The Cowboy and the Lady Page 8

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Amanda…!” Jace burst out.

  “Leave her alone, Jace,” Duncan said quietly, and stopped to draw her against him. “I scared her out of her wits. And if the coat bothers you, blame Mother. Amanda didn’t have one and Mother loaned it to her.”

  Jace looked as if he wanted to throw things. But he whirled without another word, his face terrible, and got in behind the wheel of the truck. Duncan eased Amanda into the seat first, watching her shrink away from contact with Jace when he got in on the other side of her and closed the door. Jace started the truck and left rubber behind taking off.

  They had to go over the explanations again for Marguerite, who was pale and worn out from crying, hugging the two of them as if they’d come back from the dead. To Amanda’s silent relief, Jace disappeared upstairs as soon as they got home. She couldn’t cope with him right now.

  “I’m so glad you’re safe.” Marguerite sniffed, sipping black coffee with a sodden handkerchief clutched in one thin hand. “I was so worried.”

  “I wish we could have let you know,” Amanda said gently, wiping her own face, “but there wasn’t any way. I’m so sorry we upset you.”

  “Jace more than me,” she said with a damp smile. “He wore ruts in my carpet. I’ve never seen him so upset.”

  “He hit Duncan,” Amanda said, faintly resentful.

  “Duncan deserved it,” the injured party said sheepishly, “and you know it.”

  Marguerite sighed. “You’re lucky that’s all he did. He threatened worse things while we waited.”

  “Would anyone mind if I went to bed for what’s left of the night?” Amanda asked gently. “I know you two are just as tired as I am, but…”

  “You go right ahead, dear,” Marguerite said with an affectionate smile. “Duncan and I will be right behind you. Rest well.”

  “Where’s Terry, by the way?” Amanda asked suddenly, remembering him belatedly.

  “He went to bed early and we didn’t wake him,” Marguerite explained. “He’s missed all the excitement.”

  Amanda smiled wanly. “I’ll see you both later, and I really am sorry,” she added gently, bending to kiss Marguerite’s cheek as she passed her.

  * * *

  The fatigue and lack of sleep hit her all at once when she got to her room. She took off the sundress and her sandals, but she couldn’t seem to stay awake long enough to get out of her slip and hose before she drifted off in a heap at the foot of the bed.

  Through a fog, she felt herself being lifted and placed under something soft and cool. Her heavy eyelids opened slowly, as if in a dream, to find a hard, tanned face looming over her.

  “Sleepy?” he asked in a voice too soft to be Jace’s.

  She nodded. Her vision was blurred, as if she was dreaming. Perhaps she was.

  He brought the cover up to her waist, his eyes lingering on the lacy bodice of her slip where it exposed the soft, pale swell of her breasts.

  “I’m not dressed,” she murmured drowsily.

  “I can see that,” he replied softly, with an amused smile.

  “You’re mad at me,” she recalled, frowning. “I don’t remember…why…but…”

  “Don’t think. Go to sleep.”

  Her eyes drifted down to the growth of beard on his tanned face and involuntarily her fingers reached up to touch it. For a dream, he felt warmly real.

  “You haven’t slept either,” she whispered.

  “I couldn’t, until I knew,” he said gruffly.

  “Were you really worried?” she asked.

  “Worried!” He laughed shortly, but his eyes were still turbulent with emotion. “My God, I had visions of the two of you lying mangled in the wreckage of the Cessna. And you were going up and down Broadway!”

  She dropped her eyes to his broad chest where his shirt was unbuttoned, and the curling dark hairs on the bronzed skin were damp, like the hair on his head, as if he’d just come from a shower.

  “We were having fun,” she said inadequately.

  “You always had fun with him.” There was a world of bitterness in the words.

  “And I always ran from you,” she murmured gently. Her fingers traced the long, chiseled curve of his warm mouth. “I could never get close to you,” she told him, weariness making her vulnerable, loosening her tongue. “The day I invited you to the party, I was scared to death. I wanted you to come so much, and you were like stone.”

  “Self-defense, Amanda,” he replied quietly, his eyes slow and bold on the lacy white slip and the white flesh peeking out of it. “I didn’t like the way you made me feel. I didn’t like being vulnerable either.”

  She laughed wistfully. “All I ever managed to do was make you lose your temper.”

  “Are you sure?” He caught her hand and drew it to his warm, hard chest, pressing its palm against the hard, shuddering beat of his heart. “Feel what you do to me,” he murmured, watching the surprise in her sleepy eyes. “I can look at you and my heart damned near beats me to death. It’s been that way for years and you’ve never even noticed.”

