Romancing the Tycoon

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He should just greet the woman naked and let her see all there was to see. She was, if the powers that be had their way, going to be his wife. Why bother with a courtship ritual? It wasn’t like any of it mattered?

This was a business merger. One he wasn’t fool enough to not see the benefits of, but one he didn’t have to like.

John had dated extensively, had had his share of physical relationships. But he’d always assumed that when he settled down for the long haul it would be with a woman who would love him for the man he was, not for the oil business he operated.

That wasn’t going to happen. Love, trust, neither of those ingredients would enter into the negotiations. He tugged the tie into a bow once more. Hell, why bother with any of these pretenses? Why not just call over the justice of the peace and have the ceremony performed this very weekend? No point in dragging out the inevitable. All that would do was prolong the agony.

John had never been a glutton for punishment. But he would have more than a wife in name only. That was the one thing he had to make clear this weekend. Infidelity was not his style and he refused to be forced down to that level for sexual gratification. If they were to be married, he would have her in his bed…willingly.

Though he had never met Regina Winterborne, the one photograph he’d seen when his father shoved it in front of his face promised an attractive woman. Her dark hair had been up in a ponytail and equally dark glasses had shielded her eyes, but she’d looked appealing otherwise even if the photograph had appeared to have caught her off guard. He had to ask himself, however, why a woman like that would allow herself to be manipulated into a loveless marriage?

For the same reasons he allowed it, John supposed.

He was the only heir, as she was. Their fathers obviously had their futures plotted out to the best interest of their respective companies. John wasn’t oblivious to the long-term benefits. But, dammit, this was the twenty-first century. Arranged marriages were a thing of the past. Offspring didn’t go to these kinds of extremes anymore to please their parents.

Well, he admitted, most didn’t, anyhow.

But here he was, primping to meet the woman he was supposed to marry in order to facilitate a business merger.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he said to his reflection in the full-length mirror.

He wouldn’t go back on his word. That was a given. John never broke a promise. He would see this weekend through and, if possible, he would come to an agreement with the woman. But he would have to know that there was hope for something more. That was the one promise he made to himself.

He would spend this weekend getting to know Regina Winterborne and, when it was over, if there was even a hint of hope, he would take the next step. But first he had to know that falling in love was at least a possibility. It wouldn’t take long to make that determination. He had three days and three nights. She would leave on Monday afternoon. The fact that her father probably wouldn’t be able to join them until around noon on Sunday was all the better. He needed time with the woman alone. Without interference from anyone else, including Nate. John intended to send him on his way as well. This had to be between John Calhoun and Regina Winterborne.

By the time their seventy-two hours together were up, he would know if she was the kind of woman with whom he could spend the rest of his life…to whom he could give his heart.

As sentimental as it sounded, that was the bottom line for John. Though his mother had been dead for more than a decade now, he still remembered the way his father had looked at her. The way she had looked at his father. That was what he wanted. Admittedly, under the circumstances, he might have to wait for it. But he had to have some promise that it could be forthcoming.

Anything less was unacceptable.

A light knock on his bedroom door dragged John from his troubling musings.

“It’s open.”

The door eased away from the frame and Liam stuck his head inside the room. “They’re here,” he said in his usual annoyed tone. Liam had worked on the Wild Horse for as long as John could remember and he hated when his normal routine was disrupted. “Nate called in and said they’d just turned onto Stampede Lane.”

“Thanks, Liam,” John said, mustering a smile for the old man.

He grumbled something resembling a “you’re welcome” and shut the door.

John took a last look at himself. His jeans were clean and freshly starched, as was his white shirt. The black string tie and freshly polished boots finished off the getup. Good enough for church, good enough for this, he decided. Anything more than that would have been too much. He had no intention of going out of his way until he saw further. Until he knew she was worth the extra exertion.

That was callous, he railed silently. But this was enough to make any man callous.

Settling his Stetson into place, John descended the stairs and opted to wait in the long entry hall that welcomed visitors to his family home. Stampede Lane was actually the driveway to the property, but it extended three miles so he had another moment or two.

He glanced around the room and wondered what a city dweller would think of his home. Not that he really cared. He’d loved this home his whole life. His mother had designed it and, as far as John was concerned, the southwestern villa was the most beautiful place in north Texas. If Miss Regina Winterborne didn’t like it, well that was her problem because this was where they would live.

His father had moved into a retirement community nearly three years ago. Not because John wanted him to, by God. He’d tried everything to talk his father into staying. But the stubborn old man had insisted that moving was what he wanted. Shortly after settling into the small but luxurious apartment community, John had realized why. J. R. Calhoun, as he was known to his friends, was in hog heaven. There were at least ten retired widows living in the community to every one retired widower. J.R. spent five nights out of seven having dinner with one available female or the other.

He did reserve Sunday nights for his one and only son. And Friday nights were for poker and catching his breath, he laughingly told John.

John really couldn’t blame him. His father had been incredibly lonesome since his wife of nearly forty years had died. John had the ranch as well as the business under control. What was there for him to do, J.R. had insisted? And he’d been right. He might as well enjoy his final days on this earth in whatever fashion he chose.

