To Love a Stallion
Deborah Fletcher Mello

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 1

Marah Briscoe sat in a line of early morning traffic that seemed to be going absolutely nowhere. Vehicles were bumper to bumper on I-35, everything slowed from Zang Boulevard to Illinois Avenue. After a seriously long night with almost no rest, Marah was not in the mood. Sleep had been alluding her for days, ever since the last family meeting when her father had shocked her and her sisters with what he had called “good news.” Since that moment, her mind had been a random mush of reflection, her concentration challenged. Some sleep would have helped because the lack of it was truly messing with her thoughts and this morning was surely not the one for her to be unfocused.

From the moment she’d risen from her bed, her day had not gone well. The alarm on her clock radio had not gone off, setting her thirty minutes behind schedule, and a previous problem with the plumbing in her apartment had resurfaced with a vengeance. There had only been a short burst of hot water for her shower and premenstrual cramps were wrecking havoc on her body. With the traffic now holding her hostage, making her drive downtown a tedious chore at best, Marah was wishing she could crawl back into bed, pull the covers up and over her head and forget any of this was happening.

She was grateful when she finally pulled into the lower parking deck of the highrise offices and quickly found an empty parking spot in the front row. It felt as if she’d been given a minor reprieve from her misery. Exiting the vehicle, she took a series of deep breaths before entering the lobby of Stallion Enterprises’ executive office complex. Anxiety swept through her as she maneuvered her way past a uniformed officer sitting at the front security station and eased over to the building’s office directory. The oversize display case was recessed into a marbled wall, the black surface and bright white lettering illuminated by a hint of light that seemed to seep from somewhere in the back of the unit. She scanned it slowly, confirming the location of the corporate boardroom. When she located the appropriate floor and wing she depressed the up button for the elevator, waiting with the small crowd that had quickly gathered around her.

Taking a glance over her shoulder Marah noted the security guard eyeing her curiously, his gaze sweeping the length of her size-four frame with much appreciation. She tossed him a wry smile, then turned her attention back to the opening doors of the conveyor. Stepping inside she pushed the button for the fifty-fourth floor and eased her body in among the others who were riding up with her. The doors closed quickly and Marah blew a sigh of relief, cementing her decision to follow through with her mission.

Marah had been having second thoughts about what she planned to do. But what she was doing had become necessary. Six weeks ago she’d gotten word that Stallion Enterprises had made a bid to purchase her father’s ranch, one of the last black-owned granges in the county of Dallas. Some egotistical, corporate demagogue had preyed on her father’s soft nature and had conned the old man into actually believing this was in his best interest.

Since his wife’s death five years ago, Edward Briscoe had been beside himself with grief, his bereavement consuming every aspect of his life. He’d lost his one and only love and, besides his children, all he had left was that ranch. Marah was willing to go to any lengths to ensure her father didn’t lose it and definitely not to the likes of a silver-tongued, snake-oil salesman by the name of John Stallion.

Taking a glance down to the gold-toned watch on her wrist, Marah was suddenly concerned that she’d missed her window of opportunity. The executive committee of Stallion Enterprises would already be gathered together, preparing for the annual board meeting that would be commencing later that morning. Marah knew that slipping into the boardroom and interrupting their planning session before someone called security and tossed her out on the heels of her Abilene cowboy boots would be no easy feat.

A few stops later the elevator was exceptionally full when the doors opened and another crowd of bodies pushed their way inside. Marah took a step back to make room, pressing herself against the people already standing behind her. She tossed a quick look behind her, suddenly aware that she had stepped into someone’s space. A woman standing just over her right shoulder met her gaze, a slight smile of polite acknowledgment pulling at her thin lips. Marah couldn’t see the man at her back without turning all the way around, but she was acutely aware of his seductive cologne and imposing stature, and had caught a glimpse of his expensively tailored dark gray suit and classic Bostonian cap-toe shoes.

Marah found the small accommodations disconcerting. The man behind her was standing so near that she could feel the heat from his body mixing with her own. She was also aware that it had been some time since any man had been that close to her. His body heat teasing hers suddenly felt like lighter fluid being tossed on a raging flame. Marah felt a mist of perspiration rise between her cleavage.

The tall stranger stood with his back pressed against the elevator wall, his arms crossed evenly over his chest. He was unconsciously tapping the toe of his leather shoes, everything about his body language announcing his eagerness to reach his destination. The elevator jerked harshly, causing the woman in front of him to fall awkwardly against his body. A soft voice muttered a quick apology as she fought to regain her footing.

“No problem,” he responded, his gaze moving to focus on her female frame.

The woman’s attire was conservative but casual. Too casual for her to be an employee of Stallion Enterprises. Form-fitting Levi’s jeans hugged narrow hips and a small waist. She was leggy, the appendages seemingly a mile high for such a petite woman. A bright white blouse dressed her torso and from where he stood he imagined it was buttoned well up to her chin. He was suddenly aware of the faint scent of lavender wafting up from her space into his, the delicate aroma inciting a current of electrical energy through his bloodstream.

She tilted her head ever so slightly, just a hint of movement as though she were listening for something in particular to sound above the static breathing and the occasional cough of the other occupants. The elongation of her neck as it dipped, as if in invitation, suddenly made him want to lower his mouth to her flesh. He was suddenly lost in the thought of himself laying a path of damp kisses against the soft skin that peeked below the loose bun atop her head, a wealth of cinnamon-colored curls shimmering beneath the fluorescent lights. The moment was disturbing and he found himself fighting to resist the urge that had instantly consumed him.

The elevator stopped short, shuffling them one against the other. Marah’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach as the sharp movement caused her to fall back on the man.

The stranger leaned forward slightly, moving to whisper into her ear. “I’m very sorry,” he said, his voice a low gust of breath against the back of her neck. His voice was a throaty, deep rumble, the seductive vibration of it and the warmth of his breath only serving to aggravate Marah’s discomfort. She nodded ever so slightly, not bothering to respond, not quite sure what she should say, if anything at all.

The elevator climbed three more floors. As the conveyance approached the twentieth floor and came to a halt, it emptied enough for Marah to make a quick exit. Maneuvering her way to the front of the conveyor she stepped out into the corridor. Unable to resist, she turned to look over her shoulder, her gaze meeting the man’s fully for the first time. She was suddenly taken aback by his rugged good looks, rock-solid body and imposing stature. He had stepped to the forefront of the elevator behind her and was staring as well. Their gazes locked for just a brief moment, then the elevator doors closed shut between them and the stranger disappeared out of sight.

Marah inhaled, a deep influx of air filling her lungs. She eyed her watch one more time, then glanced around to see where it was she stood. A neon sign directed her to a restroom and Marah rushed inside to regain her composure.

Minutes later, she resumed her trip up the elevator to the fifty-fourth floor intent on doing the one thing she’d come to do. As the elevator doors opened, pointing her toward her destination, Marah knew there would be no turning back.

Determined to get an audience before chairman and chief executive officer John Stallion, Marah eased her way down the short length of corridor. The man had steadily refused to take her calls over the past few weeks, not even bothering to acknowledge her efforts to reach him, and Marah fully intended to give him a very large piece of her mind.

The robust black woman seated at the oak desk in the foyer was ill-prepared for Hurricane Marah as she stormed toward the closed doors, pushing her way past without seeking permission first.

“Excuse me, but where do you think you’re going?” the woman demanded as she jumped to her feet, rushing behind Marah.

Marah paused momentarily, turning in the direction of the booming voice. “I need to speak with John Stallion. And I need to speak with him now,” she responded, her hand wrapped around the doorknob of the executive conference room.

“I don’t think so. Mr. Stallion is in a very important meeting.”

“Well, this is important, too,” Marah intoned, the knob turning in the palm of her hand.

“You can’t go in there,” the woman reiterated, her voice rising sharply.

Marah snapped back, her own tone loud and crisp, “Watch me!”

Before either woman could utter another word, the door to the room swung open, pulling Marah over the threshold so abruptly that it took every ounce of effort not to fall flat on her face. As she stumbled through the entrance someone caught her by the elbow, stalling her fall to the carpeted floor.

A familiar baritone voice rumbled at her side. “May we help you?”

The matronly figure on Marah’s heels answered before Marah could collect her thoughts. “I tried to stop her, John. Do you want me to call security?”

Marah shook off the large hand still clutching her elbow. Pressing a palm to her abdomen, her gaze swept around the room, acknowledging the four pairs of eyes that were suddenly fixed on her, her own stare finally resting on the exceptionally tall black man at her side. The man from the elevator.

Heat flushed her face, a wave of embarrassment coursing through her. She took a deep inhale of air, stalling the quiver of nervous energy that rippled through her center. “I need to speak with John Stallion,” she finally muttered, her attempts at a commanding tone failing her. Marah struggled to fight past the rise of anxiety, trying to maintain a firm hold on an icy demeanor.

The older woman motioned as if to speak, her words stalled by the nod of her employer’s head. “Thank you, Miss Hilton,” he said, dismissing her. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Marah glanced over her shoulder to see the woman close the door behind her, suddenly leaving her, and them, alone.