  Her lips fell open, in astonishment. Jace had always been so self-sufficient, so controlled. It was new and exciting to consider the possibility that she could do this to him, that she could make him feel the same shuddering excitement that filled her when he touched her.

  “I think…I was afraid to notice,” she whispered shakily, “because I wanted it so much…”

  His breath was coming hard and fast now, his eyes going down to her softly parted lips. Like a man in a trance, he bent his head, his eyes staring straight into hers.

  The tension between them was almost unbearable. She could feel the warm, smoky sigh of his breath on her lips, the slight mingling scents of soap and cologne as he bent over her, the blazing warmth of his body where her cool hands were pressed against his chest.

  “Jason…” she whispered apprehensively.

  His open mouth brushed against her lips while he watched her. “Hush,” he whispered gently. “I only want to touch you, to taste you, to be sure that you’re here and safe and not lying in a field somewhere torn to pieces. God, I’ve never been so afraid!”

  “You shouted at me,” she reminded him, the words muffled against his mouth as it brushed and caressed in a maddening, tantalizing motion.

  “You’d scared me out of my wits. What did you expect?” he growled. He moved, leaning both arms on the sheet on either side of her, his chest arching over hers as he studied her flushed face. “You little fool, can’t you get it into your head that I’m not rational when it comes to you? Does it give you some kind of juvenile kick to knock me off-balance, the way you did in the living room?”

  She studied his hard mouth quietly, loving the chiseled perfection of it, the sensations it could cause. “I never realized before that I could…knock you off-balance.”

  His eyes dropped to the brief, almost transparent bodice of her slip. “Lying there so soft and sweet,” he murmured, “and I’m making small talk when all I want out of life right now is to strip you down to your skin and taste every silky inch of you.”

  Her heart turned over. “What time is it?” she asked quickly.

  “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” He lifted his hand and touched, very lightly, the soft swell of her breast with his hard fingers, smiling when she caught them and moved them to her shoulder. “You did that once before,” he reminded her. “At that party, years ago. I carried the memory around like a faded photograph for years. You were so deliciously innocent.” His eyes darkened, his face tautened. “And now you’re a woman, not so innocent, so why pretend?”

  She chewed on her lower lip, too weary to deny it, to fight with him. “I’m tired, Jason,” she whispered meekly.

  He took a deep breath. “And I’m not?” he asked. His eyes searched hers. “I’ve been pacing up and down in my room, trying to get myself back together. I know that if I try to get some sleep, every time I shut my eyes I’ll see the look on your face when I jumpe
d on you about the damned coat.”

  “But Marguerite…” she began.

  “Insisted. I know, Duncan told me, remember?” He smoothed the hair away from her face. “I was worried sick, honey,” he said quietly. “And hurt.”

  “I couldn’t hurt you,” she whispered curiously.

  “Couldn’t you?” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “You don’t know how much you could hurt me,” he murmured, bending. He eased her mouth under his, cherishing it, touching it lightly, gentling it in a silence that was only broken by the sound of a breeze outside the open window and the soft sigh of Jace’s breath while he kissed her.

  She reached up to hold him, but he caught her hands and spread them against his cool, broad chest, tangling her fingers in the mat of curling dark hair.

  “Have you ever learned how to touch a man?” he asked against her parted lips.

  She caressed him with nervous, unsure hands while the touch of his tormenting mouth drove her slowly mad.

  “Kiss me hard,” she whispered achingly, her slitted eyes looking up into his.

  “In a minute.” A faint triumphant smile touched his mouth. “I like it like this, don’t you? Slow and easy. I like to hold back as long as I can—it makes everything more intense,” he whispered against her lips. “Come on, honey, don’t just lie there and let me do it all. Help me.”

  She almost blurted out that she didn’t know how, that her only intimate experience had been with him. With other men she had never gone beyond kissing.

  She opened her mouth to his and reached up to hold him, to draw his heavy, warm body against hers so that he was half-lying across her, the crushing pressure of his weight dragging a moan from her throat.

  “Not so hard, baby,” he whispered, drawing back a little to look at her. “It’s been a long time since I made any effort to go slow with a woman. Let it be gentle with us, this time.”

  The words awed her, touched her. She reached up and traced his hard mouth with her fingertip, her dark eyes searching his light ones while her heart hammered in her throat. “I don’t know much…” she blurted out, the admission not quite what she meant it to be.

