The Texan's Contested Claim: The Texan's Contested Claim / The Greek Tycoon's Secret Heir

“Photography. I’m an aspiring photojournalist.”

“A woman of many talents.”

“You might want to withhold judgment until you see my work,” she warned, then smiled again and motioned him to follow her. “Come on, let’s finish the tour.”

She started down the hall again toward the kitchen. “In the mornings, you’ll find juice and coffee on the buffet in the breakfast room. I normally serve breakfast at seven on weekdays and eight on weekends, but since you’re my only guest, you can choose a different time, if you like.”

“Your current schedule is fine.”

“The den is through here,” she said, and led the way through an arched doorway. She stopped, her shoulders sagging at the amount of work awaiting her. “Welcome to the after-Christmas nightmare,” she said wearily.

“Damn,” he murmured, staring, then glanced her way. “Do you decorate every room in the house?”

“Pretty much. My friends accuse me of trying to make up for my dismal childhood Christmases.”

“Dismal?”

“A tabletop Christmas tree and one present dispensed on Christmas Eve just before bedtime.”

“Were your parents poor?”

She choked a laugh. “Hardly. More like boring.” Doubting her guest was interested in hearing about her dysfunctional family, she pointed to the antique armoire, all but concealed by the wreaths stacked high in front. “Believe it or not, there’s a flat screen television hiding behind that pile of greenery. You’re welcome to watch TV here or in your room, whichever you prefer. I have a wireless network, so you can connect to the Internet anywhere inside the house, as well as the patios outside.

“Both the front and back doors have a keyless entry,” she went on to explain. “I change the code every couple of weeks for security purposes. That’s about it downstairs,” she said and gestured toward a set of stairs on the far side of the room. “We’ll take the rear staircase to the second floor.”

When she reached the top landing, she headed for the opposite end of the hall. “You can have your pick of the bedrooms,” she told him, “but since you’re staying a month, I think the suite will better suit your needs. It has a separate sitting room, with a minifridge and bar. Plus, the bathroom is larger than the others, and has a tub perfect for soaking—a bonus, if you enjoy taking long baths.”

She pushed open the door to the suite then stepped back out of the way. “Unless you have any questions, I’ll leave you to settle in.”

“Just one.”

“What?”

“When my secretary made my reservations, she asked that you keep my stay here confidential.”

She held her hand up like a good Girl Scout. “I haven’t told a soul.”

“Good. No one can know I’m here.”

She teased him with a smile. “Why? Are the cops after you?”

He seemed to hesitate a moment, then shook his head. “No. I’m here to check out locations for a future expansion for my company. It’s imperative that my presence, as well as my plans, remain secret until I’m ready to go public.”

She drew an imaginary zipper across her mouth. “Your secret is safe with me. Anything else?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Well, if you think of something, I’ll be in the den dealing with the ghost of Christmas past.”

Garrett shook his head as he crossed to the bathroom to put away his shaving kit, unable to believe how close he’d come to blowing his cover. When Ali had opened the door to greet him, her likeness to his stepmother had momentarily rendered him speechless. The same blond hair and blue eyes, the same delicate features. They even had similar mannerisms, which he found inconceivable, since the two had never met.

He’d almost slipped and told her his reason for staring, and would have if he hadn’t been distracted by the jolt he’d received when he’d taken her hand. He’d seen the surprise that had flared in her eyes, sensed her unease in the quickness with which she had broken the contact, and knew she must have felt it, too.

He thought he’d done a decent job of recovering, then she’d made that comment about everybody having a twin and thrown him for another loop. If she hadn’t appeared so genuinely guileless, he might have thought she was purposely trying to trip him up. As it was, he believed he’d successfully penetrated the enemy’s camp.

Penetrated the enemy’s camp?

Snorting a laugh, he tossed his shaving kit onto the vanity. Hell, he was even beginning to think in the vernacular of a spy.

With a rueful shake of his head, he turned for the bedroom, but stopped when he caught a glimpse of the tub she’d mentioned. Placed on a raised platform of tumbled stone tiles, it resembled an old-fashioned claw-foot in design, but its size and modern fixtures placed it solidly in the twenty-first century.

Remembering her comment about the tub being perfect for soaking, he crossed to examine it more closely. It definitely looked inviting, he noted, with its extra long length and gently sloped ends. He glanced up at the large picture window above it. And the uninterrupted view of lake and sky it offered its occupant wasn’t too shabby, either, he noted. Personally he preferred a shower, but he could see how a person might enjoy taking a long, relaxing bath in a setup like this. Add a woman to the mix and even he might be persuaded to forego a shower for a bath.

He squinted his eyes at the view beyond the window, easily able to imagine the scene at night. Moonlight reflecting off the lake’s surface. A sky full of glittering stars. Toss in some soft piano music and a mountain of scented bubbles and it would provide the perfect setting for a seduction.

He dropped his gaze to the tub again, wondering if the Vista’s innkeeper ever took advantage of the amenities the bath offered when she had the house all to herself. She seemed the bubble-bath type. Feminine. Sensual. In fact, he found it easy to picture her here, her head tipped back against the tub’s rolled rim, her eyes closed, only her knees and head visible above mounds of iridescent bubbles.

Even easier—and a great deal more pleasurable—was to picture her there with him.

Puckering his lips thoughtfully, he dragged a finger along the rim, imagining them in the tub together, her back against his chest, her hips wedged between his thighs, his hands tracing her curves. She was stacked. He’d made that realization within seconds of her opening the door. And she had a mouth made for kissing. Full, moist lips that seemed curved in an ever-present smile.

With one memorable exception.

He chuckled softly, as he recalled her indignation when he’d insinuated the bed-and-breakfast was a front for a call girl service. She’d assumed correctly. He had thought, hoped even, that she was using the bed-and-breakfast as a front for illegal activities.

Too bad he’d been wrong, he thought with regret. If he’d been right, it would have provided him the leverage he needed to force her cooperation.

It also would have given him more reason to dislike Ali Moran.

Not that he needed more cause.

The hurt she’d inflicted on his stepmother was reason enough to wish her in hell.

Two

“Traci!” Ali shot a worried glance up at the ceiling, then lowered her gaze to frown at her laughing friend. “Get a grip, would you? He might hear you.”

Traci winced guiltily. “Sorry. But when you said that about the Vista being a front for a call girl service, I had this mental image of you strutting around in skin-hugging spandex and spike heels. Can you imagine? You, a madam? Or worse, a call girl? What a hoot!”

“I could be a call girl,” Ali said defensively. “Not that I ever would, but I could.”

“Are you kidding me?” Traci said in dismay. “If you had to depend on turning tricks for your support, you’d starve to death within a week.”

Grimacing, Ali yanked open the oven door. “Well, thanks for that vote of confidence,” she groused, as she shoved a basket of sopaipillas inside to keep warm.

Traci managed to snag a pastry before Ali could close the oven door. “I’m not saying you couldn’t attract a man,” she said, as she spooned honey into the pastry’s puffed center. “But there’s more to being a call girl than wearing skimpy clothes and flashing cleavage.”

Ali gave her a bland look. “Oh, and I suppose you’re an expert on the subject.”