King's Ransom (Oil Kings Book 2) Page 8

  “It is.” There was not one chimney, but two. The house was multilevel with a boxy look, though rock accents and soft lighting lessened the hard edges. Shrubbery lined actual rock walls that made up the porch and walkway to the home.

  The house didn’t get smaller from the side as Beckett looped into the garage.

  I snorted out a laugh. What’d I expect, an empty four-car garage? He had a pickup that probably cost close to six figures, a freaking golf cart because this was country club land, and a boat.

  “Not the reaction I was expecting.” Beckett killed the engine. The garage dimmed as the door closed us in.

  I tipped my head toward the boat. “I mean, it’s not a yacht.”

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. “No, that’s in storage at the dock.” My mouth dropped open and his lips curved. “Just kidding. I like to fish. I don’t need a yacht to fish, just something I can hook to the truck and take off.”

  “Do you camp in that thing? Oh wait, the mountain cabin.”

  His smile died. Apparently he didn’t like a have-not pointing out all his haves. “Yes, but I don’t get out there as often as I’d like.”

  There was a story there, and since we were beginning a fake relationship, I was going to keep asking. “Why not?”

  He slid out and led me into his house. Mausoleum-level silence greeted us. The arched ceiling made the snick of the door closing and my clicking heels reverberate in the emptiness. His walls had forgettable, anonymous decorations that didn’t mean a thing beyond aesthetics.

  Beck’s voice echoed as he answered. “My younger brother used to visit more, but now he’s traveling the world. My older brother is married and runs the company with Dad. That leaves Dawson, the youngest, who runs the ranch.”

  Didn’t the guy have friends? Girlfriends who liked to fish? Hell, if he asked, I’d kick off my heels and go fishing barefoot.

  I’d kick off my heels for a lot less. “Can I take my shoes off? My feet are killing me.”

  He glanced at my black chunky heels, a total splurge I’d excused because it was hard to find heels that went with thick leggings and a long belted lilac sweater. His gaze drifted up my legs, something I’d caught him doing all day. I was short. My legs getting attention was novel, but then I rarely bothered to wear heels.

  “Why do you wear them if they hurt?” he asked when his gaze reached my face. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie.

  Fuck, that was sexy. I wanted him to keep going. Drop the tie on the floor, undo the first few buttons. Then all I’d have to do was run my hands up his toned abs and slip his shirt over his head, maybe lean in and kiss—

  Oh, he’d asked a question. And that’s not what I was here for. “Asks the man undoing a tie he was probably dying to get out of all day.”

  “Ugh, I hate them. The shoes too.”

  I chuckled and we both stepped out of our shoes. “I don’t get the impression your other footwear is cowboy boots though.”

  None of his decor had a Western flair. Odd for a country boy. The articles I’d read on him before we’d met gushed about his upbringing. Sure, they had hired hands, but Gentry King had made his boys work without pay to teach them what hard work really was. It hadn’t helped that the article had come with a photo of the brother who ran the ranch on a horse, his cowboy hat pulled down low, cattle kicking up a dust cloud in the background. No doubt a flock of women had run to King’s Creek, Montana, to net themselves a King. I was practically one of them.

  He grimaced. “No more boots for me.”

  “You wear that when you go home?” I gestured to his suit.

  “I’ve only been home for Aiden’s wedding and Dad’s wedding since I left.”

  Our light conversation had taken a serious turn. I couldn’t imagine having family and shunning them. They could be gone in an instant. “That bad?”

  He sighed and looked away. We were still standing in the entry and I felt safer here, less lost than the massive house already made me feel. “Since you read up on me, you know my mom passed away when I was twelve.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. Are you upset that your dad didn’t abstain for years, or that he did what he did in the house?”

  Beckett’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

  “But more so the house.” I didn’t have to ask. The way he talked about his mom—he adored her. I tried to think of how I would’ve felt in his place. What if my dad had survived and moved on? The way I’d rebelled after they died, I couldn’t imagine that I’d be accepting.

