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“I agree,” Eden joked, crossing her legs as she reached for a pen and tablet that sat on the nightstand.
Marah drew her arms up and over her head, her eyes closed tightly as Eden continued. Her twin sister giggled as if something were actually humorous.
“First,” Eden said, switching to her serious business tone as she pretended to scribble a note across the notepad. “When you meet a man you’re interested in, try not to smell like manure.”
Marla burst out laughing.
“Neither one of you is funny,” Marah responded, not bothering to look in their direction.
“Definitely not as funny as you and that man,” Eden quipped.
“Leave it alone, Eden.”
“Leave what alone? Your obvious interest in a man you’ve deemed your enemy hardly went unnoticed. Even Daddy noticed.”
Marah sat upright on the bed. “Did he say something?
“Who?”
“Daddy.”
Both women grinned broadly, cutting a glance in each other’s direction before turning their gazes back to Marah.
“No,” Marla said, her expression saying otherwise. “Did you hear Daddy say something, Eden?”
Eden shrugged. “Not me. I didn’t hear anything.”
Marah reached for one of the plush pillows that decorated the room and sent it sailing toward Eden’s head. Her sister ducked and giggled, the pillow bouncing against the pink wall behind them.
“Don’t you hit my baby,” Marla admonished, a protective hand reaching across her son’s back.
“What did Daddy say?” Marah implored, her voice dropping to a loud whisper.
Eden smiled. “Daddy said that it’s going to be interesting to see what’s going to happen with you and Mr. Stallion.”
“Actually, he said it’s going to be very interesting,” Marla interjected, her head bobbing against her shoulders.
“Can you believe the audacity of that man?” Marah questioned, her eyes flicking from one sister to the other. “And did you get a good look at his rear end? That man has a body to die for!”
In a flash, the memory of John Stallion and their elevator ride resurfaced. Marah could feel her body temperature rising rapidly, her breathing becoming static as she recalled the moment.
“What’s wrong with you?” Eden asked, eyeing her curiously. “You’re all flushed all of a sudden. You’re not getting sick on us are you? You can’t get sick, Marah. You have a dinner date tonight, remember?”
Marah did remember, a wave of anxiety sweeping through her. “I can’t go,” she said, her head waving emphatically from side to side.
“What’s going on?” Marla asked, leaning forward in her seat.
Marah swallowed hard before responding. “Stallion and I had a close encounter in the elevator of his offices this morning,” she said. “A very close encounter.”
Marla looked confused. “Why doesn’t that sound like it was good thing?”
“Oh, it was a very good thing. That’s part of the problem. I find him irresistible and that’s so wrong. He made me remember what I’m missing.”
Eden rose to her feet; Marla reached for her baby before doing the same. “You better go shower and get ready. I imagine that at least one of those Stallion brothers might be just what you’re looking for.”
The spray of hot water felt good on Marah’s bare skin. She was in dire need of relaxation and allowed herself to revel in the aromatic scent of the floral body wash in the steamy mist that billowed warmly around her. Leaning back against the shower wall, Marah relished the sensation of the tiles against her skin. Her senses had been off-kilter since her encounter with that man, her awareness of her own longings and desires more acute. The sensitivity was like nothing she could explain, the weight of it heavy in her feminine spirit.
Although she didn’t want to admit it, she still burned hot from his body heat, her skin feeling as if it were on fire. Her blood boiled as she thought about him, and Marah imagined that if it were at all possible her insides might easily combust. She could never admit to him that she wanted to feel him near her again, his body moving with hers. She shook her head vehemently, shaking the thoughts from her mind.
She stood still beneath the flow of warm liquid that rinsed the suds from her flesh. She had to have a game plan. She had to be ready to counter whatever John Stallion and his so-called executive board threw at her. She had to do whatever it took to regain some control and do what was in her father’s best interest.
Control. I have lost control, she thought. And if someone were to ask her how and why, she couldn’t begin to give them an answer. Something about that man, damn him, had made her lose control.
