Passion Flower Read online

  She grinned up at him. “Not embarrassed, are you?” she taunted.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re the one who gets embarrassed every time I talk straight,” he said curtly.

  She remembered then, and her smile faded. She touched the calf gently, concentrating on it instead of him.

  His lean hands caught her waist and she gasped, stiffening. His breath came hard and fast at her back.

  “There’s a party in Victoria tomorrow night. One of the oil men’s giving it. He asked me to come.” His fingers bit into her soft flesh. “How about going with me and holding my hand? I don’t know much about social events.”

  “You don’t really want to go, do you?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him knowingly.

  He shook his head. “But it’s expected. One of the penalties of being well-off. Socializing.”

  “Yes, I’ll be very proud to go with you.”

  “Need a dress? I’ll buy you one, since it was my idea.”

  She lowered her eyes. “No, thank you. I...I have one at my apartment, if you’ll have someone drive me up there.”

  “Give Ted the key. He’ll pick it up for you,” he said, naming his chauffeur, who was also the new yardman.

  “All right.”

  “Is it white?” he asked suddenly.

  She glared at him. “No. It’s black. Listen here, Everett Culhane, just because I’ve never—”

  He put a finger over her lips, silencing her. “I like you in white,” he said simply. “It keeps me in line,” he added with a wicked, slow smile.

  “You just remember the nice new wife you’ll have and the kids running around the house, and that will work very well,” she said with a nip in her voice. “Shouldn’t we go back? The carpet-layers may have some questions for me.”

  “Don’t you like kids, Jenny?” he asked softly.

  “Well, yes.”

  “Could you manage to have them and a career at the same time?” he asked with apparent indifference.

  Her lips pouted softly. “Lots of women do,” she said. “It’s not the dark ages.”

  He searched her eyes. “I know that. But there are men who wouldn’t want a working wife.”

  “Cavemen,” she agreed.

  He chuckled. “A woman like you might make a man nervous in that respect. You’re pretty. Suppose some other man snapped you up while you were decorating his house? That would be hell on your husband’s nerves.”

  “I don’t want to get married,” she informed him.

  His eyebrows lifted. “You’d have children out of wedlock?”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Everett!” Her hands pushed at his chest. He caught them and lifted them slowly around his neck, tugging so that her body rested against his.

  “Ummmm,” he murmured on a smile, looking down at the softness of her body. “That feels nice. What were you saying, about children?”

  “If...if I wanted them, then I guess I’d get married. But I’d still work. I mean... Everett, don’t...” she muttered when he slid his hands down to her waist and urged her closer.

  “Okay. You’d still work?”

  His hands weren’t pushing, but they were doing something crazy to her nerves. They caressed her back lazily, moving up to her hair to untie the ribbon that held it back.

  “I’d work when the children started school. That was what I meant... Will you stop that?” she grumbled, reaching back to halt his fingers.

  He caught her hands, arching her so that he could look down and see the vivid tautness of her breasts against the thin fabric of her blouse.

  “No bra?” he murmured, and the smile got bigger. “My, my, another Freudian slip?”

  “Will you stop talking about bras and slips and let go of my hands, Mr. Culhane?” she asked curtly.

  “I don’t think you really want me to do that, Jenny,” he murmured dryly.

  “Why?”

  “Because if I let go of your hands, I have to put mine somewhere else.” He looked down pointedly at her blouse. “And there’s really only one place I want to put them right now.”

  Her chest rose and fell quickly, unsteadily. His closeness and the long abstinence and the sun and warmth of the day were all working on her. Her eyes met his suddenly and the contact was like an electric jolt. All the memories came rushing back, all the old hungers.

  “Do you remember that day you fell off the horse?” he asked in a soft, low tone, while bees buzzed somewhere nearby. “And your blouse came open, and I looked down and you arched your back so that I could see you even better.”

  Her lips parted and she shook her head nervously.

  “Oh, but you did,” he breathed. “I’d seen you, watching my mouth, wondering...and that day, it all came to a head. I looked at you and I wanted you. So simply. So hungrily. I barely came to my senses in time, and before I did, I was hugging the life out of you. And you were letting me.”

  She remembered that, too. It had been so glorious, being held that way.

  He let go of her hands all at once and slid his arms around her, half lifting her off her feet. “Hard, Jenny,” he whispered, drawing her slowly to him, so that she could feel her breasts flattening against his warm chest. It was like being naked against him.

  She caught her breath and moaned. His cheek slid against hers and he buried his face in her throat. His arms tightened convulsively. And he rocked her, and rocked her, and she clung to him while all around them the wind blew and the sun burned, and the world seemed to disappear.

  His breath came roughly and his arms trembled. “I don’t feel this with other women,” he said after a while. “You make me hungry.”

  “As you keep reminding me,” she whispered back, “I’m not on the menu.”

  “Yes, I know.” He brushed his mouth against her throat and then lifted his head and slowly released her. “No more of that,” he said on a rueful sigh, “unless you’d like to try making love on horseback. I’ve got a man coming to see me about a new bull.”

  Her eyes widened. “Can people really make...” She turned away, shaking her head.

