A Winter's Rose (7 page)

Bentley met his eyes, a question in hers. “No.”

“In fact, after the Civil War Galveston was the state's largest and wealthiest city and its principle seaport.” He looked out at the Gulf. “Then along came the hurricane of 1900. Except for patches of homes and commercial buildings, the city was completely destroyed. Winds reached one hundred miles an hour, tides in the city reached twenty feet. Six thousand people died.”

Jackson plucked a stone from the sand and hurled it out at the quiet water. “They built the seawall, raising the city seventeen feet behind it. But despite the monumental achievement, it was too late.
Houston had surpassed Galveston in both size and importance.”

Bentley dug her fingers into the sand. “You have a point here?”

Jackson turned and met her gaze. “Chloe sure has taken to you.”

“I've taken to her, too.”

“Six sitters before you, she despised them all.” Jackson found another stone and curled his fingers around it. “But then, they didn't have the right credentials.”

Bentley cocked her head toward him and let the sand slip through her fingers. She drew her eyebrows together at the tightness of his expression, at the change in his mood she felt as much as saw. “Credentials?”

“Mmm.” He looked at her. “Your club membership, Princess.”

Bentley stiffened. He couldn't give her credit for having done something well. Instead, he wanted to turn her success with Chloe into a negative.

“What exactly are you saying?” she asked, her hands trembling so badly she clasped them in front of her.

“Chloe and her mother spent a lot of years the same way you and Chloe have spent the last few days.”

The truth hit her then, and Bentley caught her breath. It was so obvious, she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it before. “Victoria is why you have such contempt for me, isn't she?” She caught her breath. “You think I'm like her.”

“Yes.”

Fury blindsided her. She didn't know why his opinion should make a difference—all her life she'd been judged by other people's rules and notions, by things that had nothing to do with her. It shouldn't matter.

But it did make a difference. It did matter.

She wanted to slap him, she wanted to shout. Instead, she straightened her spine and met his eyes evenly. “You want to believe that. You want to believe the only reason Chloe likes me is that I'm like her mother. That way you can discount my criticisms of how you're raising her. And you can discount me that way, too.” She balled her hands into fists. “Well, I'm not like her. You don't know anything about who I am or what I feel.”

Her words hit their mark, and Jackson sucked in a sharp breath. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek in his hard palm. “You move like Victoria, you carry yourself the same way. You even sound like her. And it all reeks of money, of a kind of power that doesn't have to be earned but is given at birth. Admit it, Princess, you're a card-carrying member of the Lucky Sperm Club.”

Bentley jerked her head away from his touch. “If that's true, then why are you here with me? If I'm so despicable, why are you looking at me like you're aching to kiss me?”

Jackson stared at her, shock warring with fury inside him. She was right. Even knowing all he did about the type of person she was, he wanted to kiss her. Worse, he had allowed himself to forget the lessons of his past—even if only for a couple of hours.

She started to scramble to her feet; he caught her hand and pulled her down beside him. She landed on her knees in front of him, and he caught her other hand. “What is your story?” he asked, his tone scathing. “Why are you here? Daddy take the credit cards away? Or maybe you're searching for the real you.” He tightened his hands around hers. “Or is this some sort of rebound trip?”

“Bastard.” She yanked against his grip. “Let me go.”

“That's it, isn't it? I should have figured, you're running away from a guy.” He narrowed his eyes. “Husband or lover?”

She stiffened. “None of this is any of your business. Let me go before I—”

“Not until you tell me.” He lowered his voice. “Which was it?”

“Husband.” She flung her head back. “Satisfied?”

“No.” He tugged her closer, suddenly and irrationally as angry as she. “What happened?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I do, damn it.”

“Ask my ex-husband, he'll tell you. I didn't know how good I had it. I was a spoiled, selfish brat. Just like your ex-wife.”

“Were you?”