  “All those women.” His voice was ragged and as much as I didn’t want to, I softened toward him. His pain was clear.

  “You have reason to be upset with him, but I don’t think it’s really his bed count. Your dad was disrespectful to your mom’s memory and ignored how you and your brothers were dealing with her being gone.”

  Beckett studied me for a moment. “Yeah. That’s definitely it. I guess it was one thing to know they married young right after they learned she was pregnant, but another to know that maybe she wasn’t the love of Dad’s life.”

  “But he loved her nonetheless. And his kids.”

  “True.” He seemed to give himself a mental shake and ushered me into the… I don’t know what it was called. The ceiling soared overhead. To one side and down a few steps, there was a plush living area with puffy couches and chairs. Straight ahead was a flight of stairs and another cove that I guessed housed the entrances to more rooms, though the bedrooms must be upstairs. Then to my left a huge kitchen and sprawling dining room took up half the floor.

  “Everything’s so shiny.” My words lingered in the air. This place was not homey. A chill ran through the place, like there was no reason to make anyone comfortable because no one was here.

  “I can’t tell if you’re giving me a compliment again.”

  “Just a comment.” I wasn’t going to lie. I’d rather be tucked in the fluffy couch with a blanket, catching up on the fall TV lineup. The hard floor was at least warm. “Oh my God, is the floor heated?”

  His smile was slight as he crossed to the island, where a stack of to-go containers waited for us to dig in. I sniffed. Shouldn’t there be savory smells too? Was this place just so massive that delicious dinner smells had no chance to permeate? That was kind of sad.

  Beckett pulled out a bowl of salad and containers with fluid sloshing inside. Next was a tub of breadsticks. Soup and salad came next. He glanced up to see my perplexed face. “Is this not to your liking?”

  “You’re feeding me. I’m not going to complain about free food.” But the former rancher didn’t strike me as a soup-and-salad guy. “It’s not what I expected, but then I’m used to greasy bar food.”

  “I go vegetarian one meal a day. I let the caterer know to deliver enough for two. I didn’t mention that she could change it up.”

  “Vegetarian?” Was there such a thing as a vegetarian rancher?

  “It started in high school to piss my dad off. What can I say? It stuck.”

  I laughed, but quieted as he finished doling out the food. Perhaps Adam was right to warn me. Beckett was becoming a real person underneath his cool business exterior, and his feelings were real. Didn’t mean I understood them. The part about losing his mom, yes. That hit close to home. I knew the loss of a parent all too well.

  But Beck hadn’t lost as much as I had. His home was cold, but expensive. My early “luxurious” years in a small house with vacations to local parks had morphed into tiny apartment living and multiple jobs to keep it, and I was worried about how long Adam would be around.

  There. All better. I could do this and not fall for Beckett King.

  We were both in socks as we sat at the island. With the lid off the soup, I could finally smell the beer cheese. My stomach rumbled as I dug in. I ate over my bowl, dreading the enviable spill that always accompanied soup. Beckett was next to me, his body angled toward mine until our knees almost touched. I was on a stool eating a fancy version of a soup that I’
d had countless times in the bar, but Beckett’s kitchen was more extravagant than any place I’d ever worked.

  He passed me a second breadstick. By his dish, the bag was empty. I might’ve been absorbed in my meal, but I didn’t remember him having another breadstick.

  “Who the hell sends three breadsticks for two people?” I ripped it in half and gave him one piece.

  He broke into a grin. My heart stuttered. The man smiled and it was devastating. His deep laugh prompted my own smile, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He’d gone from unattainably sexy to sitting right next to me. All I wanted to do was crawl into his lap.

  “I guess she’s used to my ex shunning all carbs.”

  Supermodel ex-girlfriend. And he was back to unattainable. I wouldn’t get closer than pretending. I didn’t want to get closer than pretending.

  But he was hot.

