Ethan Page 7

  He glanced at her. "Doing okay?" he asked.

  She smiled. "I'm fine, thanks." He'd changed out of his traveling clothes into his worn jeans and boots and a blue plaid Western-cut shirt. His wide-brimmed hat was tilted at a rakish angle over his forehead. He looked very cowboyish, and Arabella grinned at the thought.

  "Something funny?" he asked with a narrow, sus­picious gaze.

  "I was just thinking how much like a cowboy you look," she replied. "Not bad, for the boss."

  "I don't have to wear suits around the men to get their attention."

  "I remember." She shuddered.

  "Stop that." He took a draw from the smoking cigarette in his hand. "You were a surprise this morn­ing," he said unexpectedly. "You handled Miriam very well."

  "Did you expect me to break into tears and run for cover?" she asked. "I've had a lot of practice with bad-tempered people. I lived with my father, remem­ber."

  "I remember. Miriam's the one who ran for cover this time."

  "You had a few bites of her, yourself. My gosh, what a venomous woman!" she said huskily. "I don't remember her being that bad before.''

  "You didn't know her before. Or maybe you did," he added quietly. "You saw through her from the be­ginning."

  She studied his averted face for a long moment, wanting to ask him something more, but uncertain of the way to go about it.

  He sensed her curiosity and glanced toward her. "Go ahead. Ask me."

  She started. "Ask you what?"

  He laughed coldly as he drove the truck along the rough track beside the fence, bouncing them both in the seats even with the superior shocks under the truck body. "Don't you want to know why she was sur­prised when you gave her the impression we were lov­ers?"

  "I thought she was just being sarcastic," she be­gan.

  He turned the truck and headed it toward another rutted path. Then abruptly he stopped it and cut off the engine. He had the windows down, and the sounds of birds and the distant bawling of cattle filtered in through it.

  He sat with one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding the cigarette. He shifted in the seat and stared at Arabella fully, his silver eyes touching her face while he struggled with an explanation he didn't want to make. But Miriam was bound to say some­thing to Arabella, and he wanted it to come from him, not from his venomous houseguest.

  "Miriam took a lover two weeks after we were married," he said quietly. "There was a procession of them until I divorced her. She said that I couldn't sat­isfy her in bed."

  He said it with icy bluntness, his eyes dark with pain, as if it were a reflection on his manhood. Per­haps it was. Arabella had read that a man's ego was the most vulnerable part of him.

  She searched his face quietly. "It seems to me that nobody could satisfy her, Ethan. She certainly had a lot of lovers."

  He didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until then. Arabella's attitude took the sting out of the admission. He relaxed a little. "They say everything goes if both partners want it, but I was too old-fashioned to suit Miriam." He smoked his cigarette quietly.

  She glanced at him. "Coreen thinks Miriam's preg­nant and that's why she came back to try for a recon­ciliation. She wants to get you into bed and pretend it's yours."

  "I told you at the outset, I don't want her," he said bluntly. "In bed or otherwise. She'd have to do a hell of a lot of pretending to get me to go along."

  "She could tell people you were the father," she countered.

  He sighed. "Yes, she probably could. That may be what she has in mind."

  "What are we going to do?" she asked.

  "I'll think of something," he said without looking at her. Locking his bedroom door might be the best answer, but wouldn't Miriam enjoy that, he thought bitterly.

  "I could help if you'd tell me what to do," she re­plied. "All I know about sex is what you taught me that day," she added without looking at him.

  That got his full attention. His breath was expelled in an audible rush. "My God," he said roughly. "You're kidding."

  "I'm afraid not."

  "Surely there were other men?"

  "Not in the way you mean."

  "You had to go out on dates in the past four years," he persisted. "You could be a virgin and still have some experience."

  She'd backed herself into a corner now, she thought worriedly. How could she tell him that the thought of any other man's hands and eyes on her body had nau­seated her? She looked for a way to change the sub­ject.

  "Answer me, Arabella," he said firmly.

  She glared at him. "I won't."