John Stallion moved to the conference table, taking a seat in an oversize leather chair. He crossed an ankle over a knee and his arms over his chest as he eyed her curiously. A faint smile pulled at his mouth as he and the three men sitting around him appraised her, their gazes sweeping from the top of her head down to the floor beneath her feet and back again.

Marah was not amused as her own gaze shifted from one cocky face to the other. It was obvious that all four men were related, each possessing the same distinctive features: black-coffee complexions, chiseled jawlines, seductive bedroom eyes, plush pillows for lips and the same sexy, smug smile.

The man seated at the head of the mile-long conference table gestured in her direction. “So, Miss…?”

“It’s Ms. Ms. Briscoe,” Marah answered curtly, taking two steps in his direction.

“Well, Ms. Briscoe, what do you need to speak with me about?”

“Are you John Stallion?”

“I am and these are my brothers.” The man pointed with his index finger. “That’s Matthew, Mark and Luke.”

Marah looked from one to the other, her expression voicing her amusement. Back in the day Ma and Pa Stallion obviously didn’t realize their biblical brood was going to grow into evil incarnates set on stealing other folks’ life savings. Marah could only shake her head at the absurdity.

Reaching into the leather satchel slung over her shoulder, she pulled a stack of legal documents from the inner lining, tossing them onto the table in front of the man. “I think these belong to you,” she said, her ire ringing in her tone. “My father won’t be signing them anytime soon.”

John lifted the package of paperwork into his hands, scanning the documents briefly. He nodded slowly, then lifted his gaze toward brother number two. “Mark, it would seem that Ms. Briscoe is refusing our offer to purchase the Briscoe Ranch.”

The brother named Mark extended his hand in the direction of the paperwork. He shook his head as he scanned them as quickly as his brother had done.

John turned back to Marah. “I think we might have a problem, then. Mr. Briscoe has already verbally voiced his intent to accept our initial offer. And that is prime real estate that Stallion Enterprises isn’t willing to let pass.”

Marah’s hand moved to her lean hips, her head gyrating against her neck like a bobble-head doll. The index finger of her right hand waved from side to side in midair as she spoke. “Excuse me? Listen, I really don’t care what Stallion Enterprises is willing or not willing to do. All I know is that you have taken advantage of an old man, preying on him at a vulnerable time in his life and I’m putting a stop to it right now. The ranch isn’t for sale,” she pronounced, snapping her fingers in the air.

The four of them were still smiling at her, annoying Marah even more. Mark nodded, his eyes meeting John’s briefly before John spoke again.

“We’re sorry you feel that way, Ms. Briscoe. But again, we have a binding verbal agreement from Mr. Briscoe. We’re more than willing to consider renegotiating the deal if your father requires more time, but we will do whatever it takes to hold him to an agreement.” It was stated with an air of finality that made Marah cringe.

She bristled, hostility raging from her eyes. Both hands fell against the line of her hips as her head waved from side to side. “Well, give it your best shot. But I can promise you my sisters and I will do whatever it takes to fight you on this.”

John Stallion came to his feet, moving to stand directly in front of her. He stood close, his tall frame hovering easily over hers, the woodsy aroma of his cologne teasing her nostrils. Thoughts of their time in the elevator together flashed like cinematic photographs through her mind. A rise of perspiration suddenly puddled between her breasts, her temperature rising rapidly. She took a step back, dismayed at the way her body was betraying her.

The man stared her in the eye and Marah fought to hold his gaze, his piercing look seeming to undress her where she stood. When he spoke, his voice was low and even, so controlled that Marah imagined him to be the kind of man who was never unnerved by anything.

“I look forward to the challenge, Ms. Briscoe,” he said, that smug smile resurfacing to his face.

Inhaling swiftly, Marah spun around on her heels and rushed out the door as quickly as she’d rushed in. Behind her she could hear a rise of laughter; the Stallion men were no longer able to contain their amusement.

Chapter 2

John stood facing the slammed door, the walls still seeming to vibrate from the violation. His hands were pushed deep into the pockets of his slacks; his thoughts had followed after the woman when she’d stormed out of the room. The roar of laughter from the table behind him pulled at his attention.

“Yo, John, what just happened? Looks like you might have met your match. I thought you were more persuasive than that?” Mark Stallion said with a deep chuckle.

“You surely don’t see that every day,” Luke mused. “Edward was right about his daughter.”

John shook his head from side to side. “It would seem that we have a problem with that project of yours, Mark,” he said, changing the subject.

Mark nodded. “It would seem so. How do you think we should handle it?”

John paused, reflecting on the brief moments he’d just shared with the stunning Ms. Briscoe. The three men at his side sat watching him intently, curious as to what was on his mind.

The woman had spirit and John was rarely afforded an opportunity to be in the presence of a woman who wasn’t fawning for his attention like a lovesick puppy dog. Clearly, this woman was a force to be reckoned with. Not only had Ms. Briscoe not overreacted to their time in the elevator, but she’d barely given him a raised eyebrow as she’d thrown down her challenge. He was intrigued as he found himself imagining what it might be like to get to know her better.

His mouth lifted into a full grin. “I think I’ll handle this one personally,” he said finally. “Leave Ms. Briscoe to me.”

In the parking garage below, Marah was still shaking with anger as she pushed the speed dial on her cell phone. Three rings later her twin sister Marla picked up the line.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Marah, where are you? Daddy is having a fit.”

“Downtown. I’m just leaving Stallion Enterprises.”

“What did you do?”

“I told them Daddy’s not selling the ranch.”

“Marah, honey, you can’t…”

“Don’t start, Marla. You know as well as I do that Daddy shouldn’t sell that land. He and Mommy spent their entire lives building that business. I’m not going to sit back and do nothing while John Stallion tries to steal it.”

As she mentioned his name, Marah found herself breaking into a cold sweat. Admittedly, whether it had shown on her face or not, the good-looking man had unnerved her. But she was on a mission and not even a man as fine as that one was going to get in her way. And admittedly, John Stallion was one fine specimen of maleness.

Marla called into the receiver. “Marah? You still there?”

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I said you better come on home so we can all talk about it. Eden is already here.”

Marah nodded into the receiver. “I just have one more stop to make then I’m on my way.”

“See you soon,” Marla responded, disconnecting the call.

Pulling out of the garage, Marah stared up at the Stallion Enterprises logo that marked the front of the building. She heaved a deep sigh. John Stallion might be laughing now, she thought, but she promised herself he wouldn’t be laughing for long.

An hour later, Marah pulled into the circular driveway of the Briscoe Ranch. As she stepped out of her Lexus sedan she allowed her eyes to roam the landscape, taking in the familiar sites that always reminded her that this was her true home. Even the sleek, three-story, penthouse apartment she owned on McKinney Avenue with its spectacular downtown views didn’t give her the sense of homecoming she felt when she stepped back on the wealth of property that had been her parents’ dreams come true.

Briscoe Ranch was well over eight hundred acres of working cattle ranch and an equestrian center. Back in the day, her father, Edward Briscoe, had been one of the original black cowboys. Not long after the birth of their three daughters, Edward and his wife, Hazel Briscoe, had expanded his Texas longhorn operation, adding an entertainment complex that specialized in corporate and private client services. The ranch now housed two twenty-thousand square feet event barns and a country bed and breakfast. With the property being central to Austin, Houston, Dallas and Fort Worth, Briscoe Ranch had soon made quite a name for itself. Marah couldn’t begin to imagine her father ever giving it up.

Familiar chatter greeted her at the front entrance, her father’s booming voice calling her name from the kitchen. Marah could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn’t so happy with her. Before she could make her way into the family room, her older sister Eden appeared at her side, her head waving from side to side.

“I swear, Marah! Why do you have to keep Daddy riled up?” she said with a hushed breath.

Marah shrugged. “Don’t start, Eden,” she answered, her eyes rolling as she followed on her sister’s heels.

Her twin was seated in the kitchen at the center island, shaking her head knowingly at Marah. The two women were spitting images of each other from the wealth of their curls to their warm café-au-lait complexions and thin lips. The only physical attribute that separated one from the other was the last of the excess baby weight Marla still carried around her hips and midsection.

Where the twins were the spitting image of their father, older sister Eden had taken after their mother with her deep chocolate-brown complexion, large, round, blue-black eyes and jet-black hair. Every time the family looked at Eden they were reminded of the woman, a thought which sometimes brought joy and sometimes dropped a cloud of melancholy over their spirits, knowing that Hazel Briscoe wouldn’t be there for times like now when one or the other needed to be kept in line.

“What?” Marah said, tossing the other women an icy glare.

“You know what, young lady,” Edward said, turning from the pot of chili he was cooking on the stovetop to face her. “What did you think you were doing?”

“Stopping you from making a big mistake.”

“Munchkin,” he said, calling her by the pet name he’d christened her with when she’d been just weeks old. “My selling this ranch is not a mistake.”

Marah rolled her eyes, moving to take the empty seat beside Eden. She leaned into her sister’s shoulder. “Which one of you told on me?”

Eden shrugged, tossing a look toward Marla.

“Well, I didn’t,” Marla said. “Daddy was the one who called to tell me.”

Marah looked toward her father, an air of defiance painting her expression.

“Don’t you worry about how I found out, girl. Just know that I did. Now what did you do with dem papers I needed to sign?”

Marah said nothing, her gaze dropping to the floor.