  “I don’t know,” he murmured, chuckling at her shyness. “I’ve never tried it. But there’s always a first time.”

  “You just keep your hands to yourself,” she cautioned as he put her into the saddle and climbed up behind her.

  “I’m doing my best, honey,” he said dryly. He reached around her to catch the reins and his arm moved lazily across her breasts, feeling the hardened tips. “Oh, Jenny,” he breathed shakily, “next time you’d better wear an overcoat.”

  She wanted to stop him, she really did. But the feel of that muscular forearm was doing terribly exciting things to her. She felt her muscles tauten in a dead giveaway.

  She knew it was going to happen even as he let go of the reins and his hands slid around her to lift and cup her breasts. She let him, turning her cheek against his chest with a tiny cry.

  “The sweetest torture on earth,” he whispered unsteadily. His hands were so tender, so gentle. He made no move to open the blouse, although he must have known that he could, that she would have let him. His lips moved warmly at her temple. “Jenny, you shouldn’t let me touch you like this.”

  “Yes, I know,” she whispered huskily. Her hands moved over his to pull them away, but they lingered on his warm brown fingers. Her head moved against his chest weakly.

  “Do you want to lie down on the grass with me and make love?” he asked softly. “We could, just for a few minutes. We could kiss and touch each other, and nothing more.”

  She wanted to. She wanted it more than she wanted to breathe. But it was too soon. She wasn’t sure of him. She only knew that he wanted her desperately and that she didn’t dare pave
the way for him. It was just a game to him. It kept him from getting bored while he found himself a wife. She loved him, but love on one side would never be enough.

  “No, Rett,” she said, although the words were torn from her. She moved his hands gently down, to her waist, and pressed them there. “No.”

  He drew away in a long, steady breath. “Levelheaded Jenny,” he said finally. “Did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That if I’d gotten you on the grass, nothing would have saved you?”

  She smiled ruefully. “It was kind of the other way around.” She felt him shudder, and she turned and pressed herself into his arms. “I want you, too. Please don’t do this to me. I can’t be what you want. Please, let me decorate your house and go away. Don’t hurt me anymore, Rett.”

  He lifted and turned her so that she was lying across the saddle in his arms. He held her close and took the reins in his hand. “I’m going to have to rethink my strategy, I’m afraid.” He sighed. “It isn’t working.”

  She looked up. “What do you mean?”

  He searched her eyes and bent and kissed her forehead softly. “Never mind, kitten. You’re safe now. Just relax. I’ll take you home.”

  She snuggled close and closed her eyes. This was a memory she’d keep as long as she lived, of riding across the meadow in Everett’s arms on a lovely autumn morning. His wife would have other memories. But this one would always be her own, in the long, lonely years ahead. Her hand touched his chest lightly, and her heart ached for him. If only he could love her back. But love wasn’t a word he trusted anymore, and she couldn’t really blame him. He’d been hurt too much. Even by her, when she hadn’t meant to. She sighed bitterly. It was all too late. If only it had been different. Tears welled up in her eyes. If only.

  Chapter Eleven

  JENNIFER wished for the tenth time that she’d refused Everett’s invitation to the exclusive party in Victoria. It seemed that every single, beautiful woman in the world had decided to converge on the spot just to cast her eyes at Everett.

  He did look good, Jennifer had to admit. There just wasn’t anybody around who came close to matching him. Dressed in an elegant dinner jacket, he looked dark and debonair and very sophisticated. Not to mention sexy. The way the jacket and slacks fit, every muscle in that big body was emphasized in the most masculine way. It was anguish just to look at him; it was even worse to remember how it was to be held and touched by him. Jennifer felt her body tingle from head to toe and the memory of the day before, of his hands smoothing over her body, his voice husky and deep in her ear. And now there he stood making eyes at a gorgeous brunette.

  She turned away and tossed down the entire contents of her brandy glass. If she hadn’t been so tired from overworking herself, the brandy might not have been as potent. But it was her second glass and, despite the filling buffet, she was feeling the alcohol to a frightening degree. She kept telling herself that she didn’t look bad herself, with her blond hair hanging long and loose around the shoulders of her low-cut clinging black dress. She was popular enough. So why didn’t Everett dance one dance with her?

  By the time she was danced around the room a couple of times by left-footed oilmen and dashing middle-aged married men, she felt like leaping over the balcony. How odd that at any party there were never any handsome, available bachelors.

  “Sorry to cut in, but I have to take Jenny home,” Everett said suddenly, cutting out a balding man in his fifties who was going over and over the latest political crisis with maddening intricacy.

  Jennifer almost threw herself on Everett in gratitude. She mumbled something polite and completely untrue to the stranger, smiled, and stumbled into Everett’s arms.

  “Careful, honey, or we’ll both wind up on the floor.” He laughed softly. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m just fine.” She sighed, snuggling close. Her arms slid around him. “Everett, can I go to sleep now?”

  He frowned and pulled her head up. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “I lost count.” She grinned. Her eyes searched his face blearily. “Gosh, Rett, you’re so sexy.”

