The Love Child

A major part of why he was better cut out for his role managing the family ranch.

“That makes tact sound dishonest somehow.”

Wanting to lighten the mood and chase away the shadows in her eyes, he twirled her away, the silky yellow dress fanning around her lithe legs. Radiant and sexy. She spun back to him, her hands finding his.

“I only meant that I get that there are nuances and things that are better left unsaid. I’m just not a nuance kind of man.” Keeping her close, he guided their steps away from the other half-dozen couples dancing, steering her toward the stone fireplace. Massive moose antlers stared down at him. Tall ceilings provided an airy balance to the thick leather sofas that were now strategically staged against the walls rather than in their normal places.

“Let’s talk about the dancing more. You’re a natural. I think we should capitalize on that this month in your image building. This has a great sophisticated look to it. With the right press coverage—”

“Isabeau, seriously, the image again?” He needed a night off from all of that. The past week had been intense and outside his comfort zone. Particularly the past two days when all he could think about was having her here tonight. In his arms for a dance.

Yes, he wanted a night he could enjoy. With her.

“Could you stop with the business talk and let’s just enjoy this dance?”

“Oh, um, sure. This must be an emotional day for you, with your sister getting married and your mom engaged—”

“Emotional?” He stifled a laugh, drawing her closer to his chest. He whispered against her ear, as they swayed in time to the music, “It’s just a wedding. That’s it. I’m focused on you.”

“Wait, our being here together is supposed to be about business, working on your image.”

He smiled, his blue eyes glinting.

She swatted his arm. “Stop that or I’m going to line up a dozen more press conferences for you.”

“I didn’t say a word so I couldn’t have shoved my boot in my mouth.”

“Your smile speaks volumes.”

His grin widened.

“Trystan, that’s not professional—or fair.”

And perhaps that proclamation would have been followed by a moment—the kind he’d been thinking about nonstop since the day of the fitting—but a cacophony of voices disrupted the intensity of their eye contact, the closeness of their bodies.

Isabeau pivoted toward the noise first. Chuck and his wife, Shana, stood at the edge of the dance floor. Heat seemed to rise around them, calling a tempest into the room as their voices escalated, beginning to drown out the jazz tune.

His cousin, Sage Hammond, moved between them, her voice low and calming. While Trystan couldn’t make out what the argument was about this time, it was clear that Sage was playing peacemaker. A role he’d seen his fierce butterfly of a cousin play on behalf of her aunt and boss, Jeannie Steele.

He felt Isabeau tense, clearly uncomfortable with a family altercation. Squeezing her hand, Trystan tilted his head and mouthed, “Follow me.”

A quick nod of agreement was all the encouragement she needed to leave the tense scene unfolding nearby. He maneuvered them outside, taking the path to the boathouse on the bay, near the seaplane.

Toward a small section of the compound all their own.

Three (#u8ee3e7c0-ec70-5c37-afc7-4e681f1edaf3)

As the sounds of the spat faded, replaced by the light wind rustling through the low-hanging tree branches that gathered, sentry-like, at the left corner of the boathouse, Isabeau felt her heartbeat intensify.

Trystan’s slightly calloused hand wrapped around hers. His skin, rough from ranch work—hands clearly used to the brush of leather reins—sending her own skin humming with awareness. She was drawn to the dichotomy of him, a tycoon in boots.

She hated to admit it, but part of her eagerness to escape his family’s chaos had a lot to do with the draw of this man. In her line of work, she’d found herself frequently at the epicenter of familial disputes. It came with the territory of image curation.

But this felt different from her experience with any other client. Isabeau knew why too.

It had everything to do with the man with the charismatic, gruff demeanor.

She heard the distant bark of her dog and glanced over her shoulder to be sure Paige wasn’t fretting about being away from her. A quick check assured her that her yellow Lab was still enjoying playtime with her new pals—a husky named Kota and a Saint Bernard named Tessie.

Isabeau turned her attention back to Trystan, surprised at the ease in her steps. She didn’t feel the urgent need to have her dog close. A relaxed and mellow sensation flowed through her veins.

Along with a total awareness of this big, sexy man. An outdoorsman who danced with a confidence and smoothness that made her body burn.

And she couldn’t help but glory in the feeling. So many of her panic attacks stemmed from negative encounters with men.

Some of the males who had flocked to her beautiful, weary mother had crowded Isabeau.

And then came her college boyfriend, who’d never laid a hand on her but stole her privacy by stalking her every move until she’d been forced to take out a restraining order.

People could leave a scar on a person’s soul in so many ways.

Yet, something about Trystan put her at ease.

His total honesty.

He might be rough around the edges, but he was authentic and that kept her moving forward along with him. She would worry about the impropriety issue later. Right now, she could only think about how hot she’d found him since the first time she’d laid eyes on him.

Leading her inside, he flipped on the lights, the switch igniting the darkness in front of her with the warm glow of yellow-hued lamplight. Golden illumination revealed the luxury of even this aspect of the property.

Plush couches and well-appointed wooden furniture. A row of yellow two-person kayaks lined the wall farthest from them, complementing the neatly arranged fishing poles and nets. A powerboat docked in the water nearby, bobbing up and down, adjacent to a sitting area with Sedona-orange-colored cushions decorating a couch and two chairs. Waterproof, she realized, though they still seemed overstuffed...

Trystan turned a slow circle. “It’s definitely quieter here.”

She drew in a breath of the salt-laden air. “You did well at the wedding with the photo shoots.”

There hadn’t been media present, but still, he’d put on his game face for the shots to be released to the press.

“So I’ve earned my respite from the masses?”

“Is that what this is? An escape, a break?” She smoothed her silky dress, her fingers—her senses—hyperaware of every texture down to the timbre of his whiskey-smooth voice.

His blue eyes lit with a smile. “Actually, this was about getting time alone to talk to you about something other than work. I think we’ve both earned that. Do you agree? Or is it back to business for us?”

“I do agree,” she answered, wanting to linger in the mellowness between them a while longer.

“Good, good.” He strode toward the refrigerator and opened it, surveying the contents. “Ahh... What have we here?”

He pulled out a bottle of beer bearing the Mikkelson family brewery label—Icecap. He glanced at Isabeau. “There’s wine and water, as well.”