The Cowboy and the Lady Page 6

  “No!” she whispered. “He’s never touched me that way, never, Jace, I swear!”

  She watched some of the strain leave his hard face even as she felt the tension grow in the powerful muscles of his legs where they pressed warmly into hers. His hands shifted around to her back. She wasn’t wearing a bra under the terry-cloth dress, and she could feel his bare chest against her soft breasts through the thin fabric. The intimacy made her tremble.

  He looked down at her, where her slender hands were pressed lightly against the mat of hair over his bronzed skin, and she was aware of the heavy, hard beat of his heart against the crushed warmth of her breasts.

  “Is there anything but skin under this wisp of cloth?” he asked in a taut undertone. “I might as well be holding you in your underclothes.”

  “Jace!” she burst out, embarrassed.

  “No, don’t fight,” he warned shortly when she tried to struggle away from him. His hands moved slowly, caressingly on her back, easing down below her waist to hold her tightly against the hard muscles of his thighs.

  “Doesn’t Black ever make love to you?” he asked curiously, watching the reaction in her flushed face, her frightened eyes. “You’re too nervous for a woman who’s used to being touched.”

  “Maybe I’m nervous because it’s you,” she burst out. Her fingers clenched together where they were forced to rest against his chest, as she fought not to give in to the longing to run her hands over his cool flesh. Her nostrils drank in the faint scent of cologne and leather that clung to his tall body.

  “Because it’s me?” he prompted, eyeing her.

  She bit her lower lip nervously, all too aware of the privacy the closed door provided. “The last time, you hurt,” she murmured.

  “The last time you were sixteen years old and I was mad as hell,” he reminded her. “I meant to hurt you.”

  “What did I do,” she asked miserably, “except make the mistake of having a huge crush on you?”

  He was so still, she thought for a moment that he hadn’t heard her. His hands pressed into her soft flesh painfully for an instant, and a harsh sigh escaped from his lips.

  “A crush on me?” he echoed blankly. “My God, you ran the other way every time I looked at you!”

  “Of course I did—you terrified me!” she burst out, her eyes wide and dark and accusing as they met his. “I knew you and Mother didn’t get along, and I thought you disliked me the way you did her. You were always and forever snapping at me or glaring.”

  His eyes ran over her face lightly, lingering pointedly on her mouth. “I suppose I was. I got the shock of my life when you invited me to that party.”

  She searched his hard face. “Why did you come?” she asked softly.

  His shoulders rose and fell heavily. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was out of my element in more ways than one. I’d had women by then. I was used to females a hell of a lot more sophisticated than the crowd that surrounded me that night.”

  A surge of inexplicable jealousy ran riot through her body as she stared up at him. “So I gathered,” she grumbled.

  One dark eyebrow went up. “And how would you have known? You were obviously a virgin. I remember wondering at the time how many boys you’d kissed. You didn’t even know enough to open your mouth to mine.”

  She lowered her eyes to his chest before he could see the embarrassed flush that spread down from her cheeks.

  “I’d never been kissed by anyone,” she said quietly. “You were…the first. You were almost the last, too,” she added with an irrepressible burst of humor. “I was scared silly.” Her eyes glanced up and down again. “It was a terribly adult kiss.”

  He lifted a lean hand and tilted her face up so that he could study it. “Did I leave scars on those young emotions?” he asked gently. “All I could remember about it later was the way you trembled against me, the softness of your body under my hands. I had a feeling I’d frightened you, but I was too angry to care. If I’d known the truth…”

  “It probably wouldn’t have made much difference,” she put in. “I…get the feeling that you’re not a gentle lover, Jason.”

  “Do you?” He drew her slowly up against him again, feeling the sudden tension in her body as his hands spread around her waist and trapped her there. “Maybe it’s time I did something about that first impression.”

  “Jason, I don’t think…” she began nervously.