  A red stain highlighted his cheekbones. “You’re drunk, all right. Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” she protested. “I want to dance.”

  “We’ll dance in the car.”

  She frowned. “We can’t stand up in there,” she said reasonably.

  He held her hand, tugging her along. They said good night to a couple she vaguely recognized as their hosts; then he got their coats from the maid and hustled her out into the night.

  “Cold out here,” she muttered. She nudged herself under his arm and pressed against his side with a sigh. “Better.”

  “For whom?” he ground out. His chest rose and fell heavily. “I wish I’d let Ted drive us.”

  “Why?” she murmured, giggling. “Are you afraid to be alone with me? You can trust me, honey,” she said, nudging him. “I wouldn’t seduce you, honest.”

  A couple passed them going down the steps, and the elderly woman gave Jennifer a curious look.

  “He’s afraid of me,” Jennifer whispered. “He isn’t on the pill, you see...”

  “Jenny!” he growled, jerking her close.

  “Not here, Rett!” she exclaimed. “My goodness, talk about impatience...!”

  He was muttering something about a gag as he half-led, half-dragged her to the car.

  “You old stick-in-the-mud, you.” She laughed after he’d put her inside and climbed in next to her. “Did I embarrass you?”

  He only glanced at her as he started the Lincoln. “You’re going to hate yourself in the morning when I remind you what you’ve been saying. And I will,” he promised darkly. “Ten times a day.”

  “You look gorgeous when you’re mad,” she observed. She moved across the seat and nuzzled close again. “I’ll sleep with you tonight, if you like,” she said gaily.

  He stiffened and muttered something under his breath.

  “Well, you’ve been trying to get me into bed with you, haven’t you?” she asked. “Propositioning me that last day at the ranch, and then coming after me, and making all sorts of improper remarks...so now I agree, and what do you do? You get all red in the face and start cussing. Just like a man. The minute you catch a girl, you’re already in pursuit of someone else, like that brunette you were dancing with,” she added, glaring up at him. “Well, just don’t expect that what you see is what you get, because I was in the ladies’ room with her, and it’s padded! I saw!”

  He was wavering between anger and laughter. Laughter won. He started, and couldn’t seem to stop.

  “You won’t think it’s very funny if you take her out,” she kept on, digging her own grave. Everything was fuzzy and pink and very pleasant. She felt so relaxed! “She’s even smaller than I am,” she muttered. “And her legs are just awful. She pulled up her skirt to fix her stockings...she hardly has any legs, they’re so skinny!”

  “Meow,” he taunted.

  She tossed back her long hair, and leaned her head back against the seat. Her coat had come open, revealing the deep neckline of the black dress. “Why won’t you make love to me?”

  “Because if I did, you’d scream your head off,” he said reasonably. “Here, put your tired little head on my shoulder and close your eyes. You’re soaked, honey.”

  She blinked. “I am not. It isn’t raining.”

  He reached out an arm and pulled her against him. “Close your eyes, sweet,” he said in a soft, tender tone. “I’ll take good care of you.”

  “Will you sleep with me?” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “If you want me to.”

  She smiled and closed her eyes with a long sigh. “That would be lovely,” she whispered. And it was the last thi
ng she said.

  * * *

  Morning came with blinding light and some confounded bird twittering his feathered head off outside the window.

  “Oh, go away!” she whispered, and held her head. “An axe,” she groaned. “There’s an axe between my eyes. Bird, shut up!”

  Soft laughter rustled her hair. She opened her eyes. Laughter?

  Her head turned on the pillow and Everett’s eyes looked back into her own. She gasped and tried to sit up, then groaned with the pain and fell back down again.

  “Head hurt? Poor baby.”

  “You slept with me?” she burst out. She turned her head slowly to look at him. He was fully dressed, except for his shoes and jacket. He even had his shirt on. He was lying on top of the coverlet, and she was under it.

  Slowly, carefully, she lifted the cover and looked. Her face flamed scarlet. She was dressed in nothing but a tiny pair of briefs. The rest of her was pink and tingling.

  “Rett!” she burst out, horrified.

  “I only undressed you,” he said, leaning on an elbow to watch her. “Be reasonable, honey. You couldn’t sleep in your evening gown. And,” he added with a faint grin, “it wasn’t my fault that you didn’t have anything on under it. You can’t imagine how shocked I was.”

  “That’s right, I can’t,” she agreed, and her eyes accused him.

  “I confess I did stare a little,” he murmured. His hand brushed the unruly blond hair out of her eyes. “A lot,” he corrected. “My God, Jenny,” he said on a slow breath, “you are the most glorious sight undressed that I ever saw in my life. I nearly fainted.”

  “Shame on you!” she said, trying to feel outraged. It was difficult, because she was still tingling from the compliment.

  “For what? For appreciating something beautiful?” He touched her nose with a long, lean finger. “Shame on you, for being embarrassed. I was a perfect gentleman. I didn’t even touch you, except to put you under the covers.”

  “Oh.”

  “I thought I’d wait until you woke up, and do it then,” he added with a grin.

  Her fingers grabbed the covers tightly. “Oh, no, you don’t!”