Marah heaved a deep sigh. Obviously, appealing to his sense of honor wasn’t going to do her any good. The man was clearly a snake in sheep’s clothing who had no honor. Or at least that’s what Marah was working hard to convince herself. As she stood thinking about the man and their very brief history together, the obvious suddenly shifted her mood and she found herself smiling.
This was going to be easier than she’d realized. John Stallion was, in fact, just a man. The look he gave her after she exited the elevator served to prove that he was a man who could easily be moved by a woman. And not just any woman, but a female like Marah Briscoe.
Marah grinned broadly, tilting her face into the flow of water. John Stallion might be the shark of all sharks, but Marah was a barracuda in her own right. A barracuda with the body of a goddess. John Stallion didn’t have a clue what was about to hit him.
Marah stood in the foyer of her family’s home, appraising the black stretch limousine that sat in wait in the driveway. Behind her, Eden shook her head, her gaze evaluating her baby sister’s wardrobe choice. Reaching into the foyer closet she dug through the coats and jackets until she found a lightweight silk shawl that she passed to Marah.
“Here, put this on,” Eden commanded. “Daddy is already in a mood about what you did. We don’t need him starting in about you and that tattoo.”
Marah rolled her eyes skyward, but took the garment from her sister’s hands and wrapped it around her shoulders to cover her back. She met Eden’s gaze, her mother’s eyes scolding her from her sister’s face. Her tattoos had always been a bone of contention between her and her family, her parents vehemently disapproving of her body art. She took a deep breath and then a second, blowing warm breath out slowly.
“Wish me luck,” she intoned, reaching out to hug the two women who had been her best friends since the day she’d been born. Their father’s booming voice sounded from the top of the stairwell.
“What’s luck got to do with anything?” he asked as he made his way down the stairs. “You’re playing in the big leagues now, Marah Jean. Them Stallion boys wheel and deal every day. They’re making multimillion dollar decisions for breakfast and spitting out the small players for lunch. They’re at the top of their game because they’re supersmart. You’re going to need your brain, munchkin. Not luck.”
His daughters stared at him, all three standing with their mouths wide open. Before either of them could say anything, his eyes narrowed into thin slits.
“Where’s the rest of your dress, young lady?” he asked, his stare racing the length of Marah’s body.
The young woman stammered, her mouth opening and closing as she sucked in air. She looked toward her sisters for help, heaving a sigh of relief when Marla came to her rescue.
“That’s the style now, Daddy. That dress is too cute on her!” she exclaimed, Eden nodding her agreement.
“Humph,” Edward grunted, not at all convinced.
Marah quickly changed the subject. “Where are you going?” she asked, admiring the black tuxedo he sported.
Eden reached to adjust the patriarch’s bow tie and collar. “You look quite dashing, Daddy,” she said.
Edward grinned. “Why thank you very much! And, I’m joining you for dinner,” he said to Marah as he extended his elbow in her direction, his palm pressed flat against his abdomen. “Shall we?”
Marah smiled back, her eyes wide with surprise as she pressed her arm through her father’s. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Briscoe,” she answered as she allowed him to guide her out the front door to the waiting vehicle. “Simply delighted!”
Chapter 4
The drive to the magnificent Preston Hollow estate on Audubon Avenue would have taken Marah’s breath away had she been breathing. But Marah felt as if she’d been holding her breath since she and her father stepped into the vehicle, the patriarch chatting away as if this was something that they did every day. Edward didn’t seem to notice that Marah was twisting her fingers together nervously, anxiety flushing her face with color. She was nervous and excited about seeing John Stallion again and she couldn’t ever remember being nervous or excited about any man.
The driver stopped at the entrance to the grand home. Constructed of Austin stone with copper accents and a tile roof, the European-style residence easily encompassed some fifteen thousand square feet of living space. It sat on some sizeable acreage as well, and Marah took in the expanse of landscaping that boasted a putting green, an Olympic-size swimming pool and tennis courts. It didn’t, however, begin to compare to the ranch.
Edward barely blinked as they made their way to the iron-and-glass entrance, moving as if this was all an everyday occurrence. At the door he depressed the button for the doorbell, tossing Marah a quick wink as they waited for someone to answer.
