California Royale

  “Women shouldn’t run,” he said. “Makes them too hard to catch. Stick it up here.” With those unceremonious words he pointed to the edge of the tub.

  “No. Really, I’ll be—”

  “Hoist that leg up or I’ll go mud diving for it.”

  Shea hurt too badly to argue. With a sucking sound her left foot and leg popped out of the mud. She rested her foot on the tub’s rim, and his large, blunt looking hands surrounded her mud-slicked ankle.

  “Ugh,” he offered with comical disdain. “If this ankle weren’t so terrific, I’d toss it back into the mud pit and hope for a cleaner one next time.”

  “The calf. Rub the c-calf,” she said in a pained whisper. I’m ordering a man I just met to give me a massage. Other thoughts of decorum fled as a second cramp grabbed at her muscles.

  “I’ve always been good with animals. Com ’ere, calf.” His hands slid up to her knee, then stroked downward in a slow and incredibly soothing motion. He enveloped the width of her foot in one large palm and gently pushed the foot upwards. His other hand went to the back of her knee, cupped the muscles, and stroked downward again.

  Duke’s eyes narrowed in concern at the feel of her smooth, supple leg. If the rest of her had this kind of touch appeal, she challenged a man’s control. He liked challenges, but he’d never felt this kind of overwhelming greed for a stranger. He knew that he was coming on to her too quickly, but he couldn’t help himself. “Better?” he asked in a troubled, soft voice.

  “Better.” Her face relaxed as the pain subsided. He continued to rub the back of her leg, and their eyes met. Shea’s throat closed as an elemental sense of attraction passed in that long, quiet gaze. She pulled her leg away and submerged it in the mud again.

  “I was just getting started,” he protested mildly.

  “I don’t accept massages on the first date,” she answered.

  Duke heard the nervousness she tried so hard to hide. “I’m sorry,” he murmured sincerely. “I’m not trying to make a move on you in the mud bath.” It wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t want to upset her. She smiled, but her wide, violet eyes assessed him shrewdly.

  “You do this kind of thing often?” she asked bluntly.

  “Rub women in mud baths? Nope.”

  “You know what I mean. Move fast and hope for results.”

  “No,” he said with soft rebuke. Duke settled back in the chair, took the towel from the back of it, and cleaned his hands as he watched her. He realized suddenly that the towel now smelled of roses and cream. “I’m a very old-fashioned man.”

  He said that without teasing, and she felt a little guilty. “I hear a lot of come-ons in my line of work,” Shea explained. “Some of our male guests think sex is part of our program.”

  The look she got for that remark told her a lot about the man sitting across from her. He frowned in a contemplative, gentle way that indicated that she’d hurt him by categorizing him with other men. “Querida, don’t judge a horse when he starts from the gate. Wait for him to go the distance.”

  She gave him a startled gaze while a sense of awe grew inside her chest. There was something about this stranger that was very easy to adore, something so powerful and Instinctive that it frightened her. In twenty-nine years nothing like this had happened to her before.

  “I apologize,” she said crisply. “Would you please just leave?”

  He nodded, stood up, and looked at her in a way that was both wistful and teasing. “I’ll have to talk to the owner about these rules that say guests and staff can’t fraternize.” He shook his head in mild dismay. “Fraternize. That doesn’t sound like much fun, anyway, eh, querida?”

  “No,” she agreed. Was he giving up? Shea wondered. Had she made it too clear that she wasn’t going to break any rules? Why was he giving up so easily? When did life become so confusing? Life at Estate Mendocino was serene and beautiful. She liked life that way.

  He bowed to her in a manner that was both funny and gallant. “Good night, Shea Somerton. I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, when you’re mudless.”

  “Good night,” she answered softly, laughing. He turned and walked toward the door. “You’re taking the towel.”

  He had the pink hand towel, dabbed with mud, slung over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to care that mud was getting on his white pullover. “I know,” he told her.

  “But …”

  “I’m stealing it.”

  “Why?”

  Duke turned at the doorway, gave her an enigmatic look, and simply smiled. The towel carried her scent, and he wasn’t going to give it up.