But John had a feeling that rugged old bucks like his father lived forever. Or, at the very least, long enough to see that his only son’s life was charted out just the way he wanted it.

John squared his shoulders and pushed the thoughts away. He had to stay focused this weekend. He had just seventy-two hours to determine if he could spend the rest of his life with Regina Winterborne.

AMY TRIED to stifle a gasp but failed miserably as the car parked in front of the house belonging to John Calhoun.

Mr. Beckman glanced at her, clearly surprised by her reaction.

The Calhoun home was no more ostentatious than the Winterborne place. But there was something more personal about it. Like the Winterborne mansion, the house was very large. But rather than a castle-like structure, this was a southwestern-style villa, complete with a red-tiled roof. Serving as a lush backdrop were north Texas’s vivid green pastures dappled with clusters of trees and horses. Acres and acres of white rail fencing closed in the pastures that went on for as far as the eye could see. The infinite beauty was interrupted only by the occasional barn.

There were no meticulous gardens as there had been at the Winterborne estate, but the grounds were nicely landscaped just the same. A couple of four-wheel-drive, crew-cab trucks sat near the house, and there was not a luxury automobile in sight. The limo that had brought them from the airport to the ranch was a rental, as had been the one back in Chicago.

Mr. Beckman opened the car door and gestured for Amy to get out first. He had chosen to sit in the passenger compartment with her on this leg of the journey. She’d at first thought he had grown suspicious of her since she’d asked so many questions, but he’d seemed completely at ease as the miles had rolled out behind them.

“Welcome to the Wild Horse Ranch,” he said as he emerged from the limo to stand beside her. “I’m sure you’ll find your stay here a pleasant one.”

Amy turned around slowly so that she could take in every detail without the obstruction of tinted glass. It was even more beautiful than she’d first thought. Even a city girl like her could appreciate the sheer natural splendor of it.

“It’s not what I expected,” she admitted, certain that Regina Winterborne would have said the same thing.

Beckman smiled. “Most people react that way when they first visit.” He escorted her up the walk while the driver removed the bag from the trunk. It was the first time Amy had thought about clothes. She sure hoped she and Regina wore the same size. As she recalled, the young woman who’d left her in this predicament looked about the same size as her.

“I’ll be going back into town once I’ve made the formal introductions,” Beckman explained, breaking into her wardrobe worries.

For the first time since this adventure began, Amy felt an inkling of uncertainty. “You won’t be staying?” That could mean that she and John Calhoun would be alone. Then again, she didn’t really like Beckman, why did she care if he left?

Because at least she knew him. She stopped on the portico and stared at the massive door that led into the enormous home. What lay beyond that intricately carved wooden door was the unknown. A man who had secrets…dirty secrets if the suspicions she’d read panned out. Secrets she wanted to reveal in order to thwart whatever evil plan he had in store for poor, unsuspecting Regina Winterborne. To do that she had to step through that door and stick to the ruse she’d been dragged into and ultimately decided to use to her advantage.

The only down side was that she was on her own.

What had felt like the perfect plan now seemed foolish and shortsighted.

But what could she do? She was here. This man thought she was Regina Winterborne. What choice did she have but to see this through?

None.

If she ever wanted to be a Colby agent, she had to prove her worth. Not to mention that if she blew it now without getting the goods on Calhoun, she’d have a heck of a time convincing Victoria that she hadn’t jumped in over her head.

Sadly though, Amy feared that she had done just that.

The door suddenly opened wide and the cowboy she had admired in the photograph stood before her.

He was taller than she’d imagined. His shoulders were even wider than she’d guessed. But the one asset to which the photograph had truly failed to do justice was the eyes. They were the bluest she’d ever seen. Piercing, startling blue. And right that second they were focused fully on her.

“Welcome to the Wild Horse, ma’am,” the cowboy said in a deep, husky voice that sent goose bumps skittering across her skin.

“Th-thank you,” she stuttered in time with the stumbling of her heart. My God, the way he said ma’am gave her goose bumps.

“Miss Winterborne,” Beckman cut in, startling Amy all over again since she’d completely forgotten his presence, “this is John Calhoun. John, this is Regina Winterborne.”

“Come in.” The cowboy looked from her to Beckman. “Both of you.”

With that Amy was led into his home. Her breath caught again as her gaze traveled over the cathedral ceiling with its massive wooden beams, and the whitewashed stucco walls, and on to the terra-cotta-tiled floor.

Except for a leather sofa, the furniture clustered about the room consisted mostly of wooden pieces and all of it was dark and polished to a high sheen. Plaid and striped throw pillows accented the butter-soft leather of the sofa and proud wingback chairs.

But nothing in the entry hall or the enormous great room into which he led her took away from the real mind blower—the man. If Amy had ever laid eyes on a more gorgeous specimen of the male species she had no recall of it now.

John Robert Calhoun, IV, was definitely the perfect man.