Edward waved a spoon in her direction. “Don’t make me ask you again, Marah Jean.”

“I gave them back to the Stallions.”

Edward rolled his eyes, shaking his head from side to side. “I swear!” Dropping the spoon onto the counter he wiped his hands on a cotton dishcloth, them moved out of the room toward his office. When he was well out of earshot, both Eden and Marla started to laugh.

“Did you really just barge into their board meeting?” Marla asked.

“Kind of.”

“So what was he like?” Eden asked, curiosity pulling at them all.

“Who?”

“This John Stallion guy. I’ve heard he’s a real business shark.”

Marah suddenly blushed, a rush of color heating her cheeks. She stammered, searching for words. “He…well…he was…”

Before either of the Briscoe women could say another word, Edward moved back into the room. A wide smile filled his face as he cuddled Marla’s two-month-old son in his arms.

“Look who was wide awake,” the man gushed, nuzzling his face into the infant’s neck. “He was just laying there waiting patiently for his mama. This here’s one good baby. Boy wasn’t even crying.”

Marla extended her arms as her father passed her the child. Marah grinned, moving from her seat to her sister’s side. “He gets bigger and bigger each time I see him, Marla,” she said, pressing her lips to the baby’s forehead.

“And heavier and heavier,” Marla chuckled.

Edward fanned a hand in her direction. “You need to feed that boy some real food, that’ll fatten my boy up.”

Marla rolled her eyes skyward. “He’ll get real food soon enough, Daddy. Breast milk is just fine for now.”

Her father scowled. “You kids don’t know nothing. Need to give him a real bottle with a little cereal in it. That’s what your mama and I use to give you three.”

“And I’m still trying to get the weight off my hips!” Eden exclaimed.

They all laughed as Edward moved back to his pots. He peered in quickly, giving the concoction another quick stir.

They all fell silent for a quick minute as they watched Marla and the baby, marveling at the new life that had blessed their family. Edward broke the quiet.

“You need to get dem papers back, Marah.”

“But, Daddy…”

“But nothing. I’ve made my decision, honey. It’s time. I’m tired and running this ranch takes more out of me than I have to give.” The man let out a deep sigh.

“But, Daddy, if Marla and Michael keep running the day-to-day operations and I know Eden and I would be more than willing to take over some of the other responsibilities.”

“Munchkin, for all you know Marla and Michael might have other plans. Marla needs to be thinking about little Mike there, not this place. She’s got a family now and Eden needs to be thinking about having one with that new husband of hers. And you don’t need any more distractions keeping you from finding your own man. This ranch has just become an excuse for all of us to not go on with our lives. Besides, if you and Eden want to see that new business of yours do well, then you two will need to invest all the time and energy that you have there and not be worried about this ranch.”

Marah persisted. “I don’t think that’s fair, Daddy. This ranch is our lives, too. You haven’t even asked us what we wanted to do. I really think we should all talk about it.”

“I don’t need to talk about it. I’ve made up my mind,” the man said, his expression showing that he had no intentions of discussing it further.

“But, Daddy—”

Edward held up his hand and stalled her words. “Just get dem papers, Marah. That’s all you need to do.”

The family had all gathered for lunch, not another word spoken about the Stallions or the sale of the family home. After excusing himself to go take a quick nap, Edward had retired to his room and his children had discussed their options. Marah was only slightly dismayed by her sibling’s attitudes: Eden and Marla not wanting to rock Edward’s boat, but all agreeing that none of them wanted to see what their parent’s had built sold away—and definitely not to a corporation that didn’t have a clue.

Down in the stables, Marah groomed Brutus, the chestnut gelding that had been gifted to her on her twenty-fourth birthday. Her mother had been the one to select the horse as well as the palomino that Marla had named Chester. The stables and the animals that dwelled there had been her sanctuary for so long that Marah couldn’t begin to image her life without them. Somehow they had to make their father understand how important the ranch was to them all.

Hearing her name being called, Marah stroked the horse one last time, then headed out of the barn. Looking toward the homestead, she couldn’t miss the black sedan that was parked in the yard or the man standing in conversation with her father. She could feel her body tense as she stood staring in their direction.

Directly ahead of her, Eden and Marah were making their way to her side.

“If I wasn’t already in love and married,” Eden chimed, a wide grin filling her face.

“That brother is one good-looking man,” Marla exclaimed, giggling with her older sister.

“What’s he doing here?” Marah asked, her palms gripping the sides of her waist.

“He came to speak with you.”

Marah tossed Eden a quick look. “Me?”

The other woman nodded. “We assume you’re the Ms. Briscoe he wants to speak with.”

“And Daddy says to not keep Mr. Stallion waiting. Something about him being a busy man,” Marla said with another giggle.

Marah sneered as they all three headed in the direction of the house, but as they approached the two men, she was suddenly conscious of the fact that she reeked of horse and barn, and her face and hands were smeared with dirt and grime. Marah couldn’t believe this was happening to her. She brushed her palms against the front of her jeans, willing the dirt away.

John Stallion turned as she approached, his eyes widening with amusement as she drew near. He nodded in greeting.

“It’s very nice to see you again, Ms. Briscoe,” he said with more emphasis on the Ms. than necessary.

“Mr. Stallion.”

“John came to talk to me about your meeting this morning,” Edward said, eyeing his daughter with raised eyebrows.

Marah found herself wishing for a hole to crawl into as her father continued, turning his attention back to the man at his side.

“Marah is just like her mother—headstrong and stubborn as a mule. Did you meet my other girls, John?”

“No, sir. I haven’t yet had the pleasure,” the dark prince said, his tone full and deep. He extended a hand toward Eden and then Marla as Edward made the introductions.

“This is my oldest girl, Eden Waller and this is Marah’s twin, Marla Baron. Marla and her husband Michael just gave me my first grandbaby. As you know, they run the daily operations here. Girls, this is Mr. John Stallion.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” John said.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” Eden chimed.

Marah rolled her eyes at her sister, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze fell back on John, who was watching her intently, his stare more than obvious.

“Ms. Briscoe, I was telling your father that since you’re not happy with the details of our preliminary offer that it might be in his best interest if you were to participate in the final negotiations.”

“Excuse me?” Marah cut her eyes from one man to the other.

John smiled, the beauty of it sending a torrent of heat straight into Marah’s southern quadrant. “That’s right. Your father has agreed that you should handle his end of the negotiations.”

Marah tossed her father a shocked look. The old man was grinning in her direction. He nodded his head.

“That’s right, munchkin. I still plan to sell, but I’m going to trust you to get me a deal that will make everyone happy.”

“But, Daddy—”

He interrupted, changing the subject as he turned to face his other daughters. “Marla, we have five weddings here this month and my grandson needs a diaper change so you’ve got work to do. Eden, don’t you have a business of your own to run?”

“Yes, sir, Daddy,” both chimed simultaneously, following behind the man as he headed back into the house.

Both women tossed a quick look and grinned at the duo standing toe-to-toe.

When her family was out of earshot, Marah blasted him. “You really are an arrogant ass, Mr. Stallion. I told you he’s not selling.”

“And I told you that we have a deal on the table that will go through, with or without your approval, Ms. Briscoe. But your father has decided he would like your approval and I support that.”

“I just bet you do.”

John stepped in, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “You really are quite beautiful when you’re angry,” he said, his voice dropping two octaves.

Marah stammered, rage flashing across her face. “I don’t believe you just said that,” she hissed, her tone incredulous.

“Well, I did.” The man moved back in the direction of his car, that smug grin filling his dark face. “The executive board is having dinner tonight to discuss the Briscoe acquisition. I’ll send a car to get you. Be ready at seven. And, Ms. Briscoe?”

“What?”

“Please wash. We’ll be in black tie tonight,” he said with a quick wink before sliding into the driver’s seat of the vehicle.

Marah watched as he pulled out of the gate and onto the main thoroughway. When he was finally out of sight she allowed herself to relax, stalling the shakes that had taken control of her muscles. For some reason things weren’t going at all the way she’d planned.

Chapter 3

Her sisters were waiting for her when she entered their childhood bedroom. The decor was as it had been when they’d been children. Bubblegum-pink walls, princess-white furniture with gold trim, gray-and-white shag carpet and white lace curtains adorned the space.

Marah groaned loudly as she threw her lean body across the twin bed that had been Eden’s bed back in the day. Marla and Eden sat on the bed across from her, both grinning from ear to ear. Baby Michael slept soundly between them.

“I think she could use some professional advice,” Marla giggled, jostling Eden’s shoulder.

“I agree,” Eden joked, crossing her legs as she reached for a pen and tablet that sat on the nightstand.

Marah drew her arms up and over her head, her eyes closed tightly as Eden continued. Her twin sister giggled as if something were actually humorous.

“First,” Eden said, switching to her serious business tone as she pretended to scribble a note across the notepad. “When you meet a man you’re interested in, try not to smell like manure.”

Marla burst out laughing.

“Neither one of you is funny,” Marah responded, not bothering to look in their direction.

“Definitely not as funny as you and that man,” Eden quipped.

“Leave it alone, Eden.”

“Leave what alone? Your obvious interest in a man you’ve deemed your enemy hardly went unnoticed. Even Daddy noticed.”

Marah sat upright on the bed. “Did he say something?

