Tessa left the sidewalk and started across the rough park grass. She strode confidently toward the rows of coolers filled with ice and canned soft drinks.
Halfway there, Ryan Roarke caught her arm. “Tessa. Come on over here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
She turned—and there he was, not twenty feet away under a cottonwood, with Kristen, Kayla and Trey. He stared right at her, a sinful look in those beautiful eyes and a smile playing at the corners of his too-tempting mouth. She half stumbled at the sight of him.
Ryan steadied her. “Whoa. You okay?”
She was. Absolutely. She was meeting Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous, and it would be fine. Because he was not Miles and now was not then. “Whoa is right. I think I stepped in a gopher hole.”
Ryan, who was playful and smooth and a little bit goofy all at the same time, gave her a knowing grin. “Gotta watch out for those.”
“Tell me about it.”
Ryan led her to the group under the cottonwood. She gave Kristen and Trey each a hug and touched Kayla’s arm in greeting.
And then the moment came. He spoke to her. “Hello, Tessa.” She lifted her chin and met those dark eyes—really, he was much too tall. Six-four, at least. Too tall, too hot, too...everything. She felt breathless all over again, felt that hungry shiver slide beneath her skin.
Ryan said, “Tessa, this is Carson Drake. He’s up from LA on business. I’ve known him for years, used to do legal work for him now and then.”
Tessa swallowed her breathlessness and teased, “Are you telling me he’s harmless and I should trust him?”
Ryan hesitated. “Harmless. Hmm. Don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“Don’t listen to him,” the man himself cut in gruffly. Then he stage-whispered to Ryan, “You’re supposed to be on my side, remember?”
“Well, I am on your side, man. I’m just not sure if harmless is the right word for you.”
Kristen moved in close to her husband. She tipped her head up and pressed a kiss to Ryan’s square jaw. “Sweetheart, Tessa’s all grown up. She can handle Carson.”
Tessa made a show of rolling her eyes. “Why am I feeling like I’m being set up here?”
“Because I asked to meet you.” That deep, velvety voice rubbed along her nerve endings like an actual caress. Her stomach hollowed out as she stared into his eyes. The warning bells in her head started ringing again, loud and clear.
She ignored them. They were getting no power over her. It was a beautiful day, and she meant to have fun. She looked straight at Carson again, took the full force of those dark eyes head-on. “So, Carson. What kind of business is it that brings you to Rust Creek Falls?”
Ryan volunteered, “He’s here to try and make a deal with Homer Gilmore.”
She kept looking at Carson. He stared right back at her. “What could Homer possibly have that you would want?”
“I want to talk to him about that famous moonshine of his.”
“You want to buy some moonshine?”
“I want to buy the formula.”
“Had any luck with that?”
“Not a lot. I’ve been here two weeks trying to set up a meeting with the man. It’s not happening—though Homer has called me four times.” Carson’s brow furrowed. “At least, I think it was him. But then, I understand he’s homeless. Does he even have a phone? And how did he get my cell number, anyway? Maybe someone’s just pranking me.” He sent Ryan a suspicious glance.
Ryan put up both hands. “Don’t give me that look. If you’ve been pranked, it wasn’t me.”
Kayla suggested, “Homer always knows more than you’d think. He’s a very bright man, and he has a big heart. He’s just a little bit odd.”
Tessa asked Carson, “So what did Homer—if it even was Homer—say when he called you?”
He gazed at her so steadily. A ripple of pleasure spread through her at the obvious admiration in his eyes. “Homer told me that he knew I was looking for him and he was ‘working’ on it.”
“Working on what?”
Carson lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. He said he might be willing to talk business with me. Soon.”
Trey prompted, “And?”
“And that’s it.”
“He called you four times and that’s all he said?” Kristen asked.
“Pretty much. It was discouraging. You’d think a homeless person would be eager to meet with someone who only wants to make him rich. Not Homer Gilmore, apparently.”
“You’re serious?” Tessa didn’t really get it. “You want to buy Homer’s moonshine formula and that’s going to make him rich?”
“That’s right.” Carson reached out and took her hand. His touch sent warmth cascading through her. He pulled her closer—and she let him. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.” He wrapped her fingers around his arm. She felt the pricey fabric of his sport coat, the rock-hard muscles beneath, and she didn’t know whether she was scared to death or exhilarated. Carson Drake was even more gorgeous and magnetic close up than from a distance. And he smelled amazing. He probably had his aftershave made specifically for him—bespoke, no doubt, from that famous perfumer in London, at a cost of thousands for a formula all his own.
And it was worth every penny, too.
He gave her a smile.
Pow! A lightning strike of wonderfulness, a hot blast of pure pleasure. It felt so good, to have this particular man looking at her as though there was no one else in the world—too good, and she knew it.
She’d been here before and she should get away. Fast.
But she did nothing of the sort. Instead, she said, “I’ll have a drink with you—but only if you tell me more about how you’re going to buy Homer’s moonshine formula and then make him rich.”
“Done.”
They waved at the others and he led her to the row of coolers, where he grabbed a Budweiser and she took a ginger ale. Arm in arm, they wandered beneath the trees looking for a place to sit—and stopping to visit with just about everyone they passed. Two weeks he’d said he’d been in town. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time getting to know people.
Eventually, they found a rough wooden bench at the foot of a giant fir tree. They sat down together, and Carson told her about his clubs and restaurants in Southern California and about Drake Distilleries.
“I know your products,” she said. “High-end Scotch, rye and whiskey. Vodka and gin, too. And are you telling me you’re hoping to bottle and sell Homer’s moonshine in liquor stores all over the country?”
“All over the world, as a matter of fact.”
“Wow.”
“My family has been making good liquor for nearly a hundred years. When the story of the magic moonshine popped up on the wire services and the web, I read all about it. That was when it happened. I got the shiver.”
“Which shiver is that?”
“The one I get when I have a great idea—like packaging Homer’s moonshine for international distribution under the Drake label.”
“Sounds a little crazy to me.”
“Sometimes the best ideas are