A Winter's Rose (8 page)

“I do enjoy my fishing trips.” The older man studied the tip of his cigar for a moment, then shifted his gaze to Jackson. “You fish, Reese?”

“Grew up fishing,” Jackson murmured. “A lot of those spots are gone now. The best spots.”

Earl narrowed his eyes, then crushed out the stogie. “You two present a convincing argument. I'm not promising anything, but I'll think about it.”

During the ride to Baysafe, Jackson said little. Bentley kept up a stream of chitchat with Earl, and when he dropped them off, she promised to get together with Bitsy soon.

She and Jackson watched Big Earl's Cadillac drive away, and the moment it was out of sight, Jackson grabbed her arm. She winced at his grip, but met his gaze evenly.

“Don't ever do that again,” he said, his voice sharp with fury. “Because if you do, no amount of money will keep me from wringing your beautiful neck.”

Without another word, he dropped his hand and strode into the office. She followed him, trembling with outrage. Jill took one look at them and ducked behind a newspaper.

Bentley grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “Don't do what?” she demanded. “Save your butt?”

“Misrepresent this agency,” he shot back. “You didn't give him one fact. All you did was puff him up and bat your eyelashes. What did you think qualified you to interfere in delicate negotiations with a major donor?”

She narrowed her eyes. “A major donor who was about to pull his pledge. And one who is now, because of me, considering not doing so.”

“You don't even know what we do.”

She jerked her chin up. “Don't kid yourself, Jackson. It's not that complicated.”

A vein throbbed in his neck; his eyes flashed fire. But when he spoke his voice was low and even. Bentley thought of the story Jackson had told her about his mother. If it was a case of like mother like son, she was in deep trouble.

“We're about so much more than a guy being able to go out on the bay and troll for a flounder. So much more than being a patriotic Texan. Our actions have consequences that affect the world…forever.” Jackson flexed his fingers. “When Big Earl's blood pressure evens out, do you really think he's going to think any more about his decision?”

“I already considered that. I have a plan.”

Jackson's jaw hardened. “No, Bentley. You've done enough. I'll take care of this.”

“Jackson.” She reached out to touch him, then dropped her hand. “You don't understand. For Big Earl, pledging money to Baysafe isn't about more than fishing.” She pushed at the curls that tumbled over her forehead. “This is a form of aggrandizement for many of your donors. Publicity. Public relations. You yourself said that's what Lee Ellerbee used you for. If Big Earl drops you and gives his money to
Bitsy's strays, he still gets what he wants.”

She lowered her voice and took a step toward him. “I know these people, Jackson. You don't. Charities are a way of life for them, but rarely are their motives completely altruistic.”

He raked his gaze contemptuously over her. “You know so much? What the hell are you doing in Galveston? You should be head director at one of those big, swanky charities in Dallas. Hell, in New York.”

Bentley caught her breath at his sarcasm, but inched her chin up defiantly. “You can't give me an inch, can you?”

“No.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I can't.”

“You will,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes in determination. “I intend to make you eat crow, Mr. Reese. Just watch me.”

* * *

The woman was driving him crazy. Jackson sat behind his desk, staring broodingly at the photograph of the whooping crane that had so caught Bentley's attention the day she arrived at Baysafe.
A week had passed since their meeting with Big Earl, and in that time she'd hardly looked his way, let alone spoken to him.

He tore his gaze away from the photograph, drawing his eyebrows together in a frown. She pulled at his thoughts, his attention, day and night. He was plagued by the memory of their kiss, by the way she'd made him ache with arousal.

And by the memory of his past mistakes.

His frown deepened. Bentley seemed to be having no such problems. Each day she'd come into the office and had completed any task Jill assigned her, doing so efficiently and with a minimum of fuss. She and his office manager had become big buddies, and periodically he could hear them talking and laughing together in the reception area.

Like now. Jackson tipped his head, listening to Bentley's laugh. The sensual sound washed over him, taking his breath, stealing his good sense until all he wanted, all he could think to do, was to storm into the reception area and drag her into his arms, her mouth to his.