Their wait was brief as the receptionist Marah had encountered that morning at the entrance to the Stallion conference room opened the front door. The woman smiled warmly as she greeted them both by name and then leaned to kiss Edward’s lips.
The gesture took Marah by complete surprise, and the expression across her face showed her displeasure. In all her life she had only seen her mother kiss her father like that and so the moment did not sit well with Marah at all. She could feel herself bristle, tension adding to the stress she had already been feeling.
The other woman’s voice intruded on Marah’s thoughts.
“It’s very nice to finally meet you, dear. I’ve heard a lot about you and your sisters.”
Imagine that, Marah thought to herself. We’ve never heard anything about you. Marah forced a smile onto her face. “Thank you,” she said. “How do you know my father?”
His eyes avoiding hers, Edward answered the question, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Juanita and I are old friends.”
It was on the tip of Marah’s tongue to ask how old “old” was, but the moment passed as Juanita Hilton escorted them into the formal living space of the home, her arm now looped through Marah’s father’s arm.
Conversation stopped as Marah and her father stepped from the foyer into a handsome study that was complemented by Brazilian cherrywood floors, wall-to-wall built-in bookcases and a beamed ceiling. The four Stallion men had stood in deep discussion, debating the merits of a mutual fund portfolio when their attention was diverted in her direction. Those four pairs of eyes were appraising her for the second time that day. And Marah stared back, meeting each gaze one by one, noting the expensive tuxedos each wore to perfection. Black suits adorning picture-perfect, rock-hard physiques. She suddenly felt like a kid with a sweet tooth in a candy shop.
Matthew Stallion greeted them first, extending his hand toward her father before formally introducing himself to Marah.
“We’re glad you and your father could join us this evening, Marah.”
“Thank you,” she responded politely.
Edward shook hands with each of them in turn, an easy camaraderie obvious between them all. Marah suddenly had a long list of questions she intended to ask the old man before the evening was over.
John Stallion was the last brother to step forward to greet them.
“Let me take your wrap for you,” he said as he stepped behind her, his fingers grazing hers as she allowed the garment to slip from her shoulders.
The man was awestruck. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Marah. He was held hostage by bare skin, her attire screaming for attention. Her entire back was exposed. She wore just the hint of a forest-green silk dress, a triangle of fabric that draped into a valley of deep cleavage and stopped mere inches past her southern quadrant to wrap around the shelf of her buttocks. The halter-style dress was tied with a wisp of silk ribbon at the neck and waist.
John found himself dazzled by the expanse of tattoo that painted the woman’s back. Starting just below her hairline, an intricate depiction of scrolls and flowers was detailed in magnificent color against her warm complexion, seeming to stop somewhere past the curve of her buttocks. He marveled at the tattoo’s intricacy, having never seen such a display of artwork on a woman before. Not one other blemish marred her skin, the tone so smooth and even that one could only imagine how soft and sweet she might be in a man’s arms. He resisted an urge to draw his finger against her bare flesh.
He wasn’t used to the sensations sweeping through him, his blood surging as it simmered through his veins. Since their brief encounter in the elevator and their abrupt introduction in his boardroom, John felt as if his whole world had changed and John wasn’t one to like a whole lot of change. But everything felt different. He felt different, as if some piece of that woman was crawling just beneath the surface of his skin, pleasant but irritating. With her suddenly in his presence, standing so close that the fragrant scent of her perfume was teasing his nostrils, it was almost too much for him to take. He suddenly pondered whether or not a shot or two of straight scotch might calm his frazzled nerves. John shook his head, trying to clear the rush of confusion that threatened to consume him as he still stood staring like he’d lost his mind.
Marah could feel his eyes burning over her flesh and she smiled slyly. Working her assets came naturally and she paused just long enough for him to get a good look before she spun slowly in his direction to face him. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, accentuating the curve of her buttocks and the narrow line of her thin waist. “Cat got your tongue, Mr. Stallion?”
John blinked, forcing his focus back to her exquisite caramel-colored eyes, the forest-thick lashes batting in his direction. “I’m sorry. You were saying…?”
