Disoriented, she looked around the room feeling like she was in purple hell.
Where am I? Holtsville.
What is that noise? Cell phone.
Bianca climbed out of bed, wiping the moisture on her fingers on her oversized T-shirt before she snatched up the cell phone from where it sat charging on the dresser. “Hello.”
“Bonjour, beau l’un.”
Bianca rolled her eyes heavenward. “Good morning, Armand,” she said, pulling off the satin cap she slept in to protect her curls.
Figures he would be the one to wake her from one hell of a wet dream.
“What time is it?” she asked him, her eyes still squinted with sleep as she moved to sit down on the edge of the bed.
“It’s noon, mon cherie.”
Bianca never slept late. “What can I help you with, Armand?” she asked, ready to get her day rolling.
“Me permettre de faire l’amour à vous.”
She released a heavy breath. “No, you cannot make love to me. But you can se masturber until your hand falls off,” she told him with pleasure.
“Don’t tease me,” he begged.
Bianca actually laughed.
“Okay, I called because there’s an emergency meeting with the United Way and I need a fax number for the admin to send your absentee vote on how to divide the campaign funds this year.”
Bianca rose from the bed to walk over to her still packed suitcase. “I’ll have to get my Dad’s fax number and call you back with it.”
“Good. Oh, and Bianca?”
“Goodbye, Armand,” she said, hanging up the phone before he could spout another lewd comment in English or French.
Bianca didn’t even bother calling to check her office, she had a capable staff who didn’t need her trying to hover over their work via cell phone. Besides, she wanted to catch up with her Dad before he hauled tail for the day.
She locked her bedroom door and then pulled her nightshirt over her head as she walked into the adjoining bath. It wasn’t until she was under the spray of the shower that she thought of her sexy dream about Kahron.
As she lathered her body with her favorite Carol’s Daughter body cleansing gel in Jamaican Punch—a heavenly blend of raspberry, peach, jasmine, nutmeg, and cardamon—Bianca wondered if in fact all of the hair on Kahron’s body had silvered. Not that it mattered one bit. If he was half as good in real life as he was in her dream, well…
The feel of the water pelting against her breasts and the steam rising to press warmly against her skin didn’t help the ache of arousal she felt.
It had been so long since a man drew her attention the way Kahron did.
No matter how badly she wanted to feel his long, slender fingers on her nipples, that’s not why she was back in town. Especially since she didn’t know the reason her father was so angry and rude to the man. Yet another of the gazillion questions she had for her father, and the sooner she got downstairs, the sooner she’d get some answers.
Bianca finished her shower Kahron-free, eventually dressing in fitted jeans and a T-shirt with “SEXY VET” stretched across her ample chest. She didn’t bother with make-up, leaving her face smooth and naturally pretty, but she did put on her large diamond hoops and thin chain with a diamond cross pendant—her first gifts to herself once the clinic was out of the red. She wore them always.
Bianca found her father in the dining room nursing a cup of coffee. His eyes were red as fire as he shifted them away from her. Bianca swallowed all of her reprimands— for now.
“What happened to the barn?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked down at him.
“Strong burnt it down,” Hank growled, his hand tightly gripping his cup of coffee.
Bianca looked confused. “Are you kidding me? Why isn’t he in jail?” she asked, already reaching in her back pocket for her cell phone. “I’m calling the police.”
Hank shook his head and waved his hand. “No need. They said there’s no sign of arson. Fire department says faulty wiring.”
“What did the insurance company say?”
Hank remained quiet.
“No insurance,” Bianca stated, her anger at her father steadily rising.
Bianca counted to ten as she slid her thin cell phone back into her pocket. “If this is the case why do you think Kahron did it?”
“He wants my land,” Hanks spouted, slamming his beefy fist on the dining room table and causing the coffee in his cup to slosh over the side onto the glass.
Bianca sought patience. “And?”
“I don’t trust him. Never did really. Had me fooled before, but I can see clearly now.”
“Because?”
“Around the same time he started making offers to buy me out somebody’s been pulling shenanigans around my damn ranch.”
Now we’re getting somewhere.
“Like what, Daddy?”
“Letting the air out my tires, releasing the horses, contaminating my water supplies, stealing equipment… should I go on?” Hank’s ire was evident as he stuck a Marlboro cigarette in his mouth and lit it.
Bianca remained quiet.
“I ain’t selling my land!”
“I wish you had the same gusto about not drinking,” she drawled.
Hank just glared at her.
Needing a reprieve from his tirade, Bianca just nodded.
“I’m going to take a look at your books today. Is that okay?” she asked, finding it hard to keep the disappointment from her voice.
Hank nodded. “Whatever you want, Bianca.”
She crossed the dining room to reach the swinging door leading into the kitchen.
“Bianca, I’m—”
She left the dining room, the swoosh-swoosh of the door swinging back and forth ate up his words.
Trishon was at the stove, still dressed in a short and sheer mint green housecoat. She turned to look at Bianca over her shoulder, smiling warmly. “Mornin’, Bianca. I’m just finishing breakfast,” she said in a cheery voice.
“Good morning,” she said. Bianca longed for shades as the screaming orange of the walls caused her eyes to ache. She reached for two tall glasses from the red dish rack and moved over to the adjacent corner to fill one with coffee, creamer, and sugar.
“Your Daddy just loves my scrambled eggs,” Trishon said, her southern accent prominent as she lifted the pan to scoop some of the eggs onto a plate.
Bianca carried the glasses to the refrigerator, using the ice maker on the door to fill the empty glass with ice. “Smells good,” she said, walking over to the island as she poured the coffee over the ice.
Trishon carried two steaming plates out of the kitchen, backing out with them in her hand. “Help your self,” she offered.
Bianca sipped her coffee as she peered down into the pan. The eggs looked fluffy enough but there was little reddish-brown flecks in them. Frowning a bit, she used a fork to dig one of the flecks out of the eggs and tasted it. It was a little hard and had a familiar flavor to it… kind of like bacon… more like—
Bianca eyes widened in recognition and her eyes then noticed the large open container of bacon bits sitting on the counter next to the