She curled her fingers into the fleece of his jacket so tightly her knuckles whitened. She was done letting other people make judgments about her. She didn't care how it looked, or about the rules of ladylike behavior. She looked dead at him, her eyes narrowing with fury. “To hell with you.”

A second of silence tightened between them, then, muttering an oath, he dragged her mouth to his. He took her mouth forcefully, arrogantly, and her neck arched under the pressure of his kiss. He hoped to shock her—at least that's what he told himself. He hoped to send her running back to Houston—or so he assured himself.

But if he wanted her to run, why was he pulling her closer? Why was he winding his fingers in her hair and losing himself in the potent, heady taste of her?

He forced himself to break the contact. Her eyelids fluttered up, and she met his gaze. Her irises had darkened to jade with arousal. Muttering another oath, he took her mouth again.

As Jackson's mouth settled on hers, Bentley shuddered, rivers of heat washing over her. The heat mixed with her fury, and passion exploded inside her. Heady, blinding passion. Opening her mouth, she answered his urgency with her own.

Jackson's kiss wasn't smooth, it wasn't practiced. He neither coaxed nor wooed; he assumed, he took. He plundered. And she relinquished herself to him. Totally.

Tangling her fingers in his hair, she invited him to dive deeper, to take more. And more.

She made a sound of pleasure low in her throat, arching against him, and Jackson went crazy with need. His own response didn't surprise him, not after the garden the night before, but hers did. Gone was any semblance of the woman he'd pegged her to be, the cool, bored princess. The woman who'd had everything handed to her, a woman who was selfish and spoiled and shallow.

The woman in his arms seemed genuine and the tiniest bit vulnerable. There was a sweetness in her kiss, a lack of artifice that he found as endearing as he did exciting. She didn't hold herself back, but instead gave everything and asked for nothing in return.

It couldn't be. But for a moment, he let himself revel in the illusion.

Bentley breathed deeply through her nose, growing dizzy on the scent of the night, the water and Jackson. He tasted wild, like the coast he worked to protect, like his untamed garden. He towered over her, strong, almost overpoweringly masculine. In his arms, against his chest, a woman would never have to worry about falling. She would never have to fear failure or frailty.

But she would never have to stand on her own two feet, either. Bentley lowered her hands to his broad chest, to his thundering heart. Men like Jackson preferred their women that way—feminine and dependent. Under their protection and under their thumbs. And they kept them there by chipping away at their confidence, their self-esteem.

She flattened her hands and pushed against him, a sound of denial wrenching from her as she did. She couldn't be that kind of woman ever again. Not and live with herself.

Jackson didn't resist, and for long moments they stared at one another, both fighting to even their breathing, both working to compose themselves. Bentley read emotions similar to hers in his expression—fading desire, shock, anger, self-directed contempt. It was the emotions she didn't see that made her ache. Ones like humor, tenderness and warmth.

Bentley shook so badly she feared she would fall flat on her face if she stood. She stood anyway and swung away from him. She fought for control and even though it took everything she had, she pulled her armor around her, promising herself she would never allow him to crack her reserve again.

Lifting her chin, she turned to face him. “I hardly think,” she murmured coolly, “that was necessary.”

“Don't you?” Jackson fought for breath and searched her gaze. “Don't you ever give in to impulse or momentary insanity?”

“No.” She dusted sand off her jacket, praying he wouldn't notice how her fingers and voice trembled. Praying he wouldn't see that with him, impulse and insanity ruled her. “Try to restrain yourself in the future. I didn't like it.”

“Excuse me?” He narrowed his eyes. She could tell him any number of things right now, and he would take her at her word. But not that. “I'd say you liked it…very much.”

She looked haughtily down at him. “Don't presume to tell me what I felt. Not ever. Do not presume to tell me—”

Jackson stood and pulled her into his arms before she could finish the thought. “Then I'll show you,” he muttered, and lowered his mouth to hers once more.

