Mad About The Man Read online

  Sophie returned and sat beside Sis. There was nothing to say, and Gaby studied her hands.

  "This place is cute!" Rita said. "I had no idea there were still places like this around. It's like something out of a Western movie, right down to the little old grandma waitress."

  Mae giggled again and Gaby had to peek at Sophie. Thunderous didn't do her expression justice. War was declared.

  "I told you the town was old," Jacques said. He sounded distracted and Gaby was certain that if she looked at him, he'd be looking right back. "That's the point. It hasn't changed since gold prospecting days. Not significantly. If it isn't given a chance it's going to disappear."

  "We should try to keep this diner as it is," Bart said. "It's going to be important to play up the old-world, forgotten stuff. People are going to eat up a chance to take a look at primitive places like this."

  Gaby listened closely. The more she knew about Ledan's plans, the better. She had to sit tight and not show her hand too soon, or else fighting him would be even harder.

  "The teen club is what interests me," Jacques said. "What I said about the young people isn't going to change unless we can get them hooked into liking where they live, and soon. With the right facility, the local kids will mingle with the tourist teens. A little excitement's all we need to make more of them want to stay. Particularly if they see there are going to be jobs for them here, too."

  A teen club sounded like a great idea. And the jobs. But Gaby already knew they were all going to hate the idea when Ledan got through with them.

  "Bart's got a great plan, haven't you?" Rita said, sounding blissful. "Tell Jacques what you told me this morning."

  "It's simple really," Bart said. "The old schoolhouse is the perfect spot for a teen club. There's a kind of underlying kick to the idea of using a place that used to be a follow-the-rules stronghold. Think of it. Teenagers cutting up on hallowed ground as it were."

  Gaby met Sophie's cold eyes and the old woman shook her head slowly.

  Rita gave an enthusiastic whoop. "Bart says the hall's small but for a start it'll work for dancing. We can add something that looks like a gymnasium later—in conjunction with the resort."

  "Yeah," Bart said. "There's a stage in the hall for the DJ. Throw in the strobe lights and a great sound system and you'll have kids coming from miles around."

  "The school's beside a trailer park," Jacques said. "What about the noise—"

  "We'll move the park. No sweat." Bart laughed. "Everything's got a price. I've already started getting bids for the video concessions. We'll turn the corridors into video arcades. This is going to be dynamite, Jacques. The farther in I get, the more excited I am. Give me six months and you won't recognize this town."

  Sis's hand went to her mouth.

  "It's okay," Gaby said, not at all certain anything would ever be okay around here again, but determined not to give up without a fight. "Stay put and don't say a word. Please look after Mae until I get back."

  She left the booth and walked the length of the diner—with Ledan's eyes on her every step of the way. "Excuse me—" she smiled at him "—but I wonder if I could speak with you privately."

  Without waiting for his answer, Gaby left the restaurant. When the door clicked shut, Ledan was already at her shoulder.

  She faced him. "I'm sorry to take you away from your friends."

  "I'm glad you did. And they're my employees, not my friends."

  Gaby wondered what kind of people he would count as friends. "Nevertheless, I hope you'll excuse me for breaking in."

  "You can break in on me anytime you like."

  The slow warming of her blood started again. "I only wanted to talk to you for a few minutes—about your plans here. Would it be appropriate for me to do that?" Charm and manners could often achieve what anger would make impossible.

  He regarded her with what felt like intense intimacy. His concentration on her mouth sent her tongue nervously over her lips and she saw his sharp intake of breath.

  "I'd like to show you something," he said abruptly, taking her elbow. He smiled down into her face. "Can I steal you away for a little while?"

  Her skin tingled where he touched her. "For a little while," she agreed, while common sense told her that this man was much too persuasive for safe company.

  The dusty green Jeep stood at the curb with a silver Porsche parked behind. Ledan shepherded Gaby to the Jeep and helped her in.