  I shifted in my chair while bringing a spoonful to my mouth. A drop clung to the bottom of the spoon, then spilled off, right onto my brand-new sweater dress. “No!” I swiped a napkin—cloth of course—and dabbed at it, but the grease spot remained. “I knew this would happen. I should have drunk this damn soup from a cup.”

  I slid off the stool and went to the massive sink. The faucet had a motion sensor and a spray nozzle in the high arching faucet head. It was the most complicated sink I’d ever seen.

  The dish soap was harder to find. “Do you have any Dawn? Or Ivory? Never mind. Found it.” I doubted Beckett even knew it was stored in the tidy area underneath the sink with the garbage bags and dishwasher tabs. Putting a dab on the soup stain, I flipped the water on and leaned over the edge to rinse as little of the sweater as I could. Everything I’d bought on my shopping spree was machine washable. No dry clean only, no thank you. I didn’t have time for that, nor did I care to waste money on the service.

  Searching around, I couldn’t find a rag of any kind. “Okay, now a dish towel?”

  I started opening drawers without waiting for an answer. Again, I doubted he knew where they were. I didn’t bother to look at him. How embarrassing, but I’d never set out to impress him. Finding the towel to dab at the area proved harder than the dish soap, but after the third drawer I found a pile of pristine, cornflower-blue plaid towels. There, lingering-grease-stain crisis averted. I glanced up. Beckett was staring at me, a bemused expression on his handsome features.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I felt like I was watching MacGyver.”

  “Over a soup stain? Please, that was easy. Dump some marinara on that shirt and I can save the day.” Weird that he thought this was crazy inventive. But as I scanned the house that looked like it had been staged for an open house, I shouldn’t have been surprised. This place was little more than a hotel room. His meals were catered when he was home and I was sure he had a cleaning crew. All his clothing, down to his socks, were probably dry clean only.

  Beckett followed my gaze around his home. “What you’re thinking is written all over your face.”

  I blanked my expression. He was paying me a ton, feeding me, and yeah, I might be planning his professional demise, but I didn’t want to be rude. “Oh?”

  “‘Big, empty, and I don’t know where anything is.’”

  Pulling my lower lip in, I worked out what to say. Did I deny it? “If I took you to my place, you could see how an entire carpet looks with grease stains. And the bathroom could fit into your coat closet. It’s a real treat.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t spend much time here. I sleep, work out in the gym downstairs, and go to work. There are so many people in and out of here cleaning and cooking that I don’t even do any work at home. My office is more secure.”

  “You have a home gym?”

  “Wanna see?”

  Did I want to see where he got all hot and sweaty? Yes, please. “Lead the way.”

  Trying not to be self-conscious of my wet spot, I followed him down the stairs. I paused at the bottom of the stairs to wiggle my toes in the cushy carpet.

  He caught me. “It’s good quality carpet.”

  “Hell yeah, it is.” My apartment’s carpet had been through several tenants and had the wear and tear to show for it.

  “I can’t say I’ve ever had a woman ooh and ahh over my rugs.”

  My cheeks flamed. Probably because his women weren’t broke as hell and had never been destitute.

  “Hey.” His shadow cast over me as he closed the distance between us. “I was kidding.”

  “I know, but it proves a point. We’re from different worlds and no one is going to buy that we’re engaged.”

  “They will once they see you.”

  I jerked my head up, wondering if he really meant it, but his hooded gaze stole my breath. His eyes were on my lips, his body close. “I…” I swallowed, my own gaze stuck on his mouth. That pouty lower lip. Without thinking, I reached up to stroke it.

  His eyes narrowed, like he was the hawk and I was an itty-bitty mouse that was going to get pounced on. But I couldn’t stop. Other than brushing across each other in the office, I hadn’t touched him. I didn’t want to stop now.

  He flicked his tongue out to lick my finger. I gasped and snatched my hand back. He caught my wrist and brought it down to my side, using his other arm to pull me into him.

  “I’ve been dying to know what kissing you is like.” His low tone rumbled over me.

  A bloom of heat exploded in my belly, sinking lower until I was uncomfortably turned on. “This was only supposed to be pretend.”