  He began to smile. "Was it so good with me that you didn't want it with anyone else?" he asked slowly. She blushed and averted her eyes, and he felt as if he were floating.

  He reached out unexpectedly and caught a strand of her hair, savoring its silky softness. "I don't know how I managed to stop. You were extraordinarily respon­sive."

  "I was infatuated with you," she replied. "I wanted so desperately to show you that I was grown up.'' She stared at his broad chest. "I suppose I did, but it didn't help. We'd at least been on relatively friendly terms until then."

  He closed the ashtray and sat up straight again to study her through narrowed eyes. "I suppose you're right. If we're going to pull this off, you and I are going to have to give the appearance of intimacy when we're around Miriam," he said abruptly, changing the subject.

  She was glad to return to the present. Discussion about the past was still unpleasant. "You mean, I need to wear low-cut dresses and slink when I walk and sit on your lap and curl your hair around my fingers? Especially in front of Miriam?"

  "You're catching on, cupcake," he replied.

  "It wouldn't embarrass you?" she asked with a faint grin.

  "Well, as long as you don't try to take my clothes off in public," he said. It was the first trace of humor she'd noticed in him since Miriam came. "We wouldn't want to embarrass my mother."

  "You'll have to settle for partial seduction right now, I'm afraid," she sighed, indicating her wrist in the cast. "It's hard enough undressing myself with­out having to undress you, too."

  "That reminds me," he murmured with a pointed look at the straps under her blouse, "how do you manage to get undressed?"

  She lifted her shoulders. "I can manage most everything. Except what's underneath."

  "You might consider going without what's under­neath for the duration of Miriam's stay," he sug­gested somberly. "I'll try not to stare, but it might give her food for thought if you walk around in front of me that way."

  "Your mother will have a heart attack," she re­plied.

  "Not my mother. She's been in your corner since you were eighteen." His eyes darkened as they searched hers. "She never could understand why I preferred Miriam to you."

  "I could," she said with a harsh laugh. "Miriam was everything I wasn't. Especially sophisticated and experienced." She stared down at her lap with return­ing bitterness. "All I had going for me was a little tal­ent. And now I may not even have that."

  "None of that," he said curtly. His hand tightened around hers. "We won't think ahead. We won't think about when that cast comes off or your father's reac­tion. We'll think about Miriam and how to get her out of here. That's our first priority. You give me a hand and I'll do the same for you when your father shows up."

  "Will he show up, Ethan?" she asked miserably.

  The soft green eyes looking so trustingly into his made his pulse hammer in his throat. She was as pretty as she'd been at eighteen, and just as shyly innocent. He wouldn't have traded her tenderness for all of Miriam's glittery sophistication, but he no longer had that choice. Arabella was only playing a part in this mutual-protection pact. He couldn't lose sight of that fact. Arabella wasn't his. With the bitterness of the past between them, she probably never would be.

  "It doesn't matter whether or not he does," he re­plied. He studied her long, elegant fingers. "I'll take care of you."

  She fe
lt little thrills down her spine. If only he meant it! She closed her eyes, drinking in the scent of his co­logne, the warmth of his lean, powerful body so close to her.

  There had been so little affection in her life. She'd been alone and unloved. Her father had only wanted her talent, not her company. No one had ever loved her, but she wanted Ethan to. She wanted him to care as much as she did. But that would never happen now. Miriam had killed what love there was in him.

  "You're so quiet, little one," Ethan said. He tilted her chin up and searched her sad eyes. "What's wrong?"

  The softness of his voice brought tears. They stung her eyelids and when she tried to hide them, he held her face firmly in both lean hands and made her look at him.

  "Why?" he asked roughly.

  Her lower lip trembled and she caught it in her teeth to still it. "It's nothing," she managed. Her eyes closed. She was a hopeless coward, she thought. She wanted to say why can't you love me, but she was afraid to.

  "Stop trying to live your whole life in one day," he said sharply. "It won't work."