  “Querida, I’m just that kind of man. I take what I want.”

  He winked and left the room. Shea listened intently, her heart hammering in her throat, as his bootsteps padded down the carpeted hallway to the main door. After she heard the door open and close, she continued to sit still, feeling a little stunned. How long was he planning to stay at the resort? And what else would he charm away from her during that time, besides a hand towel?

  The sun had just crested the rounded, tree-tufted mountains in the east as Shea walked down the flagstone path from her cottage. One of the advantages of working at the resort was being able to live there amidst cultivated beauty that rivaled any setting in the world. Shea bent to brush an oak leaf off one of the lush azaleas that bordered the path. Though a team of gardeners cared for the estate, she was a perfectionist. Her attitude was a positive one, born out of a deep love for order.

  When she reached the main building, she climbed marble steps to a long, deep veranda and entered the executive suite through double doors of gleaming glass and mahogany. Shea went to a small coat closet and traded her walking shoes for white leather flats.

  “Good morning,” Jennie Cadishio said from behind a stack of paperwork at her desk. “I’ve run out of computer paper. Everyone in the kitchen is having hysterics because the avocados are one day past the pinnacle of ripeness and the low-cal pâté isn’t low-cal enough. Joanne Thurston wants someone to walk her poodle four times today. Anne says she can’t reach the two o’clock aerobics class because she has a shin splint. And I have a lousy raccoon in my attic at home.”

  Shea went into her office and began raising the white wooden blinds that covered the tall windows. “Send someone from maintenance to town for the paper. Tell the kitchen to find some way to use the avocados and to forget about the pâté until they get it right. Have one of the gardeners walk Thurston’s poodle. You’d think the woman had won the Oscar, the way she’s acting. I’ll teach the two o’clock class. As for your raccoon, I told you not to buy that ancient house in Mendocino. It’s probably the ghost of a raccoon.”

  “You must have meditated an extra ten minutes this morning,” Jennie called. “You’re extraordinarily calm.”

  Shea made a tour of her large, white-and-tan office, plumping the hand-woven cushions on the visitors’ chairs, brushing a speck of dust off the white bookcases. “I just want to be focused and relaxed for the meeting.”

  She shut the office door, smoothed a wrinkle in her turquoise jumpsuit, made sure that the clasp on her pearl necklace hadn’t slipped around to the front and that the silver-and-pearl belt wasn’t crooked, then sat down at her desk. To sidetrack her nervousness she picked up a guest list and began checking yesterday’s staff notes.

  Shea smiled. Chip Greeson, the game-show host, had been intercepted in the kitchen after lunch yesterday. He said he only wanted to take a peek at the facilities, but the staff suspected that he’d swiped a broiled pheasant for a snack. Angela Michaels, president of a Fortune 500 company called Angel Face Cosmetics, had offered one of the male fitness instructors much more than a makeover. He had tactfully declined.

  Shea felt a twinge of guilt. After her encounter with the outrageous rascal last night, she could empathize with the instructor. Her face flushed as she recalled her traitorous inclination to be reckless. After the meeting her first order of business was to find out Duke’s last name.
The intercom buzzed on her phone.

  “Mr. Araiza is here,” Jennie told her.

  Shea took a deep breath. Alejandro Araiza, the estate’s new owner. “Thank you,” she answered. “I’ll be right out.”

  Shea leaped to her feet and went to the door, pulled it open, and stepped into the reception area wearing a welcoming smile. Alejandro Araiza held out one large, blunt hand as she came to a shocked stop.

  “Call me Duke,” he said warmly, and smiled.

  Two

  Shea was dimly aware of extending her hand, more aware that he grasped it in the same sensual, slow way he’d grasped her leg last night. He wore sleek black loafers, khaki trousers, a light-blue golf shirt, and a beige sport jacket with a fine black line in the weave. Gone was the darkly exotic hombre; in his place was a darkly exotic businessman. But his eyes were exactly the same as they appraised her—intense, gentle, very interested.

  “Duke?” she repeated numbly.

