Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(5)

“We’re clear enough for now.” He moved toward the passenger side of the car and opened the door for her to slide inside. “You’re paying me fifty dollars a day to drive you around for two weeks.”

“I have a list.”

“I’ll just bet you do. Watch your skirt there.” He slammed the door, then got in on the other side. “You could save money, you know, by buying a couple of road maps and driving yourself.” He shut his door and slid the key in the ignition. The spacious interior of the car smelled like gracious living, and the image of the Duke of Beddington sprang into her mind. She pushed it away. “I don’t drive,” she said.

“Everybody over the age of fourteen drives.” With the barest glance over his shoulder, he backed out of the parking space, then headed toward the exit. “How long have you known Francesca?” He swung out onto the roadway.

She peeled her eyes from the Cadillac’s speedometer, which, from her vantage point, seemed to be climbing at an alarming rate. She forced herself to pretend that it registered kilometers.

“I met her several years ago when her production company chose the grounds at St. Gert’s—they’re quite lovely—to film an interview she was doing for Francesa Today with several British actors. We enjoyed each other’s company, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. I’d planned to visit her while I was here, but she and her husband have temporarily moved to Florida.”

Planes flew to Florida, too, Kenny thought. He was beginning to suspect Francesca knew exactly what a pain in the butt Lady Emma could be and that’s why she’d deliberately dumped her on him.

“About your expenses . . .” Lady Emma looked worried as she regarded his Caddy. “This is such a large car. The cost of petrol alone must be prohibitive.”

A small crease formed in her forehead, and she began to chew on her bottom lip. He wished she wouldn’t do that. It was the damnedest thing. She’d annoyed the hell out of him from the moment she’d first opened her mouth, and he swore to God the next time she pointed at something with her umbrella, he was going to break it over his knee. But seeing that moist two-hundred-dollar-an-hour mouth working away made him wonder how he was going to survive these next two weeks.

In bed.

The idea popped right into his head and stuck there. He smiled. This was exactly the kind of thinking that had made him a champion on three continents. The best way to avoid killing her was to get her naked as soon as possible. Preferably in the next couple of days.

Moving in on her that fast would be a definite challenge, but Kenny didn’t have anything better to do, so he figured he was up to it. He thought of the fifty dollars a day she was supposed to be paying him, then remembered the three million he’d be picking up in commercial endorsements this year and smiled to himself. It was the first time he’d smiled about money since his crooked business manager had landed Kenny in the scandal that had led to his suspension from the pro tour.

His smile turned into a frown as he imagined Francesca’s amused reaction when Lady Emma had offered her fifty-dollar fee, and her even greater amusement when she’d decided not to pass that particular tidbit on to Kenny. It never ceased to amaze him that a stony-hearted, steel-eyed bastard like Dallie Beaudine couldn’t control his wife better. The only woman who’d ever gotten the best of Kenny had been his crazy mother. But having her nearly ruin his life had taught him lessons he’d never forgotten, and he’d made sure no woman held the upper hand since.

He glanced over at Lady Emma with her butterscotch curls, baby-doll cheeks, floppy pink roses, and bouncing cherries. He’d been maneuvering women all his adult life, and he’d never yet let one of them forget her proper place.

Right underneath him.





Chapter 2

“This isn’t a hotel.” Emma had dozed off, but now she was wide awake. Through the windows of the Cadillac, she saw they’d driven into a small court in an affluent residential area.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, especially when she’d waited so long to get her first glimpse of Texas, but he’d ignored all her polite hints about his driving, and she’d been forced to close her eyes. Jet lag had taken care of the rest.

At home, she avoided cars as much as possible, walking or riding her bicycle instead, much to the amusement of her students. But she’d been ten when she’d been involved in the terrible automobile accident that had killed her father. Although it had left her with nothing more serious than a broken arm, she hadn’t been comfortable in a car since. She was ashamed of her phobia, not only because of the inconvenience it caused her, but because she didn’t like weakness in herself.

“Since you seem interested in saving money,” he said, “I thought you might want to stay here instead of at the hotel.”

The residential court was enclosed by expensive-looking stucco maisonettes, what the Americans referred to as townhouses, all of them topped with roofs of rounded green tile. Flowers bloomed everywhere, and a gardener was tending a bougainvillea that grew along a small dividing wall. “But this looks like a private residence,” she protested as he turned into a driveway.

“A friend of mine owns the place.” He pressed a button and the garage opened. “He’s out of town right now. You can take the room next to mine.”

“Yours? You’re staying here, too?”