Calder Promise (Calder Saga 8)

“You’ll need a cue stick.” Sebastian guided Laura to the rack, surveyed the selection, then cast an assessing eye over her and picked one. “This should do.” He passed it to her, a slightly conspiratorial air to his smile. “With any luck, you won’t have to use it.”

“Don’t count on it,” Boone stated with the easy confidence of a man certain of his skill at the game.

With the first scattering strike of the billiard balls, there was an electric feel to the air. It tingled through Laura, quickening all her senses and making her aware of the sizzling undercurrents.

She eyed the two combatants, each a contrast to the other in his approach. Boone was focused and intense, while Sebastian was calm and unconcerned. She was a little surprised that she could be attracted to two such different men. Sebastian was not only sexually attractive, but he also made her laugh. Boone, on the other hand, excited her in a different way, bringing a rush of some powerful, primitive emotion she hadn’t been able to identify. As far as she was concerned, it was too soon to say which one would come out on top, regardless of this pool game.

Just then Sebastian made a particularly difficult shot, and Helen groaned. “He’s going to beat us.” Her low murmur was laced with defeat.

“No, he isn’t,” Boone stated, a determined set to his jaw. “We’ll win. One way or another.”

Helen glanced at him, slightly aghast. “You wouldn’t cheat, would you?”

Boone flicked a glance her way. “I thought you said you had your own business.”

“I do.” She gave him a startled look that said more loudly than words that she didn’t understand what one had to do with the other.

“Then you shouldn’t have to ask.” Boone picked up the chalk cube and rubbed it on the end of his cue stick as Laura bit back a smile. There wasn’t any doubt that Boone was the son of Max Rutledge by more than just blood.

A floorboard squeaked beneath the carpeted runner as Tara made her way along the second-floor hall. Her mind ran through a half dozen business events that might have prompted Max to feel he should alert her to them. Considering Max was the type who usually kept any such knowledge to himself, especially if it gave him an advantage over the competition—and Dy-Corp’s many fossil-fuel interests certainly put her in that category—none of the possibilities seemed logical.

Pausing outside the door to his room, she lightly rapped twice. “It’s Tara, Max.” The only response was a muffled sound of footsteps from inside. Seconds later the door swung open, and Max’s valet stepped back to admit her.

“Mr. Rutledge is expecting you.”

“Come in, Tara,” Max called and rolled into view. “Have a seat.” He waved a hand to the grouping of chairs in the room’s sitting area, then glanced pointedly at the burly Barnett. “That’ll be all for now.”

As the man withdrew to an adjoining room and closed the connecting door, Tara crossed to one of the chairs and gracefully sank into it. But Max didn’t immediately join her. Instead he wheeled his chair over to a centuries-old secretariat, sifted through some folders in his opened briefcase on its top, and removed one.

“What is this mysterious business you wanted to discuss with me?” Tara asked, all smiles and bright-eyed southern charm.

“There really isn’t anything mysterious about it.” With a soft whirr, the wheelchair glided over to her chair. Max handed her the folder from his lap. “See for yourself.”

“What’s this?” Tara searched his face, seeking some hint about its contents, as she flipped it open.

“I did some checking on our host before we came. It makes for some interesting reading.”

“That wasn’t very polite,” she said in mild rebuke.

“But it’s smart. Read it.”

Tara ran another glance over his closed expression, then made a quick scan of the contents and went back to the first sheet to make a more thorough study. When she finished, she closed the folder and handed it back to him, her own

expression as bland as his.

“You’re right. It was interesting reading,” she confirmed.

“You need to talk to Laura. I’d do it myself, but it’s better if it comes from you. After all, she wouldn’t be the first woman to be taken in by someone with a title.”

“We don’t know whether Laura is even thinking along those lines,” Tara pointed out.

“You’ll never convince me that he invited her here this weekend just so she could see that portrait. And if you believe it, you’re not as smart as I think you are.”

Tara made no comment to that. “I’ll speak to her,” she said and stood up. “Like you, I would rather play it safe than be sorry.”

Chapter Six

Boone’s arm was hooked around her waist, keeping her firmly against his side as they climbed the stairs to their rooms. Conscious of her hip rubbing against his thigh with each step, Laura stole a glance at his face, noting the faintly smug curve to his mouth.