  He nodded. “Alejandro by birth certificate. Duke by nickname.” His forefinger stroked the tender center of her palm, reassuring her. “Sorry. I like to play games. And last night I figured that you’d stiffen up even more if I told you who I was.” His smile was utterly teasing and yet not the least bit arrogant. “I wouldn’t have wanted anything else to cramp.”

  Shea glanced at Jennie, a redhead whose big eyes looked even bigger at the moment. Shea realized that Jennie was studying the handshake that had lingered far too long. Shea realized that she was squeezing Alejandro “Duke” Araiza’s hand much too intimately. She removed her hand and stepped back.

  “Mr. Araiza,” she said blankly, still absorbing his announcement.

  “Duke,” he corrected cheerfully.

  “Of Solo Verde Farms. The man who owns Thoroughbred race horses.”

  He nodded. “I think that’s me.”

  “The man who owns Spanish Outlaw.”

  “Winner of last year’s Triple Crown. Yep.” He tilted his head toward her office. “Let’s go sit a spell and talk.”

  Sit a spell. Shea had the feeling that despite the change in clothes, Duke Araiza was as much homespun rancher as sophisticated businessman. Homespun, an hombre. That black hair, dark as the underside of night, shagged forward, an unruly and entirely intriguing contrast to his otherwise neat appearance.

  “Yes,” she managed to say as she led him into her office. Shea nearly jumped when he swung the door closed with a jaunty shove of one hand. “Please, sit down,” she muttered. “Can I get you something?” She paused just long enough to smile grimly as she analyzed what he might say in return—knowing him—and hurried on. “Mineral water, herbal tea, fruit juice …”

  “How about a cup of strong coffee with extra cream and sugar?”

  Shea covered her chagrin with a neutral expression, then punched the intercom button. “Jennie, please have the kitchen send Mr. Araiza a cup of strong coffee with cream and extra honey.”

  “Uh, sure.” Shea could hear the surprise in Jennie’s voice. Coffee was verboten for the estate’s guests and therefore in short supply.

  “I’m sorry,” Shea told him. “We don’t keep sugar on the premises. Honey’s the best we can do.”

  He had settled into a chair across from her gilded French desk, and now he crossed his legs and shrugged happily. “Sugar’s not important right now.” The way he looked at her made Shea feel that they both knew exactly what was important right now, and it had to do with the energy between them.

  “This is incredible,” she said softly as she sat down at her desk.

  “What? That you don’t keep sugar around? You can fix that. Don’t worry.”

  Duke watched her clasp her hands on top of the ridiculously ornate desk and knew that she was still in shock. Even in shock, she looked fantastic. She had swept her blond hair up in one of those curly styles that defied gravity, and the color of the jumpsuit accented her eyes. With her pearl necklace and small pearl earrings she radiated elegance. Duke remembered the witty, spontaneous way she’d dealt with him last night and wondered if the elegance was a front for a delightfully earthy nature. He intended to find out.

  “I don’t mean to look dumbfounded,” she said carefully. “It’s just that I had no idea what to expect about the new owner. I wasn’t told much. Sir Nigel has owned the estate for the past fifteen years and in the eight years I’ve been here, he hasn’t stayed in close contact other than visiting a couple of times a year.” She struggled for tactful words. “You’ve acquired the resort for … investment purposes?”

  “Nope. I won it in a poker game.”

  Shea sat back slowly, drawing her hands into her lap, feeling the blood drain from her face. “A poker game?”

  He smiled at her stunned reaction. “Nigel and I are horse-racing cronies. He bought a few colts from me, he comes to visit my ranch occasionally, and we play poker. A month ago, in a … well … a sort of hell raising mood, he tossed this place into the pot. And I had a straight flush.”

  Shea had enough poker savvy to know why Duke Araiza looked so proud of that hand. “So you … you just won the resort? You didn’t even want it?”

  He shrugged again, his eyes roaming over her in a distracted way. “I want it more, now that I’m here.” He gave her just enough time to ponder the insinuation in that remark, then went on. “Tell me about yourself. You’ve been here eight years?”

