alien stories for the cheesiest tabloid.
Obsessively he listed and relisted the sins of Kitt Mitchell. She’d solicited information under false pretences. She’d used her pixyish face and wide blue eyes to lead him on. She’d shamelessly offered sex as bait—oh, yes, he’d have the office throw the book at her.
No, I won’t, he thought in self-disgust as he drove. Be honest. He was thinking like a bully and an oaf. What had happened was his fault, far more than hers. That’s what made him sick with anger.
She hadn’t set a trap for him; he’d set it for himself. Then, like a fool, he’d barged straight into it. He’d thought she was cute and feisty, and he’d heeded his hormones instead of his brain.
His disgust didn’t disappear; it merely changed its target. Sure, he could punish her because he had the power—or Fabian did. But the author of Mel’s shame was not Kitt Mitchell, but himself.
Still, she was a threat to the job he had to do in Crystal Creek. He needed to be on guard against her. He had reached a nearly empty stretch of highway. He pulled out his cell phone and called New York. He asked for DeJames Jackson, one of Fabian’s top assistants.
“DeJames,” he said, “That reporter you told me about—the Mitchell woman? She’s already crossed my path. Get me all the information on her that you can. I want to know her better than she knows herself.”
DeJames gave a deep, rich laugh. “You think she’s that dangerous? Or are you interested in scoring? Those women over at Exclusive have a reputation for being smart—and lookers.”
Mel felt a fresh sting of resentment. “She’s not that great-looking,” he said. “And yes, she’s dangerous. Very sly.” He thought about her deception and added, “Glib. Manipulative. Not above dirty tricks.”
DeJames laughed again. “Why, Mel,” he said, “it sounds like you finally met your perfect woman.”
AT GATE AA1, the P.A. system crackled into life. An impersonal voice droned an unwanted message: the flight to Austin would be delayed for at least another hour.
Groans and mutters ran through the disappointed crowd, and Kitt, too, felt annoyed. But she was also puzzled. Where was Mel Belyle? He was supposed to be on this flight, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Forty-five minutes later, yet another delay was announced. Still no sign of the man. A mischievous smile teased Kitt’s lips. Had she miffed him so much that he’d canceled his ticket? Maybe she’d dented his pride more than she’d thought.
Well, she told herself, a man as handsome and overconfident as Mel Belyle could use a swift kick to the ego now and then. Did he try to seduce every woman he met? What had he expected? For her to swoon at his expensively shod feet?
But he had looked great in that blue sweater, she must admit. It set off his wide shoulders and unexpectedly sensitive eyes. Enough of that, she scolded. She probably hadn’t taken even a crumb off his self-esteem. He was avoiding her because he was avoiding the press, that was all.
He’d probably chartered his own plane or rented a Porsche upholstered in ermine. With Brian Fabian footing the bill, why not?
Kitt sighed. It didn’t do to dwell on rich, good-looking men who moved among the power elite. She had been foolish enough to do that once, long ago. She would not make the same mistake again.
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, two men stood by the carved oak bar in the den of the McKinney ranch house. Cal poured two shots of whiskey. “Thought it’d be good for us to get acquainted-like. Have a couple words in private.”
Nick Belyle nodded.
“Daddy’ll join us pretty soon,” said Cal. “He’s givin’ the kids a ride in the pony cart.” He pushed the filled glass toward the other man.
“Thanks,” said Nick.
“To those three pretty women out there,” Cal said with a nod toward the living room. “You married yourself a beauty.”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t,” Nick said. The men touched glasses and drank.
Through the open door, Cal could see Shelby Belyle sitting with his stepmother, Cynthia, and his own wife, his own gorgeous wife, Serena.
Nick’s wife was indeed a looker, thought Cal. She was curvaceous with richly dark hair and eyes. Beside Shelby sat Cal’s stepmother. The two women were a study in contrasts. Shelby was a young brunette earth goddess, Cynthia a coolly blond aristocrat, still stunning at forty-four.
But in Cal’s eyes neither of them could hold a candle to his beloved Serena. Her beauty was quieter, but deeper. Her green eyes still seemed to him the most mysterious in the world. She could give him a look from clear across the room that would shake him to the core with desire.
Just gazing at her now, his thoughts became carnal. He studied the way a strand of her long brown hair trailed over the delightful curve of one breast. Those lovely breasts were covered by a green silk blouse, and he wanted to unbutton it, part it, touch her and lower his mouth to taste her.
Tonight when they were finally alone in the guest bedroom, the first thing he was going to do to her was…
He heard the ghostly echo of his father’s old question. Do you always think with your dick? J.T. had said it half a hundred times back in Cal’s youth. The memory stung, and he hauled himself back to reality.
Nick Belyle smiled, as if he knew where Cal’s thoughts had been and exactly how lascivious they were. Cal cleared his throat and poured them each another shot. Down to business, he told himself. He said, “This brother of yours that’s coming—Mel. Tell me about him.”
Nick’s smile died. “What can I say? He’s the last person I’d want in Crystal Creek.”
“Is that from a legal aspect or a personal one?”
“Both,” said Nick and downed his drink with one swallow.
Cal studied the other man. Nick Belyle was not conventionally handsome, but his face was interesting, or so women seemed to think. Serena had said he looked a cross between an angel and a street punk.
It was a complex face, and it suited him. He seemed like a complex guy. Going counter to Brian Fabian’s orders had been hard on him. J.T. said so, and so did Cal’s sister Lynn, and Nora said it, too.
Cal chose his words carefully. “Are you startin’ to wish you hadn’t got messed up in this?”
Nick pushed away his empty glass. “I don’t regret what I did. It was the right thing.”
Cal nodded. “We think so.”
If Nick hadn’t spoken out, nobody would have known what Fabian was up to. As it was, the McKinneys had been able to throw legal roadblocks in his way, and for the time, they had slowed him. The question was, could they stop him?
Cal met Nick’s cool blue stare. “You think your brother’s comin’ to try to buy more land?”
Nick’s gaze didn’t waver. “What do you think?”
Cal tossed back the drink then leaned
