almost hit that reporter!” she exclaimed.
“Sorry. Next time I’ll make sure not to miss,” he retorted.
She grinned in spite of herself. And the release of tension felt good. Even though the devil himself had rescued her, she wasn’t complaining. She didn’t want to think about how ugly that mob of reporters could’ve gotten with her. “Thanks,” she murmured.
“No problem. Pissing off journalists is a favorite pastime of mine, and I just took away their new toy.”
She nodded and subsided, remembering a conversation with her father once, where he’d confessed to loving sparring with reporters. How could he possibly have relished that kind of attention? She shuddered. The public eye was definitely not her cup of tea.
“Where to?” Gabe asked.
“Umm, home, I suppose.”
“Your place or your parents’?”
He knew she had her own house in Vengeance? He’d relocated to Dallas nearly a decade ago, and yet he still kept tabs on where she lived? “My parents’ house, I suppose. I’m staying there to keep my mother company and help her deal with… everything.”
Gabe nodded and pointed his vehicle toward the south side of town. He drove in silence, and she didn’t interrupt the quiet that fell between them. What could she say to a man like him, anyway? He was smart and confident and powerful—totally out of her league. And she’d thrown him out of the house less than twenty-four hours ago.
The SUV turned onto the road that led to her parents’ estate, and she groaned aloud. Both sides of the tarmac were lined with cars and vans—all brightly painted with the call signs of various radio and television stations. Gabe accelerated, passing right by her parents’ driveway without slowing down.
“New plan,” he announced.
“Back to my place?” she replied glumly.
“Are you kidding? If the press has this place staked out, they’ll be crawling all over your house. We were lucky no one spotted us as we drove past, but we may not get that lucky next time.”
“Where will I go?” she asked in alarm.
“Relax. I’ve got it covered.”
She frowned. That wasn’t an answer. And she didn’t like the idea of turning over any more control to this man than she absolutely had to. She knew the type; after all, her father was one of them—rich, arrogant and accustomed to everyone around them kissing up and doing whatever they were told without question.
But what choice did she have? She’d accused a pillar of local society of a heinous crime, sullied a man’s reputation and attacked one of the richest and most powerful families in this part of Texas. Now, the gloves would come off, and the reporters would take whatever potshots at her they thought they could land. It would be a free-for-all. She’d seen over the years what the press did to her father at the slightest hint of a juicy story, let alone a full-blown scandal. They attacked like rabid dogs, tearing at every scrap of information and tossing it in front of the public no matter what the personal cost to her father or his family. And he’d been a rich, powerful politician with the ability to hurt the reporters’ careers, which had kept the press in check. She was neither rich nor powerful. They’d destroy her.
What had she been thinking, pressing charges against James Ward? It had been a foolish impulse. Insane. She’d gotten so carried away with the notion that now she could say or do whatever she wanted, that she’d forgotten the consequences the good people of Vengeance, Texas, would level at her.
The SUV rolled smoothly down I-35, its powerful engine devouring the forty miles between Vengeance and Dallas. She frowned as Gabe guided the vehicle into the jungle of modern skyscrapers that was downtown.
“Where are we going?” she finally asked.
“I thought you might like a bite to eat.”
Although it was a little early for supper, her stomach was roiling ominously. “I couldn’t possibly eat—” she started.
“Nonsense. You’re thin as a rail, and I bet you haven’t eaten a decent meal in two weeks.”
It was kind of him not to mention her father’s murder. But Gabe was right. Neither she nor her mother had been able to eat much since John Merris’s death. “I’m fine,” she mumbled.
“No, you’re not. You’ve had a lousy day and a big scare, and you’re pale. You look on the verge of fainting.”
“I don’t faint!” she retorted indignantly.
He flashed her a brief grin that knocked her indignation into the next county over. “I recall that about you. You’re a lot stronger than you look. I’ll never forget the way you and that crazy horse of yours ran me into the ground.”
He remembered that fox hunt? She’d been seventeen, so that would make it eleven years ago. He’d made some snarky comment about girls not being able to keep up with the boys, and she had bet him a dollar that she would beat him in the annual cross-country race.
“Speaking of which, you still owe me a dollar,” she declared.
“Double or nothing at next spring’s fox hunt,” he retorted jauntily as he guided the car through downtown Dallas.
She made a face. “I haven’t ridden a horse since I left for college. I’ll just take my winnings and call it good, thank you.”
He stopped the car and a valet opened her door for her. Good grief, where were they? She looked up and was shocked to see he’d brought her to the Rosewood Mansion Hotel on Turtle Creek, known locally as simply, The Mansion. Its restaurant was routinely selected as one of the top ten in the world. He handed over the keys and joined her, offering his wool-suited forearm to her.
“This is a bit more than a bite to eat, Gabe.”
“How better to tempt a reluctant eater than with the finest food on earth?”
She had to admit that every time she’d ever eaten here the cuisine had been nothing short of exquisite. “I’m not dressed properly—” she started.
“Balderdash,” he declared. “I’ll get us a private dining room, and no one will see or care what you’re wearing.”
She couldn’t decide whether to ask where he’d learned the word balderdash or if The Mansion really had private dining rooms, and ended up merely following him in disbelieving silence.
Of course, a billionaire with more money than sense was clearly the sort of customer who rated a private dining room, which was fine with her tonight. The main dining room was a place where people went to see and be seen. In spite of the city’s size, Dallas’s elite social stratum was actually a fairly small and tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone else. The last thing she needed was to be seen sharing an intimate meal at The Mansion with her father’s archenemy.
The maître d’ led them down a small, dim hallway. They passed briefly through the lobby of the hotel proper, and were ushered into a beautifully furnished room that looked like the parlor of a fine European estate. Floor-to-ceiling French