  “Shhhh,” he whispered, bending his dark head. “We won’t need words…it’s been so long, Amanda,” he murmured as his mouth brushed hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip to make it part for him before his warm mouth moved on hers with a slow, lazy pressure that knocked any thought of resistance out of her mind. His arms swallowed her gently, folding her into his tall, powerful body while he taught her how much two people could tell each other with one long, slow kiss.

  She could hardly believe it was happening, here in broad daylight, in the living room where they had sat like polite strangers the night before and never even touched.

  It was almost like going back in time, to her sixteenth birthday party, but the kiss he’d given her then was nothing like this. He was easy with her, gentle, coaxing her mouth to open for him, to admit the deep, expert penetration of his tongue. The silence was only broken by the rough whisper of their breath as they kissed more and more hungrily. Her hands caressed his hair-roughened chest with an ardour that came not from experience, but from longing. She felt the need to touch, to explore, to learn the contours of his body with her fingers. She could feel the length of him, warm against her, and she trembled with the force of the new sensations he was arousing with the slow, caressing motions of his hands.

  She felt his fingers move to the zipper at the front of the terry-cloth dress with a sense of wonder at his expertise. He was already beginning to slide it down when her nervous fingers caught at his and stilled them.

  He drew back a breath, his eyes narrow and glittering with silver lights, his mouth sensuous, slightly swollen from the long, hard contact with hers.

  “I want to look at you,” he said huskily. “I want to watch your face when I touch you.”

  Shudders of wild sensation ran down her body like lightning. She realized with a start that she wanted his eyes on her, the touch of those hard fingers on her bare skin. But through the fog of hunger he’d created, she still remembered what the situation was between them. Jason was her enemy. He had nothing but contempt for her, and allowing him this kind of intimacy was suicide.

  “No,” she whispered tightly.

  He lifted his face, looking down his arrogant nose at her. “Are we going to pretend that this is another first?” he asked curtly. “Sorry, honey, I’m an old fox now, and wary of woman-traps. I know one when I see one.”

  She tried to get away in a flurry of anger, but he held her effortlessly. “Let go of me!” she cried. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “No?” he returned coldly. “You’re full of tricks all right, Amanda, but don’t think you’ll catch me. Deliberate provocation can be dangerous, and you’d better think twice before you try it again. Next time, I’ll take you,” he said harshly, watching the shock darken her eyes, “and teach you things about men you never knew.”

  “I wouldn’t let you!” she burst out.

  “Why not?” His eyes were faintly insulting as he released her abruptly. “Women like you aren’t all that particular, are they? Why not me, Amanda?”

  “I hate you!” she whispered unsteadily, and at the moment, she meant it. How dare he make insinuations about her?

  He only smiled, but there was no humor in his look. “Do you? I’m glad, Amanda, I’d hate to think you were dying of unrequited love for me. But if you change your mind, honey, you know where my room is,” he added for good measure. “Just don’t expect marriage. I know how badly you and your mother need a meal ticket. But, honey,” he said, as he opened the door, “it won’t be me.”

  He went out, closin
g the door behind him.

  Chapter Five

  She went to her room to freshen up, and bathed her hot cheeks in cold water. She held a cold cloth to her lips as well, hoping that might make the bruised swelling go down. Bruised. Her eyes closed, her heart turned over, in memory. Her mind went back to the day Jace had approached her with his earth-shattering proposition.

  It had been a day much like this one, sunny and warm, and Amanda had been alone when she’d heard a car drive up in front of the house. She’d gone onto the porch as Jace took the steps three at a time. He was dressed in denims, and had obviously been out working with his hands on the ranch. He’d stopped just in front of her, oddly irritated, sweeping the black Stetson off his dark head. His silver eyes had glittered down at her out of a deeply tanned face.

  “You look like death on a holiday,” he commented gruffly, tracing the unusually thin lines of her slender body with eyes that lingered. “How’s it going?”

  She’d drawn herself erect, too proud to let him see what a burden it all was—her father’s death, Bea’s careless spending, the loss of their assets, the disgrace—and met his eyes bravely.

