One Night With The Texan. Lauren Canan
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Finley was the beautiful woman he’d spent the night with in New Orleans. No doubt.
Apparently she hadn’t recognized him. Yet. He currently wore a beard and was dressed in a suit and tie. He was certain she had a completely different perspective of him now than she had then. But he knew her. He would never forget those beautiful, voluptuous curves, that stunning face, the long, silky, ebony hair and that deep Southern drawl.
She was the vision he’d dreamed about and thought about for almost three months. While striking, in the darkness her eyes hadn’t been such a vivid green. Now they blazed emerald fire.
“Your eyes are so green.” It just came out. And right now they were spitting green daggers.
She stared like he’d gone daft then turned away, suddenly angry. “Is the color of my eyes of great importance?”
“No. No. I just...it surprised me, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of things surprise me.”
Yeah, Cole thought. And she was going to face a whopper of a surprise just around the corner. He would wait to see how long it took her to figure it out.
She reached up and pulled the band from her hair. With a quick shake and a finger-comb it was floating on the breeze like a dark, wispy cloud.
Damn, she was a beautiful woman. Tall and slender. Still a head shorter than his six foot four, she appeared both fragile and resilient. He had firsthand, intimate knowledge she possessed both those qualities. Her eyes demanded respect. Her hair was long, past her waist, and so black it looked blue under the direct sunlight. He could see the determination in her stance; in the way she carried herself. High cheekbones and those brilliant green eyes stood out in her slightly bronzed face. A man could get lost in those eyes. Easily. But he saw the determination in them. She wasn’t here on a fool’s mission. She would fight for the right to work on this dig and uncover evidence of her Native American ancestors’ lost tribe. How did a man compete with something like that? If she was legit. If she was really here to find artifacts.
“Is there anything more I can do for you, Mr. Masters?”
He stepped toward her until less than a foot separated them. “That is the question.”
He was close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body.
She stepped back. “If not, I need to get busy.”
He’d never thought he would see her again, although he’d hoped to. He’d kicked himself a hundred times for not getting her name and contact information before he’d left that Saturday morning. He began to relax. With her hair piled up on top of her head at first and the green coveralls that hid every luscious curve, he was surprised he’d recognized her. But he had and she was here. His project was going to be delayed for a while but now it had a silver lining.
He could only stare as she began to work her locks into a long, silken braid. Suddenly it felt as though they were the only two people on earth. In this setting it wasn’t hard to imagine. The sight caused every cell in his body to spring to readiness. A liquid heat ran rampant through him, pooling in his groin. It was New Orleans on steroids. And he wanted her until it hurt.
Images raced through his mind; images of her in bed, sheets tangled from their hot, sensual lovemaking. On her face were satisfaction and the need for more of him, which he gladly gave. Her ebony hair draped over his chest as he held her hot, damp body in his arms, fighting to slow his breathing. Tallie left the rest of the women he’d known in the dirt. How long until he could hold her in his arms again? There was no thought of never.
Cole took a deep breath and blew it out. He needed to push his wayward thoughts to the back of his mind and get away from this woman with all possible speed. Making a concentrated effort, he snapped himself out of the daydream. Get a grip.
“I—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you to your work.” He nodded, turned and walked back toward the chopper, his clarity of mind shot to hell.
He hadn’t gone ten feet before he stopped and turned to face her. “Have you ever been to New Orleans, Dr. Finley?”
She squinted her eyes and tilted her head, no doubt finding the question odd.
“It’s where I went to school. So, yes. I spent six years there. Why?”
He shrugged. “You just look like someone I knew once who lived there.” He planted the seed. Now to see how long it would take her to come to figure things out.
A long moment passed between them before he turned toward the helicopter, boarded, started the massive engine, lifted off and flew away.
* * *
“Thanks for welcoming me to the neighborhood,” she muttered to herself as she turned toward her old, battered Ford. What an odd man.
And she couldn’t get over the fact that her mind was screaming, You know him! It was an absurdity. He traveled the world, was worth billions with a capital B, while she worked in the dirt and had barely a thousand bucks in the bank. Still...she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling they had met before. And what was with that question about New Orleans? She’d gone to school there but she surely would remember if she had ever met him. She never ventured far from campus and knew very few that weren’t associated with the college.
In fact, the only real outing she’d had was when she, Mac and Ginger had gotten together after graduation. She’d met a handsome stranger that night. But no way could that man have been Cole Masters. The stranger was nice and showed no arrogance at all. If the stranger had even one penny for every hundred thousand Masters had, he would be doing all right. He could even buy himself some new clothes. They were almost the same size. No doubt that’s what kept bugging her. Pushing the thoughts from her mind she began to unpack the old Ford wagon. Maybe it would come to her eventually.
It took her a while to unpack. Most of her things could be stored inside the trapper’s cabin. It was on the land covered by the court order, so she had no qualms using it. If Cole Masters didn’t like it, she could always set up her tent. A closer inspection confirmed the one-room shack was sturdier than she’d originally thought. It contained an old wood-burning stove and a twin-size bed. The mattress, once white, was now the color of the dirt outside and so old it had been stuffed with peanut shells and cotton. There were holes in the roof and floor and the only window didn’t have any panes. She had camped in worse. She just couldn’t remember when. Her sleeping bag would provide some insulation and the rusty legs of the bed would keep her off the floor, so there was that at least.
She was used to roughing it, but her pregnancy added an extra wrinkle to the situation. Before she’d come here, her doctor had given her the green light—she was in excellent health and should be fine to do her job. But he’d warned her to take care of herself. The cabin would do for now, but she was going to have to keep a close eye on how she was feeling and make sure she didn’t overdo it.
By the time she had unpacked most of her things, the bulldozers had been moved and an area had been marked off by little red flags. It was actually a larger area than she’d first imagined. She would have to thank Mr. Masters for that the next time he came snooping, which, if he was like other land owners, should be in about three days.
Tallie eyed the area to determine the best place to start. Over toward the cliffs, she decided. She would map out a grid and go from there.
She returned to her car for the last of the gear. Her old tent was on the bottom of a pile of equipment. She probably should drag it out and spend some time patching the rips and holes. She hadn’t taken time to patch it after the last dig when the wind had blown it into a huge cactus patch. But she was anxious to start the dig. She would leave it for now and just use the old trapper’s cabin. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission anyway. If Mr. Masters wanted her out of the ramshackle building, all he had to do was tell her.
She picked up the bolt of orange string, a handful of wooden stakes and a hammer, and chose a spot most favorable. She wouldn’t finish before the sun set, but every step