She resisted. For a moment. Her hands pressed against his chest. For a split second. Then she curled her fingers into his jacket and tugged him closer. She parted her lips, inviting him inside.

Jackson tangled his hands in her thick, soft curls, satisfaction—and arousal—spiraling through him. He'd won. But lost. For, in proving to her how much he moved her, he had only served to remind himself how dangerously attracted he was to her.

This was a woman who wrapped herself around a man, a woman who could turn him and his world inside out. He'd been gutted once before; it was an experience he wouldn't forget. And one he'd vowed never to repeat.

Jackson released her so quickly she stumbled backward. Swinging away from her, he dragged his hands through his hair and sucked in gulps of the cold, damp air. “That was incredibly stupid,” he said, furious with himself, unreasonably angry with her. He looked over his shoulder and met her eyes, his own narrowed with determination. “I'm not going to repeat the mistakes of the past. I'm not going to fall into lust with you.”

With trembling fingers, Bentley drew her coat tightly around her. “Just who are you trying to convince, Jackson?” When he didn't answer, she inched her chin up a notch, fighting back tears. “Don't worry about me, I didn't start this. You did. But I am going to end it. Now.”

Turning, she walked away.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when her phone rang. Bentley reached for the receiver, catching it before it jangled the second time. “Hello?”

“Did I wake you?”

Bentley squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of Jackson's voice. She hadn't been sleeping; in truth, she wondered if she would ever sleep again. But she would never tell him that.

“Bentley?”

“No.”

He paused and a shudder moved over her. She couldn't keep herself from remembering what it had been like in his arms, his mouth on hers. Nor, it seemed, could she keep her body from responding to the memory. Suddenly uncomfortably warm, Bentley pushed the covers aside.

“Why are you calling me?” she asked.

For a long moment he didn't speak, then he said so softly she had to strain to hear, “Being a parent is the hardest thing I've ever done. Loving Chloe's easy, it always has been. Even putting up with the hassles, with the behavior problems, has been easy.”

He fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, the huskiness of his voice made her heart turn over. “But doing the job right, doing what's best for Chloe instead of what's convenient for me, that's hard. I haven't done such a great job.”

Bentley fought to keep her voice from betraying her feelings, from betraying the ache of longing in the pit of her stomach. “What are you saying?”

“You were right. About Chloe.”

She twisted her fingers around the phone cord. It was a small victory. He wasn't a man who often admitted a mistake. Or one who gave another power. His doing so warmed her more than anything else could have. “I know how hard that was for you to say.”

He paused and it was almost as if she could hear him thinking, regretting. Could he hear her own regrets? Or worse, her longings? “Yes,” he murmured finally, “it was.”

“But you haven't changed your opinion of me?”

“I can't afford to have any affection for you.”

“I hardly think we're in danger of that.” But they were—at least, she was—in great danger of just that. “A little mutual respect, maybe?”

She could imagine his grin, imagine that impossibly sexy curving of his lips, the flash of his not-quite-straight teeth. The smile colored his voice. “Maybe.”

“I can live with that.” She'd lived with a lot less; she wanted more…much more.

“You'll still take care of Chloe while I'm in Washington?”

“Of course.”

“And Bentley?”

“Yes?”

“Don't come to the house this morning. Come to the office. I'm putting you both to work.”

Chapter Five

B
entley's elation lasted until she stepped into the Baysafe offices the next morning. And faced Jill Peters.

The other woman looked her over, doubtfully taking in her winter white wool slacks and matching silk blouse, the double strand of matched pearls and low-heeled suede pumps.

“Honey,” she said, with a husky Texas twang, “are you sure you have the right address? The Junior League meets down the street.”

Heat tinged Bentley's cheeks, and she straightened her spine. “Mr. Reese asked me to come in this morning. Is he here?”

“Nope.” A saucy smile spread across Jill's freckled face.