  “We’re coping,” she’d said. She even forced a cool smile for him.

  But Jace, being Jace, hadn’t bought it. Those narrow, piercing eyes had seen through her pose easily. He was a businessman, accustomed to coping with minds shrewder and more calculating than Amanda’s, and with the knowledge of long acquaintance, he could read her as easily as a newspaper.

  “I hear you’ve had to put the house itself on the market,” he said frankly. “At the rate your mother’s going, before long you’ll be selling the clothes off your back to support her.”

  Her lower lip had threatened to give her away even more, but she’d caught it in her teeth just in time. “I’ll manage.”

  “You don’t have to manage, Amanda,” he said curtly. There was a curious hesitation in him, a stillness that should have warned her. But it hadn’t. “I can make it right for you. Pay the bills, keep the ranch going. I can even support that scatterbrained parent of yours, though the thought disgusts me.”

  She’d eyed him warily. “In exchange for what, exactly?” she’d asked.

  “Come and live with me,” he said.

  The words had hit her like ice water. Unexpected, faintly embarrassing, their impact had left her white. She was afraid of Jason; terrified of him on any physical level. Perhaps if he’d been gentler that night when he’d surprised her by showing up for her birthday party…but he hadn’t, and the thought of what he was asking turned her blood cold. She hadn’t even bothered to explain. She’d turned around before he had time to react, rushed into the house, slammed and locked the door behind her, all without a word. And the memory of that day had been between them ever since, like a thorny fence neither cared to climb.

  * * *

  It was a blessing that Jace thought her instinctive response to him was an act. If he’d known the truth, that she quite simply couldn’t resist him in any way, it would have been unbearable for her. Jace would love having a weapon like that to use on her. And if he knew what she really felt…it didn’t bear consideration.

  Love. There was no way that she could deny the feeling. What a tragedy that all her defenses had finally deserted her, and bound her over to the enemy. This gossamer, sweet kind of sensation made her want to laugh and sing and cry all at once, to run to Jace with her arms outstretched and offer him anything, everything, to share her life with him, to give him sons…

  Tears misted her eyes. Tess would give him those. Perfect sons with perfect minds, always neat, very orderly, made to stand around like little statues. Tess would see to that, and Jace was too busy to bother. He wanted heirs, not love. It wasn’t a word he knew.

  Why did it have to be Jace? she asked in anguish. Why not Terry, or Duncan, or the half dozen other men she’d dated over the years? Why did it have to be the one man in the world she couldn’t have. Her poor heart would wear itself out on Jace’s indifference.

  It was a good thing that she and Terry were leaving at the end of the week. Now that she knew what her fear of Jace really was, she could stay away from him. She could leave Casa Verde and never see him again. The tears came back, hot and bitter. How terribly that hurt, to think of never seeing him again. But in the long run, it would be less cruel than tormenting herself by being near him.

  Resolutely, she dried the tears and exchanged the aqua lounging dress for her jeans and a pink top. She crumpled the dress into her suitcase, vowing silently that she’d never wear it again. As she tucked it away, she caught the faint scent of the tangy cologne Jace wore, clinging to the fabric.

  * * *

  Marguerite was busily addressing dainty decal-edge envelopes in her sitting room on the second floor when Amanda joined her.

  “Hello, dear, have enough sun?” the older woman asked pleasantly, pausing with her pen in midair.

  “In a sense,” she replied. “I came in to lend you a hand but then I ran into Jace and stopped to patch him up.”

  Marguerite’s face changed, drew in. “Is he all right?”

  “Yes, it was just a gash in his arm,” she replied, easing the fears she could read plainly in the older woman’s eyes. “I never did find out how it happened. One of the cows, I guess.”

  Marguerite’s dark eyes hardened. “Those horrible beasts,” she exclaimed. “Sometimes I think the Whitehall men have more compassion for breeding stock than they do for women! Except for Duncan, bless him.”