Her gaze collided with his and she didn’t miss the same approval mirrored there. Judging by what she noted in his eyes he liked what he saw as well. Heat kindled low in her belly and her heart fluttered, but then suddenly sank like rock in a freshwater pond as did her smile. John Calhoun thought he was looking into the eyes of his future wife. And he liked what he saw.

Too bad she was just a stand-in—one who intended to uncover all his well-hidden secrets.

That goal suddenly felt all wrong.

But it was too late to back out now.

The game had already begun.

Chapter Four

She wasn’t what he’d expected.

It was true that John had only seen the one picture of Regina Winterborne and in it she’d worn dark glasses. The long, silky dark hair he’d anticipated. The petite frame softened by slight feminine curves he’d noted in the photo. But it was the sheer innocence and vulnerability in her eyes that startled him. That calf-caught-in-the-fence look of fear.

Surely a woman as experienced with the opposite sex as Regina Winterborne wasn’t afraid of him…

Marriage.

The epiphany kicked him in the gut with all the force of an ornery mule.

It wasn’t him she was afraid of…it was the idea of commitment. The new rules and boundaries she no doubt realized would rule her world.

John glanced at Nate who looked past ready to get this show on the road. Had he relayed John’s non-negotiable terms already? Dread knotted in his gut. He didn’t want this weekend to start off on the wrong foot, especially considering old man Winterborne wouldn’t be here to serve as a buffer. But John would be damned if he’d change his mind.

If he was required to take a wife to seal this deal, then she would be more than an in-name-only accessory. Their relationship would be the real thing.

John tensed as those lovely brown eyes swept down the length of him, then bounced back up to meet his. He’d have to have been blind to miss the startled amazement and undeniable approval reflected there. Miss Winterborne liked what she saw. Unexpectedly a flick of heat slid through him, making him tingle. Maybe this could work after all. It had been a long time since a woman, one he’d only just met, made him tingle. Were his father here, he’d insist that it wouldn’t be that way if John didn’t keep himself busy all the time with those danged horses.

His father was of the mindset that running one of the country’s largest oil businesses was enough stress for any man. He didn’t believe his son needed to take on the added pressure of single-handedly attempting to save the wild equines that roamed the few un-populated territories of the West. But John knew what he had to do…recognized his calling. Nothing his father said was going to change that.

Neither was the woman standing in front of him right now. His gaze raked her lean but feminine body once more. The low-riding slacks, funky belt and sweater that offered a little glimpse of flat belly appealed to him, that was for sure. But nothing would change his mind. She’d either accept his world for what it was or she could go back to Chicago and find herself another of those city slickers she appeared to prefer. Well, if all he’d heard was true anyway.

“Perhaps we could all have a drink,” Nate suggested, cutting into the thick tension.

John started at the sound of the other man’s voice and quickly shook off the irritation welling inside him. He had to get hold of himself here. It was only fair that he give Regina Winterborne the benefit of the doubt. And this weekend was far too important for him to go jumping the gun. There were assessments to make, and concessions too, most likely. He glanced at his wife-to-be once more. If her self-serving reputation proved true, which he suspected it would, since her own daddy had bemoaned her impetuousness as well as her petulance, she would want her own way on some things. Most things probably. Only time would tell if her way and John’s would mesh.

“That’s a mighty fine idea, Nate,” John said. A good, stiff drink was something he imagined both he and Miss Winterborne could use right about now. If memory served she preferred some sissy wine that Liam had special-ordered for this visit.

“What’s your pleasure, Miss Winterborne?” Nate asked their guest.

She blinked a couple of times. “I’ll have whatever you gentlemen are having,” she replied, her voice a little too high, her expression flustered.

John tamped down the need to frown. Liam had ordered that fancy white wine just for her. Maybe he should tell her that her preferred drink was available. Her daddy had said she drank nothing else. The frown nudged its way onto his brow. Then again, daddies didn’t always know what their little girls liked best. Deciding the idea merited no further contemplation, he gestured to the couch and suggested, “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Winterborne.”

“You have a beautiful home, Mr. Calhoun,” she said a little breathlessly as she turned around slowly to admire the room once more before taking a seat.

He tried to see the place as she would. He’d grown up in this house. Had personally overseen the latest remodeling three years ago. Somehow he’d managed to keep the scheme of things the way his mother had intended. He definitely hadn’t wanted to change that. It made him feel close to her. Damn. Even after a dozen years he still missed her.

“Call me John,” he said to the lady now perched stiffly on one end of his leather couch. He settled into one of the matching wing chairs. The soft, supple brown leather furnishings had replaced the old plaid jobs that had served his family in this room for as long as he could remember. But time and the rambunctious kid he’d been had long ago worn out the comfortable old pieces. Even the frames had been beyond repair leaving him no alternative but to replace everything. He’d picked out the new furniture himself. He wondered briefly if his guest liked his taste. This would be her home as well, after all.

She smiled and something shifted in his chest at the sweetness, the utter genuineness of the expression. “If we’re going to be on a first-name basis,” she ventured timidly, “I suppose you should call me…” She swallowed, looking suddenly ill at ease once more.