“Oh.” Near forty and plain as prairie dirt in both appearance and manner, Jill Peters had a way about her that both intrigued and terrified Bentley. The other woman would not have any patience with airs or incompetence. The two things Bentley did better than anything else. “Do you know when he will be in?”

“Uh-uh. Said something about taking his daughter over to help with the Stewart Beach clean-up. I hear tell she pitched a fit.” The office manager clucked her tongue. “He's sure to be in a foul mood when he does get here.”

Terrific, Bentley thought. That news really put her at ease. “Did he leave word with you about what I was to do this morning?”

“Nope,” Jill said again, then looked Bentley square in the eyes. “This Chloe thing, you partly responsible?”

Getting better and better.
Bentley lifted her eyebrows coolly. “And if I am?”

“All I can say is, it's about time.” Jill shook her head and her short, sandy hair fluttered around her face. “That child's a regular hellcat. Jackson hasn't had one quiet moment since her mama up and sent her to him.”

Uncertain how to respond, Bentley cleared her throat. She didn't know anything about this woman except that she worked for Jackson, and it didn't seem right to stand here and gossip about Jackson's problems. “I'm sure it's been difficult for them both,” she said finally.

“Mmm.” Jill narrowed her gaze speculatively, eyeing Bentley and her clothes once more. Then, as if making up her mind about something, she smiled and stood. “I tell you what, I've got a stack of news items to clip and file. I've been meaning to get to them for a time now. If you'll watch the phone, I'll get to it. That way both jobs get done and you won't ruin those fancy duds. Ever manned a three-line system?”

She hadn't, but with a minimum of instruction, it proved simple enough. Especially since only a handful of calls came in. The minutes ticked past, the office silent save for the rustle of newspaper and the click of Jill's scissors.

Bentley drummed her fingernails on the desk and wished she was busy. So busy she couldn't think about Jackson and what had happened between them the night before.

Fireworks. Spontaneous combustion. Total insanity.

Her pulse fluttered, and she frowned, annoyed with herself. He was arrogant and narrow-minded and conceited. She barely tolerated his presence.

Then why did he make her feel like a gawky teenager—aware and aching and ready to throw caution to the winds? Still frowning, she dug in her handbag for her nail file.

Bentley paused, remembering the way he'd sounded at midnight, sleepy and the tiniest bit sheepish. Her heart had turned over, and in that moment she'd forgotten all about being angry. She'd forgotten about being smart.

He'd extended the olive branch—just a bit. How could she refuse to take it? A trembling started in the pit of her stomach and spread until her fingers shook so badly she had to put down the nail file. She squeezed her eyes shut. What was she getting herself into?

The door flew open, and Jackson stormed into the office, his expression as dark as a thundercloud. When he saw Bentley he stopped and glared at her. “Where's Jill?”

Bentley glared right back, pushing away the thread of hurt that wound through her. So much for the olive branch. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

“Right here, sugar.” Jill waved her scissors from the corner by the file cabinets. “And be nice to the girl, she's doing a terrific job with the phones.”

“I can see that.” He looked pointedly at the nail file.

Bentley counted to ten, then said sweetly, “Got up on the wrong side of our cave, did we?”

Jill giggled, and Jackson shot a withering glance her way. “Any messages?”

“Several.” Bentley held them out, and Jackson took them from her, rubbing his temple with his other hand as he did. She noticed the lines of tension around his mouth, the shadow of fatigue in his eyes.
He hadn't had a good night; his morning had been worse. Even as she felt—and cursed—the tug of sympathy, she asked softly, “How's Chloe?”

His mouth tightened. “Madder than a cornered coyote. I dragged her kicking and screaming to help with the Stewart Beach clean-up. She had other plans for the day.”

Bentley had no doubt what those plans had been—Houston, shopping and lunch. With her.

He smiled grimly. “Last night I called Lee Ellerbee about Chloe's credit cards. After I assured him that he could buy his granddaughter any gift he liked, he agreed to cancel them.”

