a business card.” He scrambled out the door and up the stairs. While he did that, she opened her computer and put his name in the search engine. A gal couldn’t always trust good judgment, especially when the man in question looked like Rafe.
Phew…no felonies on record. That was always good. No pictures of Rafe at gala events in New York with a beautiful woman at his side. No marriage of record, as far as she could tell. Just a listing of his name and location in Manhattan, and it listed him as a financial consultant. Just like he stated. When she heard him coming back downstairs, she clicked off the internet.
To her disappointment, he’d thrown on a T-shirt before coming back down.
He handed her a very expensive-looking card. They were definitely not the ten-dollars-for-a-thousand type. Rafe McCall, Financial Consultant. It listed an email address and hourly rates starting at three hundred. Yowza.
“Sure looks like you’ve had some experience with these kinds of things.” She opened up her bookkeeping program and plunked the laptop in front of him. “I’ve had a bit of a rough year, as I had to do some major repairs on the place. But I expect the next year will be good.”
“Do you mind if I take this and any other bills and paperwork you have with me upstairs and give it a thorough look-see? I promise I’ll have it back to you by four.”
“No problem.”
“Just a couple of questions that I normally ask of clients in terms of future projections. Have you looked at the long term? You’re a young woman, but the majority of the population will be” —he cleared his throat— “won’t be around as long. Have you looked at census data for your area?”
“Not exactly, but there’re new families moving in all the time.”
His gaze narrowed as if questioning her statement. For good reason. She was being overly optimistic, and no doubt he sensed that. But she couldn’t imagine ever leaving this place. Ever. There wasn’t another place like Wilcox, and there never would be. While she didn’t have a whole lot of memories of Italy, that sense of family was replicated in this little town in Iowa. Despite the mass exodus of people her age from the area, she was stubborn enough to believe there’d be a revitalization of that spirit of community. Some way. Somehow. She’d remain here or die trying.