  When he sat beside her he smiled, and in the sunlight his eyes were tropical sea lapis, the color of deep water over a coral reef.

  "What about your… the others?"

  "They're Porsche people." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "That's Bart's. They won't wait for me."

  With that, he drove away, heading out of town to the north. "I shouldn't be gone too long," Gaby said. This was the way he must come when he went to La Place. What a name for a house!

  "We aren't going far," Ledan said.

  About ten miles out of town he took a sharp left turn down a dirt track leading to one of the farms. Gaby knew it was owned by a family named Odle who kept to themselves.

  Once through a sagging wooden gate propped open with a pile of old tires, Ledan drove straight toward the shabby clapboard farmhouse but skirted the building and continued through groves of stripped peach trees.

  Dust sprayed from beneath the Jeep's wide tires and the smell of fallen fruit and warm dirt hung heavy in the air.

  At last, when there was nothing in sight but acres of trees and crisp brown grass with a crystal-blue sky stretching to the mountains, Ledan parked and walked around to Gaby's side.

  "Let me." Before she could climb out, his hands closed on her waist and he lifted her effortlessly down until they stood, toe to toe.

  "Thank you, Mr. Ledan." Her hands rested on flexed biceps.

  "Jacques." His throat was deeply tanned against the open collar of his khaki shirt.

  "Jacques."

  Beneath his fingers her gauze dress was too thin, too flimsy a shield between his skin and hers. His grip on her waist tightened slightly. "Is this private enough, Gaby?"

  She started. He made a new sound of her name, something oddly foreign and exotic.

  He smiled again. "You did say you wanted to talk to me privately."

  "And you asked if you could steal me away for a while."

  "And I have, haven't I?" The tilt of his head, the parting of his lips to show such even, white teeth, sent her stomach plunging.

  Gaby stepped away. "You certainly have." She walked farther from him up the slight incline of the orchard. The trees stretched endlessly on all sides.

  Jacques fell in beside her. "You aren't from Goldstrike—not originally?"

  "No. I've lived here for six years, though, and it's the only home I ever want from now on."

  "Really?" he sounded amazed.

  "Really. Not everyone wants to race on the fast track. Some of us can hardly wait to get off."

  He strolled, a stride to every two or three of Gaby's steps. "Were you ever on the fast track?"

  She smiled to herself. "Too fast for me." And that was all she'd volunteer.

  "What did you want to talk to me about?"

  They'd reached a knoll bisected by a leaning wire fence that meant another farmer's land lay on the other side. Gaby thought carefully before she said, "I wanted to ask you about your plans for Goldstrike. You can refuse to tell me, of course."

  "Ask me anything." He braced a straight arm against a tree and looked out over the land rolling away before them.

  Gaby wiped her damp palms on her skirt. She was grateful for the breeze that stirred her hair and cooled her skin—though not nearly enough. "You, er, you really ought to wear a hat more," she said in a rush.

  He glanced back at her. "Why?"

  "Too much sun isn't good for you." This was a mistake. She hadn't thought through what she needed to say, and experience had taught her that acting first and thinking second rarely worked out too well.
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  "I don't wear hats."

  "You should. They'd suit you." She felt sick.

  Jacques ginned. "I'll take that as a compliment, but I still don't wear hats. What did you want to ask me?"

  A slow, calm approach would be best. An oblique attack. "Are you married?" Wonderful!

  "No." He appeared unmoved. "Are you?"

  "No."

  "I'm glad to hear that."

  Gaby looked at her bare toes and dusty beige sandals. Now he must think she was personally interested in him.

  "You're beautiful, Gaby. But I expect you know that."

  The ground felt as if it was slipping away. "Your grandfather started Ledan's, didn't he?" Now he'd figure out she'd been digging up his background.

  "Yes. He came from France with a few old family recipes and more hopes and ambitions than you can imagine—and a great big heart. Almost no money, though." He laughed. "My father took over about twenty years ago and passed the reins to me five years ago."

