Buch lesen: «To Love a Stallion»

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.”