“Who?”

“Daddy.”

Both women grinned broadly, cutting a glance in each other’s direction before turning their gazes back to Marah.

“No,” Marla said, her expression saying otherwise. “Did you hear Daddy say something, Eden?”

Eden shrugged. “Not me. I didn’t hear anything.”

Marah reached for one of the plush pillows that decorated the room and sent it sailing toward Eden’s head. Her sister ducked and giggled, the pillow bouncing against the pink wall behind them.

“Don’t you hit my baby,” Marla admonished, a protective hand reaching across her son’s back.

“What did Daddy say?” Marah implored, her voice dropping to a loud whisper.

Eden smiled. “Daddy said that it’s going to be interesting to see what’s going to happen with you and Mr. Stallion.”

“Actually, he said it’s going to be very interesting,” Marla interjected, her head bobbing against her shoulders.

“Can you believe the audacity of that man?” Marah questioned, her eyes flicking from one sister to the other. “And did you get a good look at his rear end? That man has a body to die for!”

In a flash, the memory of John Stallion and their elevator ride resurfaced. Marah could feel her body temperature rising rapidly, her breathing becoming static as she recalled the moment.

“What’s wrong with you?” Eden asked, eyeing her curiously. “You’re all flushed all of a sudden. You’re not getting sick on us are you? You can’t get sick, Marah. You have a dinner date tonight, remember?”

Marah did remember, a wave of anxiety sweeping through her. “I can’t go,” she said, her head waving emphatically from side to side.

“What’s going on?” Marla asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Marah swallowed hard before responding. “Stallion and I had a close encounter in the elevator of his offices this morning,” she said. “A very close encounter.”

Marla looked confused. “Why doesn’t that sound like it was good thing?”

“Oh, it was a very good thing. That’s part of the problem. I find him irresistible and that’s so wrong. He made me remember what I’m missing.”

Eden rose to her feet; Marla reached for her baby before doing the same. “You better go shower and get ready. I imagine that at least one of those Stallion brothers might be just what you’re looking for.”

The spray of hot water felt good on Marah’s bare skin. She was in dire need of relaxation and allowed herself to revel in the aromatic scent of the floral body wash in the steamy mist that billowed warmly around her. Leaning back against the shower wall, Marah relished the sensation of the tiles against her skin. Her senses had been off-kilter since her encounter with that man, her awareness of her own longings and desires more acute. The sensitivity was like nothing she could explain, the weight of it heavy in her feminine spirit.

Although she didn’t want to admit it, she still burned hot from his body heat, her skin feeling as if it were on fire. Her blood boiled as she thought about him, and Marah imagined that if it were at all possible her insides might easily combust. She could never admit to him that she wanted to feel him near her again, his body moving with hers. She shook her head vehemently, shaking the thoughts from her mind.

She stood still beneath the flow of warm liquid that rinsed the suds from her flesh. She had to have a game plan. She had to be ready to counter whatever John Stallion and his so-called executive board threw at her. She had to do whatever it took to regain some control and do what was in her father’s best interest.

Control. I have lost control, she thought. And if someone were to ask her how and why, she couldn’t begin to give them an answer. Something about that man, damn him, had made her lose control.

Marah heaved a deep sigh. Obviously, appealing to his sense of honor wasn’t going to do her any good. The man was clearly a snake in sheep’s clothing who had no honor. Or at least that’s what Marah was working hard to convince herself. As she stood thinking about the man and their very brief history together, the obvious suddenly shifted her mood and she found herself smiling.

This was going to be easier than she’d realized. John Stallion was, in fact, just a man. The look he gave her after she exited the elevator served to prove that he was a man who could easily be moved by a woman. And not just any woman, but a female like Marah Briscoe.

Marah grinned broadly, tilting her face into the flow of water. John Stallion might be the shark of all sharks, but Marah was a barracuda in her own right. A barracuda with the body of a goddess. John Stallion didn’t have a clue what was about to hit him.

Marah stood in the foyer of her family’s home, appraising the black stretch limousine that sat in wait in the driveway. Behind her, Eden shook her head, her gaze evaluating her baby sister’s wardrobe choice. Reaching into the foyer closet she dug through the coats and jackets until she found a lightweight silk shawl that she passed to Marah.

“Here, put this on,” Eden commanded. “Daddy is already in a mood about what you did. We don’t need him starting in about you and that tattoo.”

Marah rolled her eyes skyward, but took the garment from her sister’s hands and wrapped it around her shoulders to cover her back. She met Eden’s gaze, her mother’s eyes scolding her from her sister’s face. Her tattoos had always been a bone of contention between her and her family, her parents vehemently disapproving of her body art. She took a deep breath and then a second, blowing warm breath out slowly.

“Wish me luck,” she intoned, reaching out to hug the two women who had been her best friends since the day she’d been born. Their father’s booming voice sounded from the top of the stairwell.

“What’s luck got to do with anything?” he asked as he made his way down the stairs. “You’re playing in the big leagues now, Marah Jean. Them Stallion boys wheel and deal every day. They’re making multimillion dollar decisions for breakfast and spitting out the small players for lunch. They’re at the top of their game because they’re supersmart. You’re going to need your brain, munchkin. Not luck.”

His daughters stared at him, all three standing with their mouths wide open. Before either of them could say anything, his eyes narrowed into thin slits.

“Where’s the rest of your dress, young lady?” he asked, his stare racing the length of Marah’s body.

The young woman stammered, her mouth opening and closing as she sucked in air. She looked toward her sisters for help, heaving a sigh of relief when Marla came to her rescue.

“That’s the style now, Daddy. That dress is too cute on her!” she exclaimed, Eden nodding her agreement.

“Humph,” Edward grunted, not at all convinced.

Marah quickly changed the subject. “Where are you going?” she asked, admiring the black tuxedo he sported.

Eden reached to adjust the patriarch’s bow tie and collar. “You look quite dashing, Daddy,” she said.

Edward grinned. “Why thank you very much! And, I’m joining you for dinner,” he said to Marah as he extended his elbow in her direction, his palm pressed flat against his abdomen. “Shall we?”

Marah smiled back, her eyes wide with surprise as she pressed her arm through her father’s. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Briscoe,” she answered as she allowed him to guide her out the front door to the waiting vehicle. “Simply delighted!”

Chapter 4

The drive to the magnificent Preston Hollow estate on Audubon Avenue would have taken Marah’s breath away had she been breathing. But Marah felt as if she’d been holding her breath since she and her father stepped into the vehicle, the patriarch chatting away as if this was something that they did every day. Edward didn’t seem to notice that Marah was twisting her fingers together nervously, anxiety flushing her face with color. She was nervous and excited about seeing John Stallion again and she couldn’t ever remember being nervous or excited about any man.

The driver stopped at the entrance to the grand home. Constructed of Austin stone with copper accents and a tile roof, the European-style residence easily encompassed some fifteen thousand square feet of living space. It sat on some sizeable acreage as well, and Marah took in the expanse of landscaping that boasted a putting green, an Olympic-size swimming pool and tennis courts. It didn’t, however, begin to compare to the ranch.

Edward barely blinked as they made their way to the iron-and-glass entrance, moving as if this was all an everyday occurrence. At the door he depressed the button for the doorbell, tossing Marah a quick wink as they waited for someone to answer.

Their wait was brief as the receptionist Marah had encountered that morning at the entrance to the Stallion conference room opened the front door. The woman smiled warmly as she greeted them both by name and then leaned to kiss Edward’s lips.

The gesture took Marah by complete surprise, and the expression across her face showed her displeasure. In all her life she had only seen her mother kiss her father like that and so the moment did not sit well with Marah at all. She could feel herself bristle, tension adding to the stress she had already been feeling.

The other woman’s voice intruded on Marah’s thoughts.

“It’s very nice to finally meet you, dear. I’ve heard a lot about you and your sisters.”

Imagine that, Marah thought to herself. We’ve never heard anything about you. Marah forced a smile onto her face. “Thank you,” she said. “How do you know my father?”

His eyes avoiding hers, Edward answered the question, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Juanita and I are old friends.”

It was on the tip of Marah’s tongue to ask how old “old” was, but the moment passed as Juanita Hilton escorted them into the formal living space of the home, her arm now looped through Marah’s father’s arm.

Conversation stopped as Marah and her father stepped from the foyer into a handsome study that was complemented by Brazilian cherrywood floors, wall-to-wall built-in bookcases and a beamed ceiling. The four Stallion men had stood in deep discussion, debating the merits of a mutual fund portfolio when their attention was diverted in her direction. Those four pairs of eyes were appraising her for the second time that day. And Marah stared back, meeting each gaze one by one, noting the expensive tuxedos each wore to perfection. Black suits adorning picture-perfect, rock-hard physiques. She suddenly felt like a kid with a sweet tooth in a candy shop.

Matthew Stallion greeted them first, extending his hand toward her father before formally introducing himself to Marah.

“We’re glad you and your father could join us this evening, Marah.”

“Thank you,” she responded politely.

Edward shook hands with each of them in turn, an easy camaraderie obvious between them all. Marah suddenly had a long list of questions she intended to ask the old man before the evening was over.

John Stallion was the last brother to step forward to greet them.