Damn it. Annoyed with himself, Jackson swung his chair around so his back faced the door and Bentley laughing on the other side. This had to stop. The night before he'd sunk to a new and even deeper low.
Bentley had called Chloe to see how she was doing, and the two had chatted for thirty minutes. The whole time he had stood brooding at the front window, staring at his garden, his senses swamped with memories of the sweet scent of her hair, the small, breathy sounds she made when he touched her, with the feel of her mouth on his.

He hadn't mooned over a woman since adolescence. Jackson swore and faced the bright, cold day. Why this woman? Why couldn't he do what he had to and put her out of his mind?

Jill buzzed him, announcing Big Earl on line one. Jackson took a deep breath. He'd been waiting for this call, preparing himself for the inevitable. He hadn't had much hope that Bentley's Band-Aid would hold, indeed was surprised it had taken Cassidy this long to get back to him.

Jackson cleared his throat, then picked up the receiver. “Big Earl. Good afternoon. What can I do for you?”

“Reese,” the other man said, dispensing with preliminaries, “I've made my decision.”

Jackson braced himself, his mind racing ahead to the measures he would have to take should Big Earl say what he expected him to.

“I'm going to continue my pledge to Baysafe.”

One moment became several as, stunned, Jackson stared blankly at the view from his window. He cleared his throat. “Could you repeat that?”

The older man chuckled. “Don't act so surprised, boy. Not after having brought in the big guns, so to speak. I've got to hand it to you, getting Bentley to contact Bitsy was a shrewd maneuver. She's in an absolute state about those cute baby birds.”

Baby birds? What baby birds?
Jackson shook his head to clear it. Bentley had contacted Bitsy—despite his direct orders to butt out?

“We do appreciate your wife's concern,” Jackson said finally.

“I'll just bet you do.” The older man chuckled again. “I tell you, my boy, at my age—and considering Bitsy's—I'd much rather take the flak in the boardroom than in the bedroom. I can't afford too many missed opportunities.”

Jackson laughed. “Whatever your reasons, Big Earl, we're grateful for your support.”

After a few more minutes of small talk, Jackson hung up, wrestling with a strange mixture of emotions. Relief that disaster had been headed off at the pass. Surprise at Bentley having pulled it off, admiration at her pluck. And regret—that he could no longer fit her into the neat little niche he'd carved out for her.

That complicated things. Big time.

Jackson squinted against the light tumbling through his window. It would be so much easier to continue to fight the pull between them if he thought her cold and shallow and weak.

But she wasn't any of those things. At least not exclusively. She had guts. And nerve. And there was kindness in Bentley, an ability to feel deeply. Her handling of Chloe was proof of that.

He didn't want her to have any of those qualities. He hated that he'd found one warm, likable thing about her. It scared him senseless that he'd found several.

Jackson frowned, working to focus on what he hadn't learned about her. Things like what her actual motivations for coming to Galveston were. And what her game really was.

He rolled his tight shoulders, acknowledging that the answers to those questions didn't mean nearly as much as they had before. If anything.

Nor did it matter that when she got bored with this, with Galveston and Baysafe, she would move on to something else.

But for now, she'd pulled him—and Baysafe—out of the fire. A little respect, she'd said on the phone. He owed her that…he owed her an apology.

Jackson checked his watch and went in search of her.

* * *

Bentley said good-night to Jill, then started slowly across the parking lot toward her car. She'd been with Jill when Big Earl's call had come in. She'd held her breath, waiting for Jackson to say something to her or Jill, waiting for a shout of relief or glee, but it had been silent in Jackson's office long after the line's light on the phone had gone out.

Disappointment took her breath. Her ploy hadn't worked.

“Bentley!”

She turned as Jackson called her name, then swore silently. The man was practically swaggering across the parking lot. No doubt he wanted to rub in the fact that she'd been wrong. No doubt he was going to warn her away from all patrons. And enjoy doing both immensely. Blasted man could run after her, she wasn't about to wait around only to be insulted.