  Amen, Amanda thought as she pulled over a dainty wing chair next to Marguerite’s writing table and sat down.

  “Jace actually let you put a bandage on him?” she asked her young companion. “I’d have thought little Tess would have been standing by just in case.”

  “Apparently not,” she replied, hoping her face didn’t show any of what really happened. What she didn’t know was that her mouth was still swollen, despite the cold compress, and there were marks on one delicate cheek, which were plainly made by the rasp of a man’s slightly burred cheek.

  But Marguerite kept her silence, aware of the peculiar tension in her companion. “You’re sure you don’t mind helping?” she asked, pushing some envelopes and a page of names and addresses toward her.

  “Of course not.” Amanda took a pen and began to write in her lovely longhand.

  “Jace didn’t argue about letting you play nurse?” she continued gently.

  “He did at first,” she murmured.

  Marguerite glanced at her, amused. “You’re coming to the party, of course,” she said. “These are just unforgivably late invitations to a few friends whom I’m sure can make it despite the short notice. The party’s going to be held at the Sullevans’. They have a huge ballroom, something we haven’t.”

  Amanda nodded, remembering the enormous Sullevan estate with its graceful curves and gracious hospitality. “I can’t come, you know,” she said gently.

  Marguerite looked across at her with a knowing smile. “I’ll get you a dress.”

  “No!” Amanda burst out, horrified as she remembered Jace’s threat.

  But Marguerite’s attention was already back on the invitations. Amanda started to write, unaware of the faint, amused smile on the older woman’s face.

  * * *

  Duncan and Marguerite were the only ones at the breakfast table when Amanda went downstairs after a restless night. Jace, she was told, had long since gone to his office, in a black temper.

  “He gets worse every day lately,” Duncan remarked, glancing at Amanda with a smile as she took the seat beside him. “You wouldn’t know why, Amanda?”

  She tried to hide her red face by bending it over her cup of black coffee. “Me? Why?”

  “Well, you were both conspicuously absent from the supper table,” he observed. “You had a sick headache, and Jace had some urgent business at the office.”

  Marguerite was just beginning to make connections. One silver eyebrow went up in a ges
ture reminiscent of her eldest son. “Did you and Jace argue yesterday, Amanda?” she asked gently.

  “It’s downright dangerous to have them in the same room together lately,” Duncan teased. “He flies at her and she flies right back. God help anyone who gets between them.”

  “Where’s Terry, I wonder?” Amanda hedged, helping herself to some scrambled eggs and little fat sausages.

  “He and I were up late discussing the campaign,” Duncan explained. “He’s probably overslept. I’ve got to fly to New York today on business.” He sipped his coffee, set the china cup down gently in its saucer, and stared at Amanda. “Jace agreed to talk with Terry tonight.”

  “Did he? That’s nice,” she murmured.

  He studied her downbent head, reading accurately the wan, drawn look about her face, the dark circles under her eyes.

  Marguerite finished her breakfast and crumpled her napkin beside her plate, lifting her coffee cup with a smile. “How lovely to have one uninterrupted meal.” She sighed. “Duncan, breakfast with you is so restful.”

  “I don’t own controlling interest in the properties,” he reminded her.

  The words reminded Amanda of what Jace had said, and she winced unconsciously.

  Marguerite’s dark eyes flashed. “I’d like to get rid of it all,” she grumbled, “except for a little of the ranch. Maybe we weren’t so wealthy in the old days, but at least we could eat a meal without someone being called away on business. And Jace didn’t push himself so hard.”

  “Didn’t he?” Duncan asked gently. “He always has. And we both know why.”

  Marguerite smiled at him wistfully. “And what do you think about the result?”

  “I think there’s a distinct possibility of success,” he said mysteriously, lifting his coffee cup as if in a toast.

  “You people do carry on the strangest conversations,” Amanda remarked between mouthfuls.

  “Sorry, dear,” Marguerite apologized nicely. “Just old suspicions.”