  “The engagement would be pretend, Eva. Wanting to fuck you is very real.”

  My lips parted with a sharp inhale. He wanted me? I could use this, but if we took it to the physical level, well, I wasn’t stupid. There was nothing about him that said he’d be bad in bed. He treated me with respect and I could stare at him all day. Throw in the high-class lifestyle and how could I play along for a year and keep my heart protected?

  Those thoughts were wiped out as he lowered his head and captured my mouth. My hand was still in his, curved behind my back, as I sank into his embrace. His kiss started soft, searching, but when I opened for him, his tongue moved in and I was swept away. Licking, nibbling, exploring, he plundered my mouth, all while holding me in place. We didn’t move, but my heart slammed against my ribs and an echoing throb resonated through my core.

  Eventually, he splayed his hand along my ass and released my arm. He snaked both arms around me and hugged me against his hard body. I angled my head to taste him better and twined myself around his broad shoulders.

  An alarm bell was going off. This was too hot, felt too nice. Kissing like this? He wouldn’t just be good in bed, he’d be epic. He wasn’t an eleven, he was a fifteen, and his hard length promised pleasure that I’d never known—and I wanted to know so badly.

  I should stop.

  He skimmed his teeth along my lower lip and nipped his way down my neck. Scrunching the fabric of my dress in his hands, he was drawing it up, and oh God, were we going to fuck at the base of his stairs?

  Did I care?

  We’d only met less than a week ago. I should care. But I didn’t.

  “Eva…” he growled. “I want—”

  I wanted it too, but it was a bad idea. Too fast, too much. My mind was scrambling and I had to be clearheaded around him. All those months internet stalking him had done this to me. Beckett King in real life shorted out all rational thought. He seemed to be waiting for an answer.

  What did I do? What should I say?

  A musical chime rang through the stairwell. The tension between us drained. I knew that tune. They played it all the time in the bar.

  The chime sounded again. “‘Drunk on a Plane’?”

  “Yes,” he growled. “It’s my brother’s ringtone.”

  He released me and grabbed his phone from his pocket, flipped it to vibrate, and shoved it back in again.

  “You should answer that.” Because his brother had saved me and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough t
o resist if he kissed me again.

  “I can call him later.”

  The dull buzz of his phone went off.

  “I’ve been with you long enough to know that no one keeps calling when they can’t reach you. Is that what your brother’s usually like?”

  He looked like he could commit murder, but he answered the phone. “What.”

  He listened a moment, his expression dropping from irritated to grim. He straightened and turned his back.

  “How bad?” He shook his head and cut his hand through his hair, leaving it there. His body was tense. “What? Now? Yeah, I know. Fine. No, I’ll make the arrangements.” He disconnected but stood there, staring at the phone.

  “Beckett? Is everything okay?”

  “Dad collapsed. He’s in the hospital.”

  I put my hand on his hard shoulder. “Is he in Montana?”

  “Yeah, he was home. This weekend is the big cattle drive. Dawson wants me out there so one of us can be at the hospital and the others helping. I guess Xander is flying out.”

  “Oh… Okay.” My professional mind took over. “I need a key for the office, but I can field all your calls. Just keep your phone forwarded. If I have any questions, I’ll just bundle them and we can catch up once a day so you can concentrate on your family.”

  He turned to me, his brows low, his eyes questioning. “Come with me.”

  I cocked my head. Surely I hadn’t heard him correctly. “Hmm?”

  His hands were on my shoulders, but his touch wasn’t sexual. The news of his dad had kicked him off-center. Understandable, but wouldn’t he rather be with his family?

  “Fly with me. We wouldn’t be gone more than a week. Moving cattle to the winter pastures takes three days and by then we’ll know what’s going on with Dad.”

  Panic was crawling up my throat, the soup curdling in my belly. A week away. “What will I do? Work from Montana?”

  “Be my pretend fiancée.” He clenched his jaw and the muscles in his cheeks jumped. “It’ll help— It’ll help take the stress off the old man.”