Turning, she continued toward her car, this time moving quickly. And just as she knew he would, he caught up with her, anyway.

“Hi,” he murmured, matching her gait.

She didn't look at him, but silently cursed his long legs. “Hello.”

“Still mad at me?”

She reached her car and stopped beside it. “What do think?”

“I think you are.”

“Then, you're more perceptive than I gave you credit for.”

Unperturbed, he grinned and leaned against her car. “Nice set of wheels.”

“Thanks.” She dug in her handbag for her keys. “Want to buy it?”

“Hardly.” He folded his arms across his chest. “It's a bit out of my class.”

“Mine, too.” She found the keys, unlocked the door and started to slip inside.

He stopped her. “I don't get you.”

She met his gaze defiantly, immediately furious. “That's your problem, isn't it?”

“My God, you're staying at the Victoria House Hotel, surely you can afford—”

“Cunningham Oil is fifty percent owner of the Victoria House. It's off-season, I'm paying employee rate and only staying until I find an apartment. Satisfied?”

“I didn't know,” he said softly.

“You didn't ask.”

“I'm asking now.”

“Now it's too late. Good day.” She pulled at the car door, and again he reached around her and shut it. She faced him, exasperated. “What?”

A grin tugging at his mouth, he held out a single black feather. “For you.”

Instead of taking the feather, she crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What is this?”

“You did it, Bentley.”

The man was impossible—and impossibly sexy. She gritted her teeth, annoyed with herself as much as with him. “Exactly what did I do?”

“Proved me wrong.” He grinned and trailed the feather along the curve of her jaw. “I'm eating crow, Ms. Cunningham.”

“Eating…” Bentley let the words trail off, then, realizing what he meant, tipped her head back and laughed. “Bitsy paid off?”

“In aces.”

Bentley laughed again and plucked the feather from his fingers. “And just how
does
crow taste, Mr. Reese?”

“It's an unusual flavor. One I'm not accustomed to.”

Bentley arched an eyebrow, pleased. “I like that.”

“In this instance I have to say that I do, too. Although I don't plan to make a steady diet of it.”

“Give me time.”

Jackson leaned toward her, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Exactly what baby bird is Bitsy in such a tither over?”

Bentley ran the feather back and forth between her fingers. “All of them.”

Jackson lifted his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I went through the files and found pictures of as many coastal birds as possible. Especially the babies. Then I found literature describing what kind of danger they're in and how our efforts will save them. Then I made a lunch date.”

“Damn clever.”

“Surprised?”

“Yes.” At his response, her eyes flashed fire; angry color stained her cheeks. Jackson reached out and trailed a finger along her elegant cheekbone. Her skin was hot and smooth beneath his fingers. “Surprised this time,” he murmured. “I won't be the next.”

Warmth speared through her. Warmth and a feeling of satisfaction, of accomplishment. She had
earned
Jackson's respect. No one had helped her; no money or influence had changed hands. She'd done this on her own.

Smiling, she tipped her head back and met his eyes. “Thank you.”

Arousal, bittersweet and stunning, hit him in the gut, and Jackson caught his breath. “My God, you are so beautiful.”

Bentley stiffened, the satisfaction she'd felt a moment ago racing to a place just beyond her reach. “Stop it.”

“What?” Jackson caught one of her dark curls and wrapped it around his finger. It was soft and silky against his skin, and he fought the urge to dig his fingers into the luxuriant strands. “You
are
beautiful. I know you've heard it before.”

Too many times to count. To the exclusion of any other trait or quality.

Even so, pleasure curled through her, a feeling of pure feminine satisfaction. The feeling left her weak and warm and wanting. She fought against the sensations, fought against the arousal that flooded through her.

Bentley sucked in a sharp breath. “If there's nothing else, Jackson, I've put in my day. I'm going home.”