Lone Star Holiday Proposal

Whatever his circumstances, no matter whether they were justified or not, nothing excused the way he’d sought her out under false pretenses. He’d deceived her about the Courtyard. Why wouldn’t he do the same about a wife and child, too? It wasn’t her problem. Not anymore. She’d sent him on his way and it was highly unlikely their paths would cross again.

* * *

Nolan was glad of the excuse to quit Royal, even if it was for only one day to meet with his boss in Holloway. He’d known coming back to Royal would be tough, would force him to face a lot of his personal demons, but he hadn’t expected, or wanted, to find someone to whom he was so strongly attracted.

He struck the steering wheel with the heel of his palm and cursed aloud in the cabin of the SUV. How could he have handled things differently with Raina? No matter how many times he examined everything they’d said and done since he’d met her, he still couldn’t see anywhere he could have prevented what happened. Short of telling her exactly why he was in Royal on the day he’d introduced himself at the Courtyard, of course. And he’d just bet how well that would have gone down.

Besides, the confidentiality clause in his contract with Rafiq prevented him from disclosing Samson Oil’s business with anyone other than the party with whom he was negotiating. His hands had been tied.

Even though he’d rationalized everything, he still couldn’t erase the look on Raina’s face when she’d told him to get out of her house. He’d dealt with a lot of angry people in his time, but never before had there been such a palpable level of anguish beneath the anger. It had tortured him to know he’d put that look on her face.

He knew he should have stepped away the moment he’d recognized the fierce attraction he’d felt toward her. How often had he told himself that she was everything he wasn’t looking for?

A speed limit sign shot by his window and Nolan realized that he’d been so lost in his thoughts that he’d lost track of what he was doing. He eased off the accelerator and focused on his surroundings. He was almost there. As much as he wasn’t looking forward to imparting the news to Rafe that the Courtyard was completely off the table, it would at least be some respite from constantly thinking about Raina.

The entrance to the Holloway Inn wasn’t what Nolan had expected. From the moment he pulled up outside, he wondered if somewhere along the line he hadn’t somehow traveled thousands of miles to England. The white stucco walls, with dark wooden battens, reminded him very much of a Tudor inn he and Carole had stayed in outside London during their honeymoon, although, he noted as he entered the lobby, that’s where the similarities ended. There’d be no ducking to clear doorways here. He walked up to the reception desk and smiled at the receptionist.

“Good morning. Nolan Dane to see Mr. Ben Samson,” he said, using the name Rafe had assumed while the property negotiations were ongoing.

“Welcome to the Holloway Inn, Mr. Dane. Mr. Samson is waiting for you in his suite.”

The young woman smiled and gave him concise directions to the suite, and Nolan located the rooms without any trouble. His knock was quickly answered by Rafe himself. The fact his boss was alone was unusual but not entirely unexpected given how secretive he’d been about his involvement with Samson Oil from the outset.

“Good morning,” Rafe said, shaking Nolan’s hand and gesturing for him to enter. “Knowing how punctual you always are, I took the liberty of ordering coffee already. Help yourself.”

“Thank you.”

Nolan stepped inside, his feet sinking into the plush carpeting. He looked around the suite. It was no more and no less than he’d come to expect. The main living room was spacious and well lit. A fifty-inch flat-screen television took pride of place on one wall and a number of oversize leather sofas and chairs were grouped around it. Across the room, a dining table, large enough to comfortably seat twelve, was covered in what looked like a map of Royal and several stacks of papers.

He gave Rafe a look. His boss was as immaculately turned out as ever but there were shadows under his eyes.

“Hard night?” he asked, as he poured himself a coffee and helped himself to a Danish pastry from the white-linen-draped room-service cart.

“I met someone.”

Rafe’s terse response was characteristic of the man himself, but the second he reached for the cuff of his sleeve and gave it a tug, Nolan knew there was a great deal of meaning behind those three words. Rafe was a controlled man and generally very reserved. In fact, the first time Nolan had met him he’d been a little unnerved by the guy’s intensity until he learned to appreciate the keen intelligence and mind for business that lay behind it. But he had his familiar mannerisms, as well, and Nolan knew this one—something had made Rafiq uncomfortable. Something...or someone.