“Let me take your wrap for you,” he said as he stepped behind her, his fingers grazing hers as she allowed the garment to slip from her shoulders.

The man was awestruck. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Marah. He was held hostage by bare skin, her attire screaming for attention. Her entire back was exposed. She wore just the hint of a forest-green silk dress, a triangle of fabric that draped into a valley of deep cleavage and stopped mere inches past her southern quadrant to wrap around the shelf of her buttocks. The halter-style dress was tied with a wisp of silk ribbon at the neck and waist.

John found himself dazzled by the expanse of tattoo that painted the woman’s back. Starting just below her hairline, an intricate depiction of scrolls and flowers was detailed in magnificent color against her warm complexion, seeming to stop somewhere past the curve of her buttocks. He marveled at the tattoo’s intricacy, having never seen such a display of artwork on a woman before. Not one other blemish marred her skin, the tone so smooth and even that one could only imagine how soft and sweet she might be in a man’s arms. He resisted an urge to draw his finger against her bare flesh.

He wasn’t used to the sensations sweeping through him, his blood surging as it simmered through his veins. Since their brief encounter in the elevator and their abrupt introduction in his boardroom, John felt as if his whole world had changed and John wasn’t one to like a whole lot of change. But everything felt different. He felt different, as if some piece of that woman was crawling just beneath the surface of his skin, pleasant but irritating. With her suddenly in his presence, standing so close that the fragrant scent of her perfume was teasing his nostrils, it was almost too much for him to take. He suddenly pondered whether or not a shot or two of straight scotch might calm his frazzled nerves. John shook his head, trying to clear the rush of confusion that threatened to consume him as he still stood staring like he’d lost his mind.

Marah could feel his eyes burning over her flesh and she smiled slyly. Working her assets came naturally and she paused just long enough for him to get a good look before she spun slowly in his direction to face him. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, accentuating the curve of her buttocks and the narrow line of her thin waist. “Cat got your tongue, Mr. Stallion?”

John blinked, forcing his focus back to her exquisite caramel-colored eyes, the forest-thick lashes batting in his direction. “I’m sorry. You were saying…?”

“I was admiring your home,” Marah said, a soft smile brightening her face. “Have you lived here long?”

“We built the house back in 2002, right after the company started doing well.

Marah’s smile widened. “And you all live here?” she asked, her gaze skating from one to the other.

Mark shook his head, the appendage waving from side to side. “Not anymore. Luke and I are the only two still here at home. John and Matthew both have their own places.”

“Interesting,” Marah said, nodding slowly.

John shrugged. “Not really. We entertain clients here and occasionally a business associate or two might stay here if they need to be in town for an extended period of time.”

“We like to make our guests feel at home,” Juanita chimed, her gaze resting on Edward’s.

Marah couldn’t help but note the look that passed between them. Her discomfort did not go unnoticed as John looked from her to the older couple and back again.

“Miss Hilton has been our surrogate mother. She lives here as well and keeps us in line,” he said.

“Now that’s right,” the woman chimed, a warm chuckle passing over her lips.

“Do you have any other family here?” Marah asked curiously. “Your parents?”

The man shook his head. “No. It’s just us four,” he said, an air of tension rising from his center. Marah sensed that she had struck a sensitive nerve and immediately regretted having asked the question.

Luke changed the subject. “Why don’t we move this conversation to the dinner table. I’m starved.”

“I second that,” Mark echoed.

Juanita Hilton moved ahead of them. “I’ll let the kitchen know you’re ready to be served,” she said, shifting into assistant mode.

John took the seat at the head of the table, guiding her to the seat at his side. Her father was seated at the other end, Juanita taking the seat on his right side as the Stallion brothers occupied the remaining chairs. The table was set immaculately, the Stallions displaying their finest china and crystal. Eden, with her pretentious airs, would have been duly impressed, Marah thought to herself.

The conversation was casual as they all chatted easily over a meal of prime rib, glazed carrots and garlic mashed potatoes. Marah knew that her father was truly comfortable when he starting telling a few of the many cowboy jokes he’d become famous for.

“Okay,” Edward was saying, everyone’s eyes on him. “This old cowhand comes riding into town on one of them hot, dry, dusty days. Now the local sheriff is standing at the front of the saloon watching as the cowboy climbs on down off his horse and ties the mustang to a rail a few feet from the entrance.

“The sheriff, he says, ‘Howdy, stranger.’ and the old cowboy gives him a ‘Howdy, sheriff’ right back. The cowboy then goes to the back of his horse, lifts its tail and places a big kiss on that horse’s ass end. He drops the tail, steps up on the sidewalk and heads through the swinging doors into the saloon.

“Now, the sheriff can’t believe what he’s just seen and he says, ‘Hold on, mister. Did I just see what I think I saw?’ And the man says, ‘Reckon you did, sheriff. I got me some powerful chapped lips.’ The sheriff is still floored by what the man did so he asks him, ‘Does kissing that horse’s ass cure them lips of yours?’ And the man says, ‘Nope, but it does keep me from lickin’ ’em.”

The men bust out laughing. Marah could only shake her head having heard that joke and most of her father’s others more times than she cared to count. As the evening wore on, Marah was beginning to think the night was about everything except the acquisition of her family’s homestead. Throughout the evening she could feel John stealing glances in her direction, his timid behavior reminiscent of an adolescent in the cusp of a first crush. Marah figured she would be well served to take full advantage of the situation.

She leaned closer in his direction, her eyes widening with intrigue as she gave him a wry smile.

“Mr. Stallion?’

“Please, call me John. Too many Mr. Stallions for us to know which one you’re looking for,” he said, tossing a quick wink toward his brothers.

“John, about the ranch…” she started.

Her father interrupted, clearing his throat to draw their attention in his direction and away from whatever it was Marah was about to say. “John, my boy. I didn’t get a chance to tell Marah about your hobby. She’s quite the art collector. I was thinking that she might like to see your studio one day.”

Marah turned back to face the man, her annoyance dispelled by her curiosity. “You’re an artist?”

John shrugged his shoulders, a shy smile filling his face. “I dabble on occasion.”

“He does more than dabble,” Juanita interjected. “He’s quite talented.”

“Quite,” Mark teased, elbowing Luke. The two men chuckled and John rolled his eyes. Marah smiled.

“I have two sisters,” she said with a warm laugh. “I understand perfectly.

“Where do you fall in the lineup?” John asked, leaning his chin into his hands, his elbows propped against the tabletop.

Marah met his intense gaze. “I’m the youngest. My sister Eden is six years older than Marla and me, and Marla is ten minutes older than I am.”

The man nodded. “I’m the oldest. Matthew’s next and there’s a two-year age difference between us. Then comes Mark who is one year younger than Matthew, and Luke here was the family accident.”

Luke snarled. “I was too planned!”

“Like a heart attack,” Mark joked. “I was six when Mom got pregnant with him. He wasn’t planned.”

The table chuckled as Luke flicked a carrot at his brother’s head.

As if reading her mind, John answered the question that had been on her mind. His tone was edged in emotion that seemed to pierce straight through Marah’s heart.

“Our parents died in an automobile accident when Luke was eight.”

For a brief moment, all the men grew quiet, a hushed silence dropping down over the table.

Matthew continued the conversation, breaking the awkward moment. “John stepped in and took responsibility for us. Big brother here became our parent.”

John clasped his hands together, looking from one brother to the other.

“He did a fine job with all you boys,” Juanita interjected, her head bobbing up and down. “A fine job.”

“Your folks would be very proud,” Edward said.

Marah nodded, sensing the man’s discomfort talking about losing his parents and hearing the accolades for all he’d accomplished. She smiled sweetly as she focused all her attention on him. “I imagine it wasn’t easy for you,” she said softly. “When my mother died I don’t know if my sisters and I could have gotten through it without our father.”

Marah turned to meet her dad’s stare, the man watching her intently. “I know how you must feel because our mother was everything to all of us,” she said, her eyes shifting to meet Juanita’s. “Everything.”

As dinner came to a close, the group savoring the last bites of a New York cheesecake with a strawberry rum sauce, John tapped Marah against the back of her hand, his thick fingers sending a current of heat up the length of her arm.

“Care to walk with me, Ms. Briscoe?”

“Only if you drop the Ms. and call me Marah, John.”

He nodded his head, and they excused themselves from the table. “So, now that we’re on a first name basis, what was it you wanted to ask me earlier?” he asked, guiding her out the room, his large hand pressed lightly against her elbow.

“This evening wasn’t what I expected. You said the executive board would be discussing the purchase of our ranch. This doesn’t seem like your typical board meeting to me.”

John chuckled as they maneuvered their way toward the rear of the large home and then down the length of a short corridor. As he turned the knob on the door at the end of the hallway and gestured for her to enter first. “Nothing that my brothers and I do is typical, Marah. And, we are all the executive board that we need.”

Marah stopped short, turning abruptly. “Why are you taking advantage of my father?”

John smiled, the motion brightening his face. “I wasn’t aware that I was. Your father has been very eager to negotiate the sale of that property.”

“That ranch has been his whole life. Since my mother died that ranch is all he has.”

“He has you and your sisters. That’s more important to him than that land is.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Marah said, exasperation tingeing her voice.