  Gaby raised her shoulders.

  "My parents live in the south of France now. My grandfather died only ten years ago. D'you know what his last words were to me?"

  "No." She wanted to watch his face, loved watching his face.

  "He said, 'One day you'll meet your nemesis, Jacques.' And then he went to sleep. He was ninety-seven. Guess what he meant by that?"

  Gaby chafed her arms and shook her head. "I don't know."

  "I didn't think you would. Maybe I'll tell you one day." He ran a finger from her shoulder to her elbow and rubbed a fold of the loose dress between finger and thumb. "You look good in this. It touches all the right places."

  She felt a blush speed up her neck.

  "Particularly when the breeze blows it against legs… and the rest of you." His eyes passed boldly over her before he turned back to the landscape.

  For the first time in longer than she could remember, a raw surge of heat flashed in her breasts and all the way to her knees. He was setting out to confuse her and succeeding masterfully.

  Gaby wrapped her arms around her ribs and drew herself up. "I heard some of what you said at Sis's."

  "Did you?"

  "Yes. Goldstrike doesn't want what you're peddling." Her heart pounded.

  "Doesn't it?"

  "No. These people like the way of life they lead. They're simple and kind… like this land. They don't need discos and—and strobe lights and mining displays and resorts. They don't—"

  "They do need them. And they will want them. If something doesn't happen around here there won't be a Goldstrike. Where will all these simple, kind people be then?"

  "It won't happen. I—"

  "You are a very special, one-of-a-kind woman. But you don't know what you're talking about. Keep on being special. Especially around me. But leave business to business people."

  She made fists and had to quell an urge to pummel him with them. "What do you think I… Scratch that. I know what you think I am. Who do you think you are?"

  "I'm Jacques Ledan and I've been driving through Goldstrike since I was a kid. My best times have been right here. I'm a Californian, Gaby. I was born in this state. Its history is important to me—preserving the past for future generations. The pioneer culture that founded places like Goldstrike, molded me."

  "But it didn't make you want it for what it is, did it? You want to change it and make a lot of money in the process."

  "I want to help it stay alive." He turned and rested his back on the tree. His eyes were blue ice now. "Sure there are going to be dissenters, but they'll be a minority and they'll dissent out of pride."

  She took an involuntary step toward him. "What's wrong with a little pride? It makes people strong and focused."

  "What's the point of being strong and focused while what little you have falls down around you?"

  "They won't be happy, Jacques." The tears of passion that sprang into her eyes weren't welcome. "You're going to take away their identity."

  "I'm going to give them a way to preserve it. You see this land we're standing on?"

  "Yes." Gaby hugged herself tighter.

  "I've bought this farm. And the one behind me. And I intend to get one or two more in the same block. This is going to become a theme park that people will come to from all over the country—damn it, from all over the world."

  Gaby raised a hand to her mouth, but Jacques caught her wrist.

  "People resist change," Jacques said. "But when they get used to it, they love what it can do for them. I'm going to find a way to bring water in here. There'll be a huge waterslide area—bigger than anything like it anywhere. When people are deciding where to vacation, they'll be considering going for the gold in Goldstrike. This isn't a tacky joke. This is big business. And we're all going to benefit from it.''

  Gaby drew in a breath that burned. "You're going to turn our little town into another resort area? I got out of Los Angeles because I wanted some peace. Everyone who chooses to stay here wants peace."

  "According to you."

  With her free hand she grabbed his shirt. "I… I…"

  She never finished the thought or the sentence. Jacques yanked her against him and his mouth came down on hers. His lips were warm and firm and supple. His eyes closed and he wrapped her in big, strong arms from which she'd only escape when he chose to let her go. The kiss was forceful, wild and possessive. Gaby's legs weakened and her grip on his shirt became the anchor that stopped her from falling.