  "I guess I worry too much," she confessed, brush­ing away a shiny tear from her cheek. "But every­thing's turned upside down. I had a promising career and a nice apartment in New York. I traveled. . . and now I may be a has-been. My father won't even talk to me," she faltered.

  "He'll be in touch," he said. "Your hand will mend. Right now you don't need a job; you've al­ready got one."

  "Yes," she said with a weak smile. "Helping you stay single."

  He gave her an odd look. "I wouldn't put it that way," he corrected. "The idea is to get Miriam to leave without bloodshed."

  She lifted her face. "She's very beautiful," she said, searching his pale silver eyes. "Are you sure you don't want her back, Ethan? You loved her once."

  "I loved an illusion," he said. His fingers brushed at a long strand of dark brown hair, moving it behind her ear. "Outward beauty isn't any indication of what's inside, Arabella. Miriam thought that beauty was enough, but a kind spirit and a warm heart mean a lot more to most people than a pretty face."

  "She's not quite as cold as she was," she said.

  He smiled faintly, searching her eyes. "Are you trying to push me into her arms?"

  "No." She lowered her eyes to his hard mouth. "I just wondered if you were sure that getting rid of her is what you really want."

  He drew her forehead against his chest, smoothing down her ruffled hair as he stared over her head and out the window. "I'm sure," he replied. "It wasn't much of a marriage to begin with." He drew back and looked at Arabella's soft face, drinking in its delicate beauty, its strength of character. "I wanted her," he said absently. "But wanting isn't enough."

  Perhaps wanting was all he was capable of, though, Arabella thought miserably. He'd wanted her years ago, but he hadn't loved her. He said he hadn't loved Miriam, but since he married her, he must have felt something pretty powerful for her.

  "What are you thinking about now?" he asked at her forehead.

  "Just long thoughts," she confessed. She drew in a steadying breath and lifted a smile to show him. "I'm all—"

  His mouth settled unexpectedly on hers, covering the word even as she spoke it.

  She stiffened at the feel of his firm lips on hers. All the years since he'd touched her, and it was as if they'd never been apart. She remembered the scent of him, the way his mouth bit at hers to make it open just as it had the first time he'd ever kissed her. She remem­bered the sound he made in his throat when he dragged her face under his with rough, warm hands and the feverish intensity of the mouth that grew in­stantly more demanding and intimate on her lips.

  "Kiss me," he whispered, his breath making little chills on her moist lips. "Don't hold back."

  "I don't want this—" she protested with her last whisper of will.

  "You want me. You always have and I've always known it," he said roughly.

  His fingers speared into her long hair, tangling in its dark softness while his mouth crushed down on hers again, pressing her lips firmly apart as he began to build the intensity of the kiss from a slow possession to a devastating intimacy.

  She stiffened and he hesitated, his mouth poised just above her own.

  "Don't fight me," he said huskily. His hands moved, faintly tremulous where they held her face captive. He was burning. On fire for her. The old need was back, in full force, and she was his, if only for a space of seconds. He wanted her so desperately. She was his heart. Miriam and all the pain were forgotten in his driving hunger to hold Arabella's soft body in his arms, to feel again the aching sweetness of her mouth under his. "Oh, God, let me love you," he ground out.

  "You don't," she said miserably. "You don't, you never did. . .!"

  He took the words into his open mouth. He groaned heavily and his hands slid over her back, bringing her gently against him, so that her breasts flattened against his hard chest while he kissed her. Her hands pressed against his warm shirtfront, but she didn't kiss him back or put her arms around him. She was too afraid that he'd been stirred up by his ex-wife and now he needed an outlet. It was. . . demeaning.

  He felt her lack of response and lifted his head. He could hardly breathe. His chest actually throbbed with the fierce thunder of his heart, and the sight of Ara­bella's flushed, lovely face under his made it go even faster. She looked frightened, although there was something under the fear, a leashed hunger that she was refusing to satisfy.