“I think I understand your father better than you do. He’s ready to shake things up a little,” John said matter-of-factly. “He wants to make some changes in his life while he still can.”

Marah crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing sharply. “What do you know about what my father wants?”

“He and I have become good friends over the last year or so. We’ve spent a lot of time together talking.”

A look of confusion washed over Marah’s expression. “How did you two meet?”

“Aunt Juanita introduced us.”

At the mention of that woman’s name Marah bristled, even more baffled by the relationship Juanita and her father appeared to share. The moment passed as she was suddenly distracted. She took in the space surrounding them, John stepping in behind her. The room was a Victorian conservatory, a light-drenched glass chamber that looked out over the landscape outside. The afternoon sun had disappeared, replaced by the brilliance of a full moon and a flood of flickering stars that lit up the dark sky. It was an intimate retreat surrounded by a wealth of vegetation and blooming flora. The glow of nightfall was enchanting and Marah found herself mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the moment. It also helped that they had polished off a bottle or two of bubbly at dinner and she’d been feeling warm and mellow in his company since they’d finished dessert.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered as she tilted her head skyward. She turned to stare at him, a coy expression painting her face. She leaned against the back of a wing chair, her arms resting on the edge, her gaze sweeping around the room. She was lean and elegant, temptation standing on two legs and every ounce of her body was beckoning him to her.

“Yes, you are,” he answered, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks, his gaze still locked on her as he fought the urge to move to her side. “You clean up nicely,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Marah cut her eyes in his direction. She suddenly couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her as intently as John Stallion was watching her now. She shook her head, disturbed that she was being swayed so wantonly when it was she who was supposed to be doing the swaying.

“Thank you,” she muttered, turning an about face to stare out through the wealth of glass that separated them from the gardens outside.

She could feel John step in closer to her, his gaze boring a hole straight into her soul. Marah felt warm, too connected to the moment, and she shook the sensation from her mind. She jumped as he drew a hand down her back, the pad of his index finger outlining the ink coloring her skin.

“Did it hurt?” he asked, stepping in even closer to exam the design.

“A little. Not much,” she said, trying to contain her breathing. She closed her eyes, sensations sweeping like fire through her body. All of his fingers were gently caressing the expanse of her back.

“It’s absolutely exquisite,” John said, his own breathing coming in short, quick gasps. “What possessed you to do it?”

Marah paused, relishing the warmth of his touch, the sensation distracting her from any coherent thoughts. “I…I…liked…” She was unable to form the words to explain the edge to her personality that allowed her to take risks and do things other people wouldn’t. She stepped away from his touch, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso.

“Look,” she said, taking a deep breath and holding it for a quick minute. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, John, but I’m not interested,” she said, her tone everything but convincing.

“Aren’t you?” he answered, that smug smile pulling at the line of his mouth.

Marah was suddenly overcome with emotion she didn’t like. No, she didn’t like how she was feeling at all. “No, I’m not,” she said firmly, a bald-faced lie slipping past her lips. “All I want is to know what it will take for you to let go of this deal and leave my family alone?”

“Is that all?’ John asked, taking a step toward her, the look he gave her overwhelming.

Marah was consumed with emotion, her mind and body suddenly doing battle for control. The expression across the man’s face was edged with something that Marah could only describe as wicked. The man was playing her, she thought suddenly. John Stallion was trying to beat her at her own game. She nodded her head slowly. A slight smile blessed her face. If he wanted to play, then she would pull him into a game that would surely leave him wishing he’d found someone else to play with.

“Maybe not,” Marah said, lifting her coquettish gaze to stare into his.

There was a moment of quiet hesitation as both stood contemplating each other.

“I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to kiss you,” Marah said softly, taking a step toward him.

John stepped in to meet her, a torrent of heat flooding his senses when she pressed a perfectly manicured hand against his chest. A large hand fell to the curve of her waist as he snaked his arm around her body to pull her close. When her pelvis met his, John felt like he might explode right there. Marah gasped, her own body awed by the intensity of his touch.

“What’s stopping you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he moved to lower his mouth to hers.

Marah paused, smiling sweetly, then took two steps back, her hand falling down to her side as she slipped out of his grasp. “The urge passed,” she answered, her eyes flickering with amusement.

John laughed, a wide grin filling his face. “You’re a tease, aren’t you?’

“Not at all, Mr. Stallion. I’m just tired of brothers like you who think they can get over on their good looks and smooth lines. This deal is nowhere close to being done. Believe that. Now, either you want to take this to the table or you don’t, but I guarantee you that my father will not be signing any time soon, if—” she paused, allowing her gaze to meet his evenly “—he signs at all.”

John nodded, still smiling smugly. “Tomorrow afternoon. Two-thirty. I think you know where the conference room is, Ms. Briscoe.”

“I do, but then you know where the ranch is. Meet me in the stables, Mr. Stallion. Shall we say three o’clock?”

“Three o’clock,” he responded, nodding his agreement. “I look forward to it.”

As she disappeared in search of her father, John turned to stare out to the starry sky. The image of Marah lingered in his memory as he replayed the evening over in his head. Picturing the woman’s sweet smile made him hard with wanting. Picturing the length of her lithe legs made his stomach hum with appreciation. Picturing her sparkling eyes made him hungry with desire. As he imagined what could have happened between them, he couldn’t help but picture what kissing her could have been like.

Chapter 5

The four men sat lost in their own thoughts when Juanita came into the room to wish them all a good night. “Sweet dreams, boys,” she chimed, her tone as comforting as it had been when she’d come to help eighteen-year-old John assume responsibility for his siblings.

Juanita had been their mother’s best friend since the two women had been children. The deaths of Irene and James Stallion had devastated her world almost as much as it had destroyed the four Stallion children. With no family of her own, she’d made it possible for them to remain together as a family, stepping in to enable John to have guardianship over his brothers. Juanita had been a rock and all four of them adored her.

John smiled, swirling a tulip-shaped glass slowly in his hand. “Thank you, Aunt Juanita. I’ll be heading out in a few minutes,” he said, coddling the last sips of a vintage cognac.

“Why don’t you stay the night?” the woman asked, concern warming her voice. “I can have your room ready in a few minutes.”

He shook his head no. “I want to go home tonight.”

“Well, I’m staying, Matthew interjected. “If I have to sleep alone tonight, I can do it here just as well as I can do it at my apartment.”

His brothers laughed.

“John,” Mark said, his amusement seeping into his voice. “Are you sleeping alone tonight or might you be entertaining company?”

“Yeah, bro. Who will you be discussing contracts with later this evening?” Luke asked.

Juanita waved her hand. “You all need to stop now. Take that nonsense someplace else. Leave your brother be.”

“That’s okay, Aunt Juanita. They’re just jealous,” John responded.

Matthew laughed. “I know I am. You and Ms. Briscoe seemed very comfy with each other. Something you want to tell us?”

John could feel them all staring in his direction. “No,” he said, waving his head from side to side. “There isn’t anything to tell.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Mark said. “I saw how you were looking at the woman.”

John glared in his brother’s direction, not bothering to respond.

Juanita shook her head. “Marah’s a sweet girl. You should get to know her better.”

Matthew came to his feet, moving toward the door. “I’m sure that’s exactly what John wants, Auntie. To get to know her better.” He winked an eye at the other men. “Isn’t that right, big brother?”

John sipped the last of his drink, rising from his own seat. He ignored the grins plastered on his sibling’s faces, not bothering to respond to what Matthew had just said. “Good night, Aunt Juanita,” he said, leaning to kiss the older woman’s cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby,” she said, patting his back lightly.

As John moved through the door and out of the room, Matthew continued to grin at him. Unable to resist the temptation, John swung a fist in the man’s direction, landing a punch against his brother’s shoulder.

“Ouch!” Matthew exclaimed, caught off guard by his brother’s behavior. He rubbed the bruised spot, a look of surprise gracing his face.

John laughed. “Keep being a wise ass. You forget I can still whip your butt, little brother. Mind yourself before I hurt you,” he said, waving good night to the others.

Behind him, Luke and Mark rolled with laughter.

Not even the flicker of candlelight, the lull of soft music or the soft scent of lavender bubbles could dispel the frustration Marah was feeling. She dipped a perfectly painted toe in and out of the bath of warm water.

On the ride home, her father’s answers to her many questions had been less than enlightening. He would only acknowledge that he and that woman were good friends, giving her no other information about their relationship. As well, it would seem that his friendship with the Stallion men had bloomed months prior with neither her nor her sisters having any knowledge that they even knew each other.

Marah shook her head, shifting her body against the porcelain pool. What her father had been eager to discuss, though, was John Stallion and his more favorable attributes. It had become quickly obvious that Daddy was keenly interested in Marah being interested in that man. Marah had admonished him for trying to play matchmaker and Edward had simply laughed, reminding Marah that daddies always knew best. In this case though, Marah was determined to prove her daddy wrong.

Admittedly, John Stallion intrigued her. On one hand, there was something about his casual aloofness and commanding demeanor that made her want to know more. She was excited by the prospect of getting to know him better. On the other hand, John Stallion stood poised to wreck havoc on her life. He wasn’t interested in understanding what Briscoe Ranch meant to her and that made him her adversary. A very worthy adversary, Marah surmised, and one who didn’t appear interested in backing down from his position.