“Oh, dear,” Bentley murmured. She knew from experience what credit cards meant to a girl like Chloe. She could imagine how the girl had reacted to having them taken from her. Poor Jackson. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Don't worry about it,” Jackson muttered, stuffing the messages into his shirt pocket, “we'll live.”

Without you.
He didn't say the words but they were there, in his expression, in the way he turned and crossed to Jill, the way he kept his back to her.

Anger curled through her, and Bentley squared her shoulders. If he thought she was just going to sit back and let him shut her out—out of the situation with Chloe, of the workings of Baysafe—he had another think coming.

“Big Earl called me at seven a.m. Seems he got wind of my upcoming trip to D.C. and wants to pay me a call,” Jackson told Jill.

“Oh, no,” Jill murmured, meeting his eyes. “You think he's going to—”

“Pull his pledge? Why else would he be coming down to take
me
to lunch?” Jackson swore. “We've got problems, Jill.”

“You could back off the double-hull issue.”

Jackson fisted his fingers. “No way. I'm not going to bow to their pressure. I'll shut down the office and work out of the house first.”

“Excuse me,” Bentley said, drawing her eyebrows together. “Are you talking about Big Earl Cassidy, king of the Texas Gas 'n Go marts?”

Jackson looked over his shoulder at her, obviously annoyed. “Yes.”

“Why, I've known him most of my life. He's just a big old teddy bear.”

Jackson scowled. “That's your interpretation, Bentley. Ours is a bit different.”

She counted silently to ten, then said sweetly, “I could talk to him.”

“No, thanks. Now, if you don't mind, Jill and I have business to—”

“Wait,” Jill interrupted, tossing her scissors on top of the newspapers. “Maybe Bentley
should
talk to Big Earl. Maybe she can influence him—”

“No.” Jackson looked from one woman to the other. “No,” he repeated. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Bentley hitched up her chin. “I could help. I'm sure of it.”

“Let's give it a try.” Jill dusted off her hands and stood. “What do we have to lose?”

Jackson gazed at the two women once more, then frowned and faced Bentley. “What do you know about the double-hull bill?”

“Nothing, but—”

“Do you know what a double hull is?”

She narrowed her eyes, offended. “Obviously, it has something to do with a boat. But—”

“Do you know how Baysafe operates? Or what percentage of our budget the Gas 'n Go pledge is?”

Bentley folded her arms across her chest. “No. But I understand charities and the people who support them. I tell you, Jackson, I know how this man operates.”

“I already have the meeting planned.” When Bentley opened her mouth to argue some more, he held up his hand. “Discussion closed.”

“He does have a point,” Jill said sadly, smiling at Bentley. “It was a good thought, but you better let him handle it.”

The phone rang then and Bentley answered it. It was for Jackson; he took the call in his office. Jill went back to her clippings and Bentley stared at Jackson's closed office door, frowning. His stubbornness came as no surprise, nor did his unwillingness to trust her judgment.

She let her breath out in an annoyed huff. But she could help, she knew she could. Surely he could see that.

Only he didn't want to see. He was determined to discount her.

Fine, she thought. If he didn't want her help, she wouldn't give it. His loss.

* * *

Thirty minutes later Big Earl Cassidy strode through the door. With his thatch of thick white hair, florid complexion, cowboy boots and belt buckle that would choke a horse, Big Earl looked every inch the stereotype of a Texas rancher. Bentley knew he'd been born and raised in the city. She also knew his florid complexion had nothing to do with the great outdoors and everything to do with a penchant for Jack Daniel's straight up.

“Earl.” Bentley stood and held out her hands to the older man.

He took them. “Bentley, baby, what are you doing here?”

She smiled and offered her cheek. “I work here.”

“Work? You?” For a moment he looked stunned, then he grinned. “I know how you gals are about your charities. Why, my own little Bitsy gives up three hours a week to help those stray dogs of hers.”

