Conquering King's Heart / Montana Mistress. Maureen Child
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sell his sportswear. But damn if he’d been able to do that.
“Jesse, how much longer?”
He turned to look at Tom, the photographer, then shot a quick glance at his own wristwatch. “Give her another few minutes, Tom. As soon as she admits she was wrong to stick her nose in, we’ll get back to the shoot.”
“Fine by me,” Tom told him, shifting a fast look at the cobalt-blue sky above. “But we’ve only got this section of the beach for the morning.”
“You’re right.” Jesse’s permit would end at noon, so there was no point in indulging Bella any further, even to get her to admit that she was wrong. He stalked over to the RV and knocked on the door. “Bella,” he called out, “time’s up. We need to finish the shoot.”
The door to the RV opened and the models came out, smiling and primping. Jesse checked out each and every one of them as they walked past him. Even the skinniest of the models looked as if she had a figure now. The fabrics clung to their bodies and enhanced what few curves they had. It cost him to think it, but Bella had been right.
Tom, the photographer, let loose a low whistle and instantly started staging the women into far more prominent poses for the ad shoot. Jesse watched and shook his head, amazed, really, at the transformation. But where the hell was Bella?
Smiling to himself, he climbed the steps into the RV, stuck his head inside and shouted, “Lose your nerve? C’mon Bella, let’s see you in one of those suits you’re so proud of.”
“Turn around.” The sound of her voice came from right behind him and Jesse couldn’t figure out how she’d gotten past him. But when he turned to look at her, he understood completely.
For months, he’d seen the woman around town, always buried under mountains of fabric. He’d naturally assumed that she had a body she was trying to hide.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Bella?” His gaze moved over her in a quick, thorough glance, then he looked again, giving her a more leisurely going over. The woman had enough curves to make any man sit up and beg.
“Wow,” he said, walking a slow, tight circle around her, “you look…” Familiar was what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t figure out why that would be, so he let it go in favor of, “amazing.”
The bikini she wore was a deep red and clung to her body like a lover’s hands. Her breasts were high and full, her waist was small, her hips rounded and just above her behind, at the small of her back, a tiny tattoo of the sun peeked at him. Her skin was smooth and the color of warm honey. Her long, dark brown hair hung down her back and swayed with her every movement. And her chocolate eyes were watching him with satisfaction.
“Thanks,” she said, fisting her hands at her bare hips. “I believe I’ve made my point.”
He grinned at her. “What point was that?”
“That the right bathing suit makes all the difference.”
“Honey,” he said, “with a body like that, you could wear one of my suits and look amazing.”
She shook her head and he was fascinated with the way her hair danced and swayed. His body felt tight and need was a clamoring beast inside him. It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself, when what he wanted to do was pull her in close, kiss her until she couldn’t talk and then find the closest flat surface, lay her down on it and bury himself inside her.
But judging from the fire flashing in her eyes at the moment, that little fantasy wasn’t going to come true anytime soon.
“You’re incredible,” she said softly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I only dressed your models—and myself—to prove to you that I was right. That your way of doing things, mass-produced swimwear, isn’t the only way. That my way is better.”
“Not the way to make your fortune, though,” he said, leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb as she gathered up her tentlike blouse and skirt.
“Who says I’m interested in that?” she demanded, whipping her hair out of her eyes long enough to glare at him.
“You’re a businesswoman. Why wouldn’t you want to succeed?”
“Success doesn’t have to be your way.”
“My way’s not bad.” It occurred to him that he was defending his business. The very business he had never intended to start. “Contracting out to manufacturers streamlines the business, allows you to reach more customers and—”
“—And cuts you off from the customers, too,” she added. “You get so big you forget why you started your business in the first place. But that doesn’t matter to a King, does it?” She walked close, poked him in the chest with her index finger and said, “Your whole family—you’re like warlords or something. You swoop in, buy up what you want and never consider any way but yours.”
“Hey, now,” he argued, grabbing her finger and closing his fist around it. Warmth shot through him with the first contact of her skin against his, shattering his thoughts, obliterating whatever it was he’d been about to say.
He remembered feeling like this once before with the touch of a woman’s skin. Remembered the slide of her skin against his, the heat of their joining, the taste of her mouth, the tight fit of his body locked inside hers. And just for a second, Jesse stared at her, refusing to believe that Bella Cruz might be his mystery woman.
“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to tug her hand free of his grasp. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No way,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. It couldn’t be. Not her. Not the woman who had been a thorn in his side from day one.
“What?” This time she succeeded in pulling free of him and then she took a hasty step or two backward just for good measure. “Look, um, I’ve got to get to my shop. I’ve spent too much time here already and—”
“Just a minute,” he said, moving toward her, letting the RV door swing closed behind him. Inside, the trailer was filled with shadows, sunlight drifting through louvered shades on the windows. The scent of coffee and perfume hung in the air and from outside came the shouts and laughter of the crowd gathered to watch the photo shoot.
Jesse paid no attention to any of it. All he could see was her. Her chocolate eyes watched him warily even as he told himself that the only sure way to know if Bella was actually his mystery woman was to kiss her. To taste her. And damn if she was leaving this trailer until he’d done just that.
“Mr. King,” she said, looking around as if for an exit that wasn’t barred by his tall, broad body, “Jesse, I really do need to get going now.”
“Yeah,” he said, moving closer still until her breath fanned against his chin as she looked up at him. “I know. But there’s just one more thing we have to do first.”
She licked her lips. “What’s that?”
He smiled and dipped his head. “This,” he whispered, then took her mouth with his.
She went stiff as a board for about a split second, then pliant, leaning into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He pulled her in close, his hands at her waist, his fingertips nearly burning with the heat her skin engendered. Her lips parted under his and his tongue swept into her warmth and he knew.
That taste of her was something he would never forget. Something he’d been dreaming about for three years. He finally had her in his arms again. Finally could hold her, taste her, touch her and as realization flooded him, he broke the kiss abruptly, stared down into her glazed, dark brown eyes and said, “It’s you.”
She staggered a little. “What?”
“You.