  “Since I graduated from college. Well, actually, before that. I came up here during college to work summers as an instructor. The former manager offered me a full-time job after I got my degrees.”

  “Degrees?” he repeated curiously.

  “One in nutrition. One in physical education.”

  “P.E. You’re a jock!”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “I guess so.” The smile faded. “Could you tell me what plans you have for the estate?”

  “Don’t know.” He raised both hands in a nonchalant gesture, then let them fall into his lap. “I just wanted to see what a fat farm was all about, first.”

  Shea felt the anxiety beginning to build. “It’s a health and fitness resort, Mr. Araiza.…”

  “Duke.”

  “Duke. Uhmmm, what would you like to know? We show a profit every year—not a large one, but then, Sir Nigel never looked on the estate as a money-making—”

  “Ah, I don’t care about that stuff. I want to know more about you. When did you become head honcho?”

  “Four years ago, when the former manager retired.”

  “And you live in that little place over at the edge of the oak grove, that place with all the rose bushes?”

  “Yes. That’s the manager’s cottage.”

  “Suits you. Roses suit you. Now”—he rubbed his hands together enthusiastically—“about that rule that says staff and guests can’t fraternize? I don’t think that applies to you and me. As the owner, I hereby decree that it doesn’t. How about going to dinner with me tonight?”

  Shea took a deep breath and tried to control her anger. She rose and walked to a window, then stood staring out at the estate’s golf course, an emerald carpet that stretched into the distance. “Does my job depend on the answer?” she asked grimly.

  Suddenly, it felt as if the room’s air had cooled to arctic levels. “No,” came his slow, husky reply. “Querida, you’re a little too defensive.”

  She turned quickly, her hands clasped rigidly behind her back. “I apologize. But I don’t know what to make of all this. I want to cooperate with the new owner, but I don’t think the new owner gives a damn about this place.” Shea took a deep breath. “I don’t think you like it, or understand it, or want to preserve it.”

  He rose to his feet, a towering, masculine presence in her rose-scented, delicate office. Shea wasn’t accustomed to feeling short—not at five-seven—but now she felt tiny.

  “You’re right. I don’t understand this place,” he confirmed in an annoyed voice. “I’m no Scrooge—God knows I enjoy spending money—but I’ve never seen anything lik
e this playground for the Perrier-and-Rolls-Royce crowd. I’m not sure I like it, and I haven’t decided yet whether it’s worth preserving. Give me a little time.”

  Shea exhaled slowly. She held out both hands and realized abruptly that they were trembling. Duke Araiza had too much power over her.

  “We indulge in some frivolous things here, I know,” she admitted. “I won’t try to defend classes like Zen for Hiking. I won’t defend the silly luxuries like our individually wrapped tooth brushes with the tooth paste already applied. Those things aren’t important. What’s important is that people leave here feeling happier and healthier than when they came. This place has a very special aura.”

  “For folks who can afford it,” he said in a somber tone. Without warning, he crossed the short space between them and grasped her hands. “Relax,” he told her. “Show me around and I’ll try to act pampered.” His expression softened, and a coy smile crooked one corner of a mouth that was strong and generous. “And cancel my coffee order. You make my adrenaline run too high as it is.”

  Shea laughed, realizing that he was much more open-minded than she’d thought. “It’s mutual. You’ve rattled me.”

  As she watched with hypnotized fascination, he drew her hands to his mouth and kissed the back of each one, his dark gaze never leaving hers. His mouth was warm and pliant on her skin.

  “Because you love this fancy gold mine and you think I’m about as out of place here as a mustang at a steeplechase,” he prodded.

  Shea nodded blankly. The man demanded truthfulness. “But maybe we need a little excitement around here.”

  “Maybe you need a little excitement.”

  “I like peace and quiet.”

  “I’m peaceful. I’m quiet.”

  “You’re impossibly aggressive.”

  “I know a good thing when I see it.” He let go of her hands and stepped back. “So take me on a tour, good thing.”

  Shea felt as if she were a horse that Duke Araiza was slyly attempting to gentle. She smiled thinly. He didn’t know that under her tame facade she was as much a mustang as he was.