Marah took a deep breath, then two, holding both briefly before blowing the warm air past her lips. She couldn’t begin to imagine what was going to happen between them, she thought, but she wished she could stall the rise of wanting that seemed to originate from her center and span through her body each time she thought about him. The man unnerved her, making her quiver at the possibility of his touch. She wished she could get all thoughts of John Stallion out of her head.

Settling into the warmth of the water, Marah was suddenly aware of the song playing on her CD player. The Dixie Chicks were singing about not being ready to make nice. Natalie Maines was crooning about not being ready to back down. And truth be told, Marah wasn’t ready, either.

The short ride to his Edgemere Road home took John longer than it should have. He couldn’t resist driving past the gates of Briscoe Ranch first, stopping his car just at the edge of the extensive property. He sat watching as the limousine pulled out of the driveway, away from the house. He sat with the engine running, lingering long enough to see the flash of lights come on and go off inside the home. He sat allowing himself to imagine for just a moment what Marah might have been doing inside before continuing on home.

The woman was intoxicating, but he was astute enough to know that her obsession with the ranch would prove to be even more problematic than it already was. He never mixed business with pleasure and the business of Briscoe Ranch would surely come between them and any pleasure he might want to imagine the two of them having. Unfortunately, the deal was signed and sealed whether Marah was willing to accept it or not.

John heaved a deep sigh as he pulled into his garage. Under any other circumstances, he would never have entertained the thought of appeasing any woman with a meeting after a deal had been signed and delivered. But for Marah, he realized he was willing to go to extensive lengths to make her feel good about what his company planned to do with the acquisition. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t figure out why.

They barely knew each other. The woman had stormed into his life and may well storm back out when all was said and done, but she had struck a nerve that no other woman had even remotely been able to touch. Making his way inside, John reflected on all he knew about her.

Edward Briscoe had told him story upon story about his three daughters. The man adored his children and it was evident in everything he did and said. He was also a concerned father, worried about what would happen with each of them when he was no longer around to help them toe the line. He had high hopes for his youngest child, the daughter most like the wife he’d loved and adored. And he worried more for her than he did the others.

Edward had told him the tragedy of losing their mother had touched Marah more than the other girls. John could understand what she had gone through, remembering his own devastation when learning that both his parents were gone. Edward feared that Marah’s obsession with the ranch was more about her being afraid to let go and move on with her life than anything else. He was concerned because he himself was ready to think about moving on.

John had watched as Edward and Juanita had grown closer over the last few months. They had slowly moved past the bounds of friendship toward something more and John, for one, was happy for them. He couldn’t help but notice, however, that his Aunt Juanita’s presence had been a source of consternation for Marah. It probably hadn’t helped that her father hadn’t shared the news of the woman in his life with his youngest child. John had admonished him for that while Edward had tried to make John understand why the news was not going to sit well with his daughters and how Marah would be the child least accepting of his choices. They had politely agreed to disagree.

He took a moment to reflect back on his conversations with the woman while she’d been in his family home. At one point he’d been able to pull her aside, to apologize for the experience in the elevator. Marah had shrugged it off. He wasn’t quite so eager to do the same.

After changing out of his tuxedo, he moved from his bedroom into his studio. John settled himself in front of an easel and began to paint. He was ready to lose himself in something that didn’t have to do with business—or that woman. Because that woman was beginning to crawl knee-deep beneath his skin and John wasn’t quite sure he liked how that felt at all.

As she’d been doing every evening before retiring for the night, Juanita Hilton dialed the private number she’d been dialing for months. As it rang, she couldn’t help but think back on everything that had happened over the course of the evening. When Edward answered his line she was anything but happy with him.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Edward.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“I told you that you need to tell the girls about us. Poor Marah. That child looked like she was ready to cry.” She paused as the man drew a deep sigh on the other end. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know, Juanita. When John extended the invitation I just thought it would be as good a time as any for Marah to see us together.”

“This was not the proper way for you to introduce me to your child.”

“You’re right. I should have warned her first.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“Do you still love me?” Edward asked, his voice dropping low on the other end of the telephone.

Juanita giggled, the length of her gray hair waving from side to side. “Don’t be silly, Edward Briscoe. Of course I still love you.”

The man smiled through the receiver, the brilliance of it seeming to flow over the line. “Good, because I love you, too.”

“Do you have any plans for dinner on Thursday?” he asked, shifting his body against the pile of pillows atop his bed.

“I would love to have dinner with you,” Juanita responded. “Are you asking me?”

“I am. In fact, I would be honored if you would come have dinner here at the house with me and my family. I would like to introduce you to my children.”

“Are you sure about that, Edward?”

The man nodded as though she could see him. “It’s past time, Juanita. I’ve asked you to be my wife. I don’t want to keep our relationship a secret any longer.”

The woman nodded slowly. “I would love to meet your children, Edward.”

“Thursday, then.”

“Thursday it is. Sweet dreams, Edward.”

Chapter 6

“Seventy-five percent of all new businesses fail in the first five years,” Eden Briscoe was saying just as the telephone began to ring.

Marah rolled her light eyes toward the ceiling as she reached for the telephone receiver. “And where did you get those statistics?” she asked as the phone rang for the second time, vibrating against the palm of her hand.

Eden pointed to one of the many business start-up books lying atop the new oak desk. Before she could say anything else, Marah picked up the call.

“Thank you for calling The Post Club!” she chimed sweetly, her professional tone just shy of seductive. “This is Marah.”

“Hello, this is Marah. This is your big sister!” The voice on the other end laughed warmly. “I was just calling to check up on you. Wanted to make sure you’re not storming any business meetings this morning.”

“You’re so funny, Marla. What did you really call for?”

“I just wanted to make sure you and Eden remember that we’re all having dinner at the house with daddy this week. I think something’s up. He’s reminded me three times this morning and he said a friend of his will be joining us.”

“It’s probably that Juanita woman. Did you know about her?”

Marla went quiet on the other end.

Marah’s expression was incredulous. “You knew and didn’t tell us?” she exclaimed loudly, catching Eden’s eye.

“Well, I wasn’t sure, but I know the two of them have been spending a lot of time talking back and forth on the telephone. I just thought maybe it might have been about the ranch,” Marla said.

Marah shook her head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, Marah. You can be so dramatic sometimes.”

Marah bristled. “Here,” she said, tossing the phone to Eden. “Talk to your sister. I’m not speaking to her anymore.”

Eden pulled the receiver to her ear and said hello. The duo chatted briefly as Marah pretended to pout from her desk on the other side of the room. Eden laughed, her gaze skating from Marah down to her desk and back again. When all was said and done, she nodded as if Marla could see her through the telephone. She then heaved a deep sigh. “All right. Well, I’ll see what I can do with her before then.”

“It’s always a pleasure, big sister. Tell my twin I said behave and we will see you two soon,” Marla concluded before disconnecting the line.

Eden dropped the receiver back onto the hook.

“What was that all about?” Marah asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Eden shook her head. “Nothing yet. Your sister was just trying to help, is all.”

Marah nodded and laughed. “She’s your sister, too.”

“That has yet to be proven.”

“Where does that leave me then?”

Eden shrugged. “In the same boat with your look-alike.”

Marah shook her head as Eden changed the subject.

“Marla’s concerned about how you’re going to act when we meet Daddy’s friend.”

“Did you know about that woman, too?”

“Marla told me that he was becoming friendly with someone. I didn’t know anything else.”

“And neither one of you told me?”

“Marah, you always blow things out of proportion. We didn’t know if anything was happening between them or not and we were waiting for Daddy to say something. Now that he is, we should all support him.”

“I’m not supporting that, Eden.”

“Why? Don’t you want Daddy to be happy?”

“Do you really think some other woman can make Daddy as happy as our mother did?”

Eden blew a deep sigh. “I think Daddy has the right to decide that for himself. I also think that he should be able to trust that his daughters are going to let him decide what’s best for him.”

“I’m sure she’s a very nice person, Eden. But I don’t need a new mother. And neither do you and Marla. I bet this plan to sell our home is all her idea. She’s probably scheming Daddy along with the rest of them.”

“Just try to be nice, Marah. Okay?”

Marah shrugged her shoulders, pushing her thin frame skyward. “Whatever. I don’t want to discuss this anymore,” she said, no longer pouting for pretend.

“Fine. So, what’s first on the agenda today?” Eden asked

Looking down to her watch, Marah took a swift inhale. “You’re going to be late if you don’t get a move on it. You’re doing the Marvin Wheeler Show this afternoon so you need to get over to the radio station.”

“Me? Why me?”

“You’re better at that sort of thing than I am.”

Eden looked stunned, her mouth hung open. She stared at her sister. “I swear!” she finally exclaimed, rising from her seat. “Do you know the failure rate for businesses that aren’t organized?”

“We’re organized. And I made the executive decision that you’re doing promotion this week. So get moving. I’m meeting with John Stallion at three.”

Eden raised a curious eyebrow. “So what’s that about?”

“I just want him to get a taste of the ranch from my perspective.”

Her sister shook her head. “You’re not going to let this go, are you, Marah?”

“No, and I’m thinking that a distraction or two might be all we need to get them Stallions looking for land elsewhere. Besides, what do they want ours for? Like Dallas needs another skyscraper,” Marah said facetiously.