Bentley gritted her teeth at his condescending tone and hoped Jackson hadn't heard. “How is Bitsy?” she asked. Bitsy was Big Earl's fourth wife and had been one of her sorority sisters.

“Fine, just fine. She's out shoppin'.” He shook his head, bemused. “That gal can shop more than all my other wives put together. She tells me it's an art.”

“Big Earl.”

At Jackson's greeting, the other man swung around. “Reese. How are you, my boy?” Earl stepped forward and held out a hand.

Jackson clasped it. “Very well, thank you.”

Bentley watched the two men exchange greetings, noticing the subtle hardening of Earl's voice and expression, the determined set of Jackson's jaw. Both were preparing for battle.

She cocked her head. Bentley had always thought Earl Cassidy a big, rugged man, but next to Jackson he seemed like a dime-store cowboy. Even so, Jackson would not win this battle. She knew the outcome from years of watching her father and brothers, from listening to their business associates. And from living with David. Big Earl had made up his mind.

No matter what Jackson had told her about butting out, she had to do something.

She cleared her throat, stood and smiled prettily at Earl. “Are you two gentleman ready to go? I missed breakfast and I'm afraid if I don't eat soon, I'll swoon.”

Both men turned and looked at her, Jackson with murder in his eyes, Earl with a gleam of pleasure. In her corner, Jill started to cough.

Undaunted, Bentley tucked her clutch under her arm. Jackson would thank her later, she vowed. This time he would
have
to admit she'd been an asset. “Shall we?”

During the drive to the restaurant and most of the meal, Jackson seethed, his anger barely contained. Big Earl didn't seem to notice, and he spent the entire meal flirting with her and chitchatting about common acquaintances.

Finally, when the waitress had brought their coffee, Big Earl cleared his throat and directed his attention to Jackson. “Came down to talk to you about your upcomin' trip to Washington.” He pulled out a cigar and after Bentley nodded, he lit it. “Don't like it, Reese. Don't like it one bit.”

“So I gathered.” Jackson leaned forward in his chair. “But I don't understand your concern. The double-hull legislation does not directly affect your business, Big Earl.”

Earl puffed on the cigar and narrowed his eyes. “Anything that affects Oil and Gas affects me. I want you to lay off. That's not a request.”

Jackson tossed his napkin aside. “I can't do that. This is too important an issue. In the long run requiring all tankers to have double hulls will not only save the world another incident like the one in the Prince William Sound, but will save Big Oil millions in clean-up from such a spill. In the end, everybody wins.”

“I'm sorry, boy, I just don't see it that way.”

“You know, Big Earl,” Bentley murmured, laying her hand on the older man's arm, “when you and Bitsy got engaged, there was a lot of talk. There were folks who thought it just wasn't right because of the difference in your ages.” She squeezed his arm gently to lessen the sting of her words. “But you and Bitsy, well, you did what you knew was right. You followed your heart. That's all Jackson's doing.
Doing what he believes is right.”

“I'm not arguing with that, gal. But I've got to protect the people who fuel my business.”

“Big Earl,” she admonished, fluttering her eyelashes and leaning a fraction closer to him. “You're a self-made man, a maverick. Nobody gave you anything, you had to work for every dime. What would you have done if some big gas company had come along and told you that you couldn't pump on Wednesdays?” She didn't wait for his answer. “The Big Earl I know would have spit in their eye.” She lowered her voice in reverence. “You're a Texan. So am I. All we're trying to do is save this great state for good Texans like you and me.”

He cracked a smile. “This is the greatest state in the union. I'd defy any man—or woman—to tell me differently.”

“There you are,” Bentley murmured as if he'd spoken the Gospel. “But if we're not careful, Earl, there won't even be any good fishing left in Texas. Why, if we're not careful, we'll have to go clear to
Arkansas just to catch a fish.”