The Texas Billionaire's Bride / The Texas Bodyguard's Proposal: The Texas Billionaire's Bride. Crystal Green
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don’t matter,” she said, “then why give me a makeover, even as a thank you?”
She’d turned to him in her direct manner. He faced her, too, and out of habit, he actually thought he might be able to make her look away if he stayed quiet long enough.
Yet she stood her ground, and he was the one at the disadvantage, overtaken by the depth and color of her eyes. There was a vivid strength in her gaze, like the undertow of the sea, and he’d noticed it even prior to the makeup bringing it out.
Before he knew what he was doing, he raised his hand and rested it on her cheek, where there had always been a natural blush, even without the aid of all these cosmetics.
Then, realizing what had just happened, he rubbed his thumb over the makeup as if to take some of it off.
“You don’t need all this,” he said.
And it was true. Achingly true.
Her eyes had gone wide. He’d shocked her, he knew, and he wondered if it was because of his brash move or because she could feel the same current that sizzled when his skin met hers.
He could see her throat working as she swallowed, and his breathing picked up.
What if he moved his fingertips down over her jaw, to her neck, where he could brush over the delicate, smooth lines? What would she do then?
What would he do after that?
Nothing around them stirred, the air seeming to hover in place, locking everything in to this one moment, this one touch. Locking them into each other’s gazes, where he could see a different world, a livelier one, hued with the laughter he’d heard on the roof of his townhouse a few hours ago.
But then he remembered how he’d put an end to the gaiety, just because he was Zane Foley—bad husband, bad father.
He’d promised he wouldn’t add any more “bad”s to his list.
Slowly, he removed his hand from her face and turned away, going for his cell phone to see where in tarnation Monty was.
As he accessed speed dial, he could feel Melanie beside him, awkward in the aftermath. And he hated himself for doing that to her—putting this otherwise self-assured woman in a place where she had no firm footing.
That’s right, he thought, once again Zane Foley’s made a mess of things.
But he was going to make sure it didn’t happen again.
Ever.
Melanie arose early the next morning, getting out of bed at the crack of dawn.
Since sleep hadn’t come easy—once again—she thought she might as well make the most of her last morning here. So she showered and threw on a sundress before going down to the kitchen, where she’d stored all the food she’d purchased from the market yesterday, including the makings of a meal that had been a hit with kids in the past—fluffy biscuit sandwiches teeming with egg, bacon and cheese. Hearty and filling.
As the biscuits baked in the oven, she began whisking the eggs, milk, garlic salt and pepper together, but all the while she kept looking toward the hallway that led to Zane’s study and bedroom.
Couldn’t she stop thinking of how he’d touched her last night? How her heart had nearly exploded at the feel of his hand on her cheek?
She stopped taking her frustration out on the eggs and fanned a hand in front of her face. Whoo. Maybe it was the heat of the oven, combined with the vulnerability of her skin after last night’s makeover facial.
Or maybe it was because Zane Foley had a power over her that no man had ever come close to.
Either way, he’d pulled away from her in the end, sending her belly sinking. Because…seriously?
She and Zane Foley—the billionaire?
Chuffing, she told herself that he’d just been wiping makeup off her face, and that was that. He was a control freak, and that obviously extended to making sure his nannies were just the way he wanted to see them, if anyone should ever get a gander.
But…
She closed her eyes. How about the desire she’d seen in his gaze? At least, that’s what she thought it’d been when it’d just about buckled her knees.
She opened her eyes again, wishing she could figure him all the way out.
Her gaze wandered to the living room, where he’d been looking at something in that chest the other night.
What if she took a peek, just in case it offered an answer?
Any answer.
Glancing around at the still house, with its blur of stained glass muting the morning, she put down the egg bowl before second guessing herself, then went to the living room, heading straight for the TV and the chest sitting on the shelves right beside it.
All while, she chided herself. Mel, think about what you’re doing.
But if this helped her to understand him, it couldn’t hurt, right?
She unlatched the chest—there was no lock, thank goodness—then eased it open to get a glimpse.
What she found made her close it and put it back the way she’d found it, her heartbeat strangled.
An urn.
Danielle’s ashes?
Feeling as if she’d intruded into someone’s most private secrets, Melanie retreated back to the kitchen to finish making breakfast.
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