  And that wasn't the only thing he noticed. Despite the blow Miriam had dealt his pride, he discovered that he was suddenly very much a man. He felt desire as he held Arabella; a raging desire he'd thought for four years he'd never be able to feel again for a woman. The impact of it brought a muffled curse from his lips. Of all the times for it to happen, and with Arabella, of all people!

  Chapter Six

  Arabella couldn't meet Ethan's searching gaze, and the faint tremor in his arms frightened her. He looked and felt out of control, and she knew the strength in that lean body. She tried to pull away, but he drew her even closer, his hard, dark face poised just above her own.

  "What's wrong?" he asked roughly.

  "You want Miriam," she said through numb lips. "You want her, and I'm substituting, all over again."

  He was utterly shocked. His arms loosened and she took advantage of the momentary slackening to pull away from him. She couldn't bear the confinement of the cab a minute longer. She opened the door and climbed down, locking her arms around her breasts as she stared at the flat horizon and listened to the buzz­ing noise of insects in the heat of the day.

  Ethan got out, too, lighting a cigarette. He walked along beside her with apparent carelessness, steering her toward a grove of mesquite trees by the small stream that led eventually to the swimming hole. He leaned against the rough trunk of a huge mesquite tree, smoking quietly while Arabella leaned against a nearby tree and watched butterflies fluttering around a handful of straggly wildflowers on the creek bank.

  The silence became unnerving. Ethan's eyes nar­rowed as he studied Arabella's slender body. "You weren't substituting for Miriam in the truck."

  She colored, avoiding his level gaze. "Wasn't I?"

  He took a draw from the cigarette and stared at the ripples in the water. "My marriage is over."

  "Maybe she's changed," she said, rubbing salt in her own wounds. "It could be a second chance for you."

  "Miriam's the one with the second chance," he re­turned, his cold eyes biting into her face. "To bring me to my knees. The only thing she ever saw in me was the size of my wallet."

  And that was the most hurtful part of it, she imag­ined. He'd loved Miriam and all she'd wanted was his money. She rubbed her cast with a light finger, trac­ing patterns on it. "I'm sorry. I guess that was rough."

  "No man likes being a walking meal ticket," he said shortly. He finished the cigarette and tossed it onto the ground, putting it out with a vicious movement of his boot.

  "Then maybe she'll give up and go
away," she said.

  "Not if you don't help me give her the right impression about our relationship," he said curtly. He pushed away from the tree and walked toward her with somber intent in his pale eyes. "You said you'd need a little cooperation. All right. You'll get it."

  "No, Ethan," she choked. Even in her innocence, she recognized the purposeful stride, the glitter in his enveloping gaze. It was the same look he'd had on his face that day at the swimming hole. "Oh, Ethan, don't! It's just a game to you. It's Miriam you want. It's always been Miriam, never me!"

  He moved in front of her and his lean hands shot past her to the broad tree trunk, imprisoning her. He held her eyes relentlessly. "No," he said huskily. He searched her face and his heart went wild. Even his body, frozen though it had been for four long years, was alive as never before.

  "Don't," she pleaded as her breath caught in her throat. The scent and feel of him was making her weak. She didn't want to be vulnerable again, she didn't want to be hurt. "Please don't."

  "Look at me."

  She shook her head.

  "I said, look at me!"

  The sheer force of will in the deep drawl brought her rebellious eyes up, and he trapped them.

  Still holding her eyes with his, he lowered his body against hers, letting her feel the raging arousal she'd kindled.

  Her eyes dilated. She could barely breathe. After one shocked minute, she tried to struggle, but he groaned and his eyes closed. He shuddered. She stood very still, her lips parted.

  He looked down at her for a long time, his eyes dark with desire, his body rigid with it. "My God," he whispered almost reverently. "It's been so long." His mouth ground into hers with fierce delight. He was a man again, whole again. He could hardly be­lieve what he was feeling.

  Arabella was drowning in him. His warm mascu­line body was making her ache terribly, but she couldn't afford to give in.

  "I won't love you, Ethan," she whispered, her expression tormented as memories of the past wounded her. "I won't, I won't!"