Eden grabbed for her leather handbag off the top of the desk, her head waving from side to side. “Just try not to hurt the man, Marah.”

Marah feigned ignorance. “Whatever do you mean, sister dear?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Don’t make Daddy mad, Marah.”

Marah sucked her teeth. “I’m just going to run a little interference that’s all, Eden.” She glanced at her watch a second time. “You better run or you’re definitely going to be late.”

Heading for the door, Eden tossed her sister a look over her shoulder. “Just for the record, I get to be the executive next week. You just remember that,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Marah winked. “That’s a deal. Go get ’em!” she said, laughing. She watched as Eden swept out of the small office, muttering under her breath the whole time.

Following Eden into the interior of the club’s intimate front lounge, Marah’s gaze swept around the room, admiring the newly renovated space. The Post Club had been their brainchild. The concept had come when the two of them were mulling over the fact that neither had a man or even the prospect of a man in her life. Marah remembered the moment as if it had happened just last night instead of four years ago. Marla had just married Michael Baron, her high school honey. Marah and Eden had been sitting in the den of their family home, bedecked in emerald-green satin bridesmaid’s gowns bemoaning their woes into flutes of very expensive 1995 Dom Pérignon Rosé.

Eden had just come out of a bad relationship. Marah hadn’t had a relationship for so long it was as if she’d not known what one was. The two had laughed and cried, happy about Marla’s joy and dismayed by their own situations.

“We should start our own dating consulting service,” Marah had said in jest.

“We could do that,” Eden had responded. “Maybe it would solve our own personal problems and help a few other women out along the way.”

From that moment on the idea had evolved, starting with the letter-writing service—where they offered men and women help in reviving the ancient art of penning love letters—and then expanding into a service that connected letter writers, one with the other. Before either of them knew it, with some hundred-plus love connections made, twenty-seven marriages and twelve babies produced from the unions, they’d outgrown Eden’s dining room table and were in need of larger space to expand their services. It hadn’t helped that during that time Eden had met Jack Waller. When the two married, Eden and Jack were happy to run the business out of their new house.

That’s when Marah came up with The Post Club, a private lounge where the privileged few could meet, greet and take their seduction skills to a whole new level. Leasing the pricey loft space in downtown Dallas had been their father’s idea, Edward Briscoe’s many business connections affording them first dibs on the prime real estate. Located on the twenty-fourth floor, the plush accommodations gave them an expansive view of shiny, new Dallas, with upscale restaurants, shops and one gorgeous glass-and-steel tower after another. Marah loved that she could stand in the center of the room and see the Fairmont Hotel, the Dallas Museum of Art, Lincoln Plaza and the Trammell Crow Center through the expanse of glass that walled the interior space. What she loved more was being just minutes away from the family ranch with its rustic down-home feel. For her there was great beauty in being able to leave one world for a whole other as the moment moved her.

However, with everything they’d been able to accomplish, Marah herself had not made a love connection of her own. Four years later and she still rarely had a date worth talking about. A fact that her sisters and father were fond of reminding her of.

The telephone ringing pulled at her attention as she engaged the Bluetooth headset she had clipped behind her ear.

“Thank you for calling The Post Club! This is Marah.”

A man’s deep voice resonated on the other end. “Marah, hello. This is Victor Tomes. How are you?”

Marah bristled, a chill rolling up her spin. She forced herself to smile. “Very well, thank you, Victor. How about yourself?”

“I need some help, Marah. I’m taking a close friend to Paris with me for the weekend and I want to send her something special.”

“How special is special?” Marah asked, an annoyed expression crossing her face.

“Just enough to pique her interest for the weekend, but not too over-the-top in case I get tired of her by Monday,” the man replied nonchalantly.

Marah shook her head. Some men made her sick, she thought to herself. “Do you want a full-fledged letter or just a simple note card?’ she asked, trying to hide the annoyance that had risen in her tone.

“Do you have something in between?”

“I think I can come up with something for you. And I think a bouquet of fresh flowers would be appropriate, as well.”

“I can do roses.”

“No, definitely not roses. Roses are very personal. They signify long-term relationship.”

“Oh, heck no!” the man exclaimed. “That is surely not the message I want to send.”

“Well, I suggest something exotic, instead. Birds of paradise, I think. They’ll show intrigue and seduction.”

Marah could sense the man nodding over the other end. “You know best,” he said, his enthusiasm seeping over the phone line. “You have my credit card number on file. Just charge me, please. And send the card and flowers to my office. They’re for my secretary, Pamela.”

“Pamela?” Marah shook her head. Just last month Pamela had been calling on Victor’s behalf. Calling to order love letters for some woman in London and another in Memphis. The man clearly got around. “I’ll take care of everything,” she concluded, her head waving from side to side in disgust.

“You’re my girl, Marah,” the man responded before ending the call.

“Thank the good Lord I’m not close to being your girl,” she said out loud as the call clicked off in her ear.

Marah heaved a deep sigh. She still had errands to run before her meeting with John Stallion. There were also a million things she needed to do to prep for the week. There was the Art of Fellatio class she was expected to teach, then later in the week they were hosting a speed dating night—forty men and forty women had already signed up to do three-minute, round-robin dates in hopes of meeting the perfect partner. There were two letter-writing seminars and a weekend retreat on the Nuances of Seduction as well. It was a good thing she was going to be busy, Marah thought as she headed for the exit, because she needed anything and everything she could find to keep her mind off her father, his new girlfriend and that man.

Edward was giving instructions to one of the ranch hands when Marah sauntered to his side in the middle of a regulation-sized dressage arena. The needed repairs on the stadium fences in the jumping arena were finally being completed and Marah blew a sigh of relief that she didn’t have to make a complaint about it again. Her father winked in her direction as he finished his conversation and sent the hired help on his way.

“What brings you out here this afternoon?” Edward asked as they made their way in the direction of the stables.

“I’m meeting John Stallion.”

He cut an eye in her direction, then nodded slowly. “He’s a good man, John is.”

“So you’ve said before.”

“Have I?”

Marah chuckled. “You know you have.”

Her father laughed with her. “So what are you two meeting about?”

“The ranch.”

Her father paused and Marah took advantage of the moment to try and plead her case.

“Daddy, he’s coming here because I’m hoping to convince him not to buy this ranch. We don’t need a new mall down here and this is our home. I don’t think you realize just yet what you’ll be losing.”

Edward stopped short, tossing Marah a look she couldn’t read, his expression one she’d not seen before. He studied her momentarily before he opened his mouth to speak.

“Your mother loved this ranch. She devoted her whole life to this place. I loved your mother and so I devoted my whole life to her and what she wanted.” The man blew a deep sigh before continuing. “I’m tired, munchkin. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t have any more of myself to give to this ranch and I don’t feel like I have to do it anymore now that your mother is gone.”

“But, Daddy…”

“But nothing. This part of my life is over. You might not like it but you’re going to have to accept it. I’m selling this ranch and if it’s not to the Stallions, then it will be to someone else. This place was your mother’s dream, Marah. I’m ready to go live my own dreams.”

“And do your dreams include that woman?” Marah asked, snapping unnecessarily.

“Watch you tone, young lady,” Edward admonished. “You ain’t that grown.”

Marah dropped her gaze to the ground, contrition spreading across her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant. And yes, my dreams now include Juanita. She’s very special to me. And I hope that you and your sisters will make a genuine effort to get to know her.”

Marah suddenly felt like she wanted to cry but she didn’t, willing the flush of saline not to fall from her eyes. Her father reached out a callused palm and lightly caressed the side of her face.

“Munchkin, your mother would be proud of you and she would want you to make your own dreams. Your mother loved life. She lived a good one. She would want you to do the same thing.”

Without another word, Edward left her standing alone. From his stall, Brutus whinnied for her attention, moving to nuzzle her arm with his nose as she drew closer to him. Reaching into her pocket, Marah pulled out a small red apple and passed it to the animal, brushing her palm against his head as she did. “This isn’t right,” she whispered out loud, thinking only the horse would hear her. “This just isn’t right, Brutus.”

“What’s not right?” John interrupted, easing his way inside.

Marah jumped, startled by his arrival. He was a few minutes early and she hadn’t been prepared to see him so soon. She shook her head. “Nothing. How are you?” she asked, fighting to put a smile on her face.

The man nodded. “I’m well, thank you.”

Marah nodded with him as she appraised his attire. “I should have forewarned you,” she said casually as she admired the designer suit and expensive shoes that blessed his broad frame. “We don’t usually wear our dress suits out here in the yard.”

John laughed. “I guess I am a little overdressed,” he said, admiring the fit of her tight jeans and plaid shirt. “I wasn’t expecting to get my hands dirty, though.”

“You have to get your hands dirty to appreciate this place,” Marah said, passing him a five-prong pitchfork as she grabbed another for herself.

The man grinned. “Is this some kind of test, Marah?”

“Not at all,” she said pointing him in the direction of an end stall. “The stables need cleaning and I figured we could get the job done and talk at the same time.”

John looked down to his leather shoes, his head still waving from side to side as he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Whatever it takes,” he said easily, moving to the area she’d pointed him to. “So, how often do you have to do this?” he asked.

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