Romancing the Tycoon

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.