  Jacques groaned and his hands slid down to cross over her bottom. Spreading his legs, he pressed her hips into his pelvis. He was hard. And the fit was right.

  This kiss softened to a nipping, nuzzling, searing thing that rocked Gaby's face from side to side. She ran her palms up his chest and around his neck until she could tangle her fingers in his hair.

  She smelled his clean scent, felt his hard chest crushing her breasts and wanted to feel his hands there—his lips.

  "Gaby," he whispered, kissing her cheek, her closed eyes, her ear. "Gaby, Gaby." Holding her ever more strongly against his arousal, he pushed his fingers through her hair and returned to her mouth.

  He sucked her lower lip gently between his teeth, then thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth.

  His hand shifted from her hair, smoothed her shoulder, slipped to cover and knead her breast. In an instant he'd eased down her low neckline and found a straining nipple. Pinching lightly, rolling, he turned her legs to useless things and her womb to a molten place that drove her hips against him again and again.

  Farther down he shifted the loose bodice, far enough to free her naked breasts.

  "Oh, my God!" Panting, pushing him away, pushing back her hair, Gaby tore herself from him. "What do you think you're doing?"

  He took his hands from her, held out his palms. His chest rose and fell with great, dragging breaths. "I'm doing exactly what you know I'm doing." Desire made his eyes brilliant, the lines of his face rigid. "We're doing exactly what we know we're doing. Sometimes these things are meant to happen. This is one of those times."

  "No. No." Hitching at her dress she backed away. "Never. Not to me. This doesn't happen to me."

  "This?" He shrugged away from the tree and winced.

  Gaby's eyes went to his pants and she looked quickly away. What had happened to him wasn't going away. Her own desire throbbed in every vein. And it was nothing but lust.

  "Gaby. What do you mean by this?"

  "Casual encounters." She shook her head violently. "I asked you to talk to me about… professional matters. Business was what I had in mind."

  He smiled, the slow, incredibly sensual smile that made her throat feel entirely closed. "There's no reason to allow business to infringe on… other things."

  She stared. "Take me back, please." This man was telling her that there was no reason to allow major differences in every other area to interfere with the possibility of great sex. Gaby managed to swallow. If what had happened was a barometer, sex with Jacques Ledan would be unbel
ievably great. "I want to go back."

  "Fine. I'll take you. But don't think this is a closed subject. And I'm not talking about business."

  Gaby started walking. "We are on opposite sides in a war."

  "Not between us. Not unless you call what just happened some sort of battle." He caught up easily and slipped an arm around her waist, jerked her back when she tried to escape him. "That kind of battle I'll engage in any day. As many times a day as I can persuade you to be with me."

  "There won't be other times. This won't—what happened won't happen again."

  He spread his hand over her ribcage until his thumb could range back and forth across the soft underside of her breast. "It's going to happen, Gaby," he said softly and laughed. "It's going to happen again and again."

  "No!"

  "Yes." He swung her easily around to face him "Right now I'll do what you want. I'll take you back to Goldstrike and safety. But you're never going to be safe again. Not from me."

  4

  Another wad of aluminum foil zipped past Jacques, hit sagging pink insulation and dropped to the base of an exposed wall stud.

  Jacques rounded on Bart and said, "Enough with the missiles," in a low voice. The three workmen who wandered the length of the unfinished space, tapping, banging and muttering, were unlikely to hear, anyway.

  Bart Stanly, slouched in a discarded metal lawn chair with no cushions, began rolling another piece of foil from a very old TV dinner cover. "We're wasting time in this dump." He formed the tarnished ball deliberately between his palms. "You don't need an office downtown. Not that you can say this burg has a downtown."

  "I do need it," Jacques said shortly. "Damn, it's hot up here." He undid several buttons on his khaki shirt.

  "Yup." Bart rolled and rolled the foil while his eyes lost focus. "And it's going to stay hot up here. Heat rises, in case you haven't noticed. What's wrong with the office at La Place?"