Leaping Hearts(104)

In that moment, Carter found herself liking the man.

Just a bit.

When he focused on her again, he was smiling, and the grin lit up his austere face, cleaving years off him. He looked closer to thirty-five than forty-five.

He said, “Do you have any idea how many people come at me each spring asking to tear into Farrell Mountain?”

“No, but I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“When you go after some company, do you worry about what all the other little raiders are doing?”

“Been doing a little research on my history?”

“You’re pretty well-known.”

He shrugged and then asked, “What would you do if I decided to let Lyst have a go of it?”

“I’d say good luck and good riddance to both of you.” The words sounded like a straight answer but she knew the anger behind her voice gave her away.

“Something tells me,” he said, getting to his feet, “you wouldn’t be quite that phlegmatic.”

She gave him a disparaging look.

“I’m wrong?” he asked.

“You think I’m underage because of my shorts. In my opinion, that doesn’t give you a whole lot of clout in the judgment department.”

Farrell came around the edge of his desk and approached her, stopping only when he was a foot away. Carter’s heart started thumping. He was taller than her by at least a head and that was saying something, considering she was five-nine. As those arresting pale eyes of his traced her face and neck, she had to stop herself from stepping backward.

Across a desk, he was insulting and intimidating. Up close, she found him totally compelling.

Not exactly an improvement, Carter thought, running her tongue over her lips.

That was a mistake. Like a predator, he watched the movement, eyes sharpening on her mouth. The way he was looking at her made her body swell with something she was determined to think of as anxiety. Even if it felt more like hunger.

“What do you really want?” he asked.

“I don’t understand.” The words were garbled, like she was talking around marbles.

“Everyone has a hidden agenda. What else are you after?”

Carter knew he was speaking but the words were lost on her.

She decided she also had marbles in her brain.

“Look, Mr. Farrell, I don’t know where you’re going with this. I just want to dig.”

Abruptly, he broke the eye contact with her lips and returned to his desk and his papers. His voice was offhand when he addressed her again.

“I think you should put your learner’s permit to good use and drive yourself back to wherever you came from. You aren’t going to get what you want here, either in the dirt or from me. However much I wish I could be…accommodating.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I like women, not schoolgirls.”

Carter’s mouth dropped open.

“Are you suggesting…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“Shut the door on the way out,” he commanded before drawling, “Please.”

“You insufferable, egocentric—”

“There you go with the compliments, making me blush.”

“I hope you rot in hell.”

“See you there,” he said cheerfully.

On the way out, Carter slammed the door as hard as she could.

Wincing, Nick lurched forward in his chair as the clap of wood reverberated through the room like a gunshot. His head was still tender from a migraine he’d had the day before and he massaged his temples, waiting for the sting to wear off.

That was one hell of a beautiful woman, he thought. The kind of beautiful that makes men do stupid things. Like believe in love and other fallacies.

He arched his neck and thought it was a good thing she’d left. Reeling in his impulses had been getting more difficult every time that kitten pink tongue of hers had come out for a lick of those sweet lips. Moves like that had been performed for him countless times before but, because they were calculated, he’d never been tantalized. The trouble with that archaeologist was he got the sense she didn’t know how enticing she was.

But that couldn’t be possible, he told himself.

One thing Nick knew about beautiful women was they were always willing to leverage their assets. Not that he faulted them for it. He’d made a fortune doing the same thing, only his bait was dollar bills, not the promise of sexual thrills, and his acquisitions were companies, not marriage licenses. In the romantic marketplace, no one had acquired him, of course, though it hadn’t been for lack of trying. Futile as it always was for the other party, he enjoyed the bartering.

And that woman in the cutoffs could have been a real contender. If it hadn’t been for the way she was affecting him, negotiations over how much she’d be willing to give of herself to get at Farrell Mountain would have been fun. Aside from her beauty, she had a keen intelligence and a heavy dose of wit. In all of Nick’s life, his adopted son was the only one who dared to spar with him. Everyone else either wanted something or owed him money, neither of which were breeding grounds for resistance, even of the playful variety.

And that archaeologist had been captivating when she was angry, he thought. A flush on those high cheekbones, her breath coming in drumbeats, her mouth open, agape at his rudeness.