Her Forbidden Cowboy. Charlene Sands
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He would take care of her.
“Focus on putting one foot in front of the other.”
She tried.
“That’s good, honey.”
Hobble-hopping, they moved together. It seemed to take forever to go a short distance in the dark shadows of the night. Keeping her eyes down, she watched her feet move. Then blinding light appeared in a burst. She squinted. “What’s that?”
“We’re inside the house now,” Zane was saying.
“That’s g-good, right? I’ll be in b-bed soon.” A warm buzz spread through her like soft, sweet jelly.
“Not upstairs. You’ll never make it. We’re going to my room.”
She couldn’t wait to lay her head down someplace. She didn’t care where. More careful steps later, they entered a room. A ray of moonlight beamed like an arrow, aiming straight at the bed.
“Okay, we made it,” Zane said. He sounded weird and out of breath. “You’ll sleep here tonight.”
He guided her down. The bed hit her bottom quickly and cushioned around her. She swayed sideways and was immediately set to right. Zane held her steady as the mattress dipped again and he sat next to her. Dizzying waves bombarded her head. She’d sat too quickly.
“Think you can take it from here?” he whispered.
No. Aware of Zane’s eyes on her, she waited until the twister in her head calmed. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Good.”
Her giddiness fading, her lighthearted high dropped to a pitiful low. It hadn’t taken her long to become a burden to Zane. If only she hadn’t sucked down that second margarita. Zane had warned her to go slowly. Expensive tequila and jet lag had done her in. Man, chalk another mistake up to her lousy intuition.
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said.
But she was, and an urge to thank him wiggled through the fog in her head. Pursing her lips, she leaned forward toward his cheek. Her aim off, she missed and caught the corner of his mouth instead. As she brushed a soft kiss there, he tasted of tequila and the sea. So good. Inside, a warm sprinkling of something wonderful spread through her body. “Thank you,” she whispered, not sure if her words slurred.
Then his arms wrapped around her and gently lowered her down. Her head was enveloped in a large, fluffy pillow, and a silky sheet came to rest over her body.
She heard a whispered, “Welcome,” right before the world finally stopped spinning.
Jessica gazed at the digital clock on the nightstand. Eight-thirty! She flashed back to last night and drinking those two giant margaritas, then slowly looked around. She was in an unfamiliar bed.
She’d finally let go and given herself permission to have a good time, and where had that gotten her? She’d made a fool of herself. Zane had hobbled her inside the house and slept heaven only knew where. Was there another bedroom on this floor? Maybe a servant’s quarters? She’d seen an office, a screening room and a game room. No beds, just couches. “Oh, man,” she mumbled.
She scanned the stark but stylish bedroom where she’d slept. A flat-screen TV, a dresser and a low fabric sofa were the only other furniture in the room. If it wasn’t for a shelf that housed Zane’s five Grammys, as well as a couple of CMA and ACM awards, she wouldn’t have guessed it was his master suite. There was nothing personal, warm and cozy about the space.
Hitching her body forward, she waited for signs of pain, but there was nothing. Thank goodness—no hangover. She grabbed her glasses from the nightstand, tossed off the covers and rose. Seeing she was still dressed in her shorts and tank top, she emitted a low groan from her throat as she slipped her feet into her flip-flops. How reckless of her. She’d abused Zane’s hospitality already.
She entered the bathroom, another ode to magnificence, and glanced at herself in the mirror. Smudged mascara and rumpled hair reflected back at her. She washed her face and finger-combed her long wayward tresses. She’d take care of the rest once she reached her own room.
Exiting Zane’s room, she made her way down a short hallway. Voices coming from the kitchen perked up her ears.
Mrs. Lopez spotted her and waved her inside. “Just in time for breakfast.”
Mariah and Zane sat at the kitchen table, coffee mugs piping hot in front of them. Upon the housekeeper’s announcement, both heads lifted her way. Blood rushed up her neck, and her face flamed.
“Morning,” Zane said, peering into her eyes and not at her wrinkled mess of clothes. “You ready for some breakfast?”
“Good morning, Jessica,” Mariah said. They’d obviously been deep in concentration, poring over a stack of papers.
“Yes, yes. Sit down,” Mrs. Lopez insisted.
“Oh, uh...good morning. I don’t want to intrude. You look busy.”
“Just same old, same old,” Mariah said. “We’re going over plans for Zane’s new restaurant. We could use your input.”
She’d given Zane her input last night. God. She’d kissed him. Remembering that kiss sent a warm rash of heat through her body. She’d missed his cheek and gotten hold of his lips. Was it the alcohol, or had her heart strummed from that kiss? The alcohol. Had to be. He must have known it was a genuine miscalculation on her part. She hadn’t meant to kiss him that way.
“Yes, have a seat, Jess,” he said casually. “You need to eat. And we sure need a fresh perspective.”
Before her shower? Luckily Zane hadn’t mentioned anything about her lack of discretion last night or her state of dress today. She’d overslept, that much was a given. Back home, she rose before six every morning. She loved to go through the morning newspaper, take a walk in the backwoods and then eat a light breakfast before heading to her classroom.
There were a platter of bagels with cream cheese, a scrambled egg jalapeno dish and cereal boxes on the table. The eggs smelled heavenly, and her stomach grumbled. Seeing no other option, she sat down and reached for the eggs as Mrs. Lopez provided her with a bowl and a cup of coffee.
“Bien.” She gave a satisfied nod.
Jessica smiled at her.
As Zane and his assistant finished up their breakfast, she ate, too, complimenting Mrs. Lopez on the food she’d prepared.
Zane told Mariah, “Janie and Jessica worked at their folks’ café in Beckon. They served the best fried chicken in all of Texas.”
“That’s what most folks said,” she agreed. She couldn’t claim modesty. Her parents did make the best fried chicken in the state. “My parents opened Holcomb House when I was young. They worked hard to make a go of it. It wasn’t anything as grand as what you’re probably planning, but in Beckon, the Holcomb House was known for good eats and a friendly atmosphere. When Dad died five years ago, my mom couldn’t make a go of it by herself. I think she lost the will, so she sold the restaurant. I’m no expert, but if I can help in any way, I’ll give it a try.”
“Great,” Mariah said.
“Appreciate it,” Zane added. “This restaurant will be a little different than the one in Reno, in cuisine and atmosphere. The beach is a big draw for tourists, and we want it to be a great experience.”
Zane probably had half a dozen financial advisors, but if he needed her help in any way, she’d oblige. How could she not? She cringed thinking that Zane slept on a sofa last night. A quick glance at his less than crisp clothes, the same clothes he’d worn last night, meant that he probably hadn’t got to shower this morning,