“I was admiring your home,” Marah said, a soft smile brightening her face. “Have you lived here long?”
“We built the house back in 2002, right after the company started doing well.
Marah’s smile widened. “And you all live here?” she asked, her gaze skating from one to the other.
Mark shook his head, the appendage waving from side to side. “Not anymore. Luke and I are the only two still here at home. John and Matthew both have their own places.”
“Interesting,” Marah said, nodding slowly.
John shrugged. “Not really. We entertain clients here and occasionally a business associate or two might stay here if they need to be in town for an extended period of time.”
“We like to make our guests feel at home,” Juanita chimed, her gaze resting on Edward’s.
Marah couldn’t help but note the look that passed between them. Her discomfort did not go unnoticed as John looked from her to the older couple and back again.
“Miss Hilton has been our surrogate mother. She lives here as well and keeps us in line,” he said.
“Now that’s right,” the woman chimed, a warm chuckle passing over her lips.
“Do you have any other family here?” Marah asked curiously. “Your parents?”
The man shook his head. “No. It’s just us four,” he said, an air of tension rising from his center. Marah sensed that she had struck a sensitive nerve and immediately regretted having asked the question.
Luke changed the subject. “Why don’t we move this conversation to the dinner table. I’m starved.”
“I second that,” Mark echoed.
Juanita Hilton moved ahead of them. “I’ll let the kitchen know you’re ready to be served,” she said, shifting into assistant mode.
John took the seat at the head of the table, guiding her to the seat at his side. Her father was seated at the other end, Juanita taking the seat on his right side as the Stallion brothers occupied the remaining chairs. The table was set immaculately, the Stallions displaying their finest china and crystal. Eden, with her pretentious airs, would have been duly impressed, Marah thought to herself.
The conversation was casual as they all chatted easily over a meal of prime rib, glazed carrots and garlic mashed potatoes. Marah knew that her father was truly comfortable when he starting telling a few of the many cowboy jokes he’d become famous for.
“Okay,” Edward was saying, everyone’s eyes on him. “This old cowhand comes riding into town on one of them hot, dry, dusty days. Now the local sheriff is standing at the front of the saloon watching as the cowboy climbs on down off his horse and ties the mustang to a rail a few feet from the entrance.
“The sheriff, he says, ‘Howdy, stranger.’ and the old cowboy gives him a ‘Howdy, sheriff’ right back. The cowboy then goes to the back of his horse, lifts its tail and places a big kiss on that horse’s ass end. He drops the tail, steps up on the sidewalk and heads through the swinging doors into the saloon.
“Now, the sheriff can’t believe what he’s just seen and he says, ‘Hold on, mister. Did I just see what I think I saw?’ And the man says, ‘Reckon you did, sheriff. I got me some powerful chapped lips.’ The sheriff is still floored by what the man did so he asks him, ‘Does kissing that horse’s ass cure them lips of yours?’ And the man says, ‘Nope, but it does keep me from lickin’ ’em.”
The men bust out laughing. Marah could only shake her head having heard that joke and most of her father’s others more times than she cared to count. As the evening wore on, Marah was beginning to think the night was about everything except the acquisition of her family’s homestead. Throughout the evening she could feel John stealing glances in her direction, his timid behavior reminiscent of an adolescent in the cusp of a first crush. Marah figured she would be well served to take full advantage of the situation.
She leaned closer in his direction, her eyes widening with intrigue as she gave him a wry smile.
“Mr. Stallion?’
“Please, call me John. Too many Mr. Stallions for us to know which one you’re looking for,” he said, tossing a quick wink toward his brothers.
“John, about the ranch…” she started.
Her father interrupted, clearing his throat to draw their attention in his direction and away from whatever it was Marah was about to say. “John, my boy. I didn’t get a chance to tell Marah about your hobby. She’s quite the art collector. I was thinking that she might like to see your studio one day.”
Marah turned back to face the man, her annoyance dispelled by her curiosity. “You’re an artist?”
John shrugged his shoulders, a shy smile filling his face. “I dabble on occasion.”