  “It’s all right,” he said quietly. He smoothed her lips under his softly, slowly. “Don’t you want to touch me?” he whispered, and his fingers drew against her waist, her rib cage, up to the soft, high curve of her breasts. “God knows, I want to touch you,” he added huskily, and his hands moved to cup her soft breasts with a light touch that made her tremble all the same and catch at his fingers wildy.

  He drew back, studying the apprehension in her eyes watchfully. “I won’t hurt you,” he said softly.

  “I know. I…” She stared up at him helplessly. “I need time,” she whispered.

  He drew in a hard, heavy breath, leaning his weight on his forearms as he poised just above her. “You’ve had seven years,” he reminded her.

  “You’ve hated me for seven years,” she corrected sadly. “Jason, you can’t expect me to…to trust you…to give…”

  He reached down and kissed her roughly. “To give yourself to me—why can’t you say it?” His eyes narrowed. “All right, I’ll accept that. You need time to get used to the idea, and I’ll give you that. But not much, Amanda. I’ve waited longer than I ever intended already, and I’m damned near the end of my rope. I’ve gone a hell of a long time without a woman.”

  She gasped at him and would have pursued that, but he bent suddenly and she felt the firm, warm pressure of his mouth against the bare curve of her breast where the strap had fallen away. Her body arched instinctively at the unexpected pressure, at the newness of a man’s lips on her body, and she gasped.

  “Do you like it?” he murmured against her silky skin, and drew the strap down even farther to seek the deep pink peak with his warm mouth in an intimacy that made her grasp his dark hair with both hands to jerk him away. A mistake, she saw that immediately, because his eyes had a brief and total view of the curves his lips had touched, before she was able to jerk the bodice back in place.

  He studied her flaming face with interest. “Was it always in the dark before?” he murmured, smiling. “I’m glad you left at least one first for me. What’s that saying about the delights to be found in small packages?”

  “You beast!” she whispered, flushing more wildly than ever.

  He chuckled softly, watching her jerk the sheet over herself. He sat up, as smug as a tiger with one paw on its prey.

  “Small but perfect, love,” he said gently, and for a moment he seemed a stranger, his silver eyes almost gentle, his face faintly kind.

  Impulsively, she reached out and touched his bare chest, looking up at him with all the unasked questions in her eyes. “I’m sorry you and Marguerite were worried.”

  He only nodded. “You’d better get some sleep.”

  “You had, too,” she murmured. “You won’t be able to work at all.”

  “I’ll have hell keeping my mind on work, all right,” he admitted, staring into her puzzled eyes. He leaned down, his mouth poised just over hers. “Hard, this time,” he whispered gruffly, “and open your mouth…”

  He crushed her lips under his, fostering a hunger like nothing she’d ever felt before. It was a meeting of mouths that was as intimate as the merging of two souls. She arched up against him, her mouth wild, her nails biting into his shoulders, moaning in a surrender as sweeping as death. She loved him so, wanted him so, and for this instant he was hers. She wanted nothing more than to give him everything she had to give, despite all the arguments, all the harsh words.

  He drew back, breathing heavily, his eyes blazing with suppressed desire. He caught her wrists and drew her hands gently away from his shoulders, easing her back down on the pillow.

  “I’d rather saw off my arm than leave you,” he said in a husky whisper. “Oh, God, I want you so!”

  She caught her trembling lower lip in her teeth, staring up at him helplessly, beyond words.

  He drew a heavy breath and leaned down, brushing her mouth lightly with his, a tender caress after the storm. “You could still sleep with me,” he remarked quietly, searching her misty eyes. “No strings, just sleep. I’d like to hold you against me, see you lying there in my bed.”

  The flush went all the way down her body, and he watched it with a passing confusion in his glittering eyes.

  “What if your mother or Duncan happened to walk in?” she asked unsteadily, trying to make light of it when she wanted nothing more than to do just as he’d suggested.

  He searched her eyes. “Then I’d have to marry you, wouldn’t I?” he asked with a faint smile. He got up before she could decide whether or not he was joking, and the moment was lost. He glanced back at her from the open door.

  “Sweet dreams, honey. Sleep well. God knows, I won’t,” he added, his eyes sweeping the length of her body under the thin sheet.

  “Good night, Jason,” she whispered softly, “or should I say good morning?”

  He smiled, then turned and went through the door without looking back. Amanda stared after him for a long time before she turned over and closed her eyes with a sigh.

  Chapter Seven

  She opened her eyes to a shaft of midmorning sunlight that streamed across the fluffy blue coverlet, and as her soft brown eyes stared at the ceiling, the memory of Jace’s visit sent tingles of excitement all over her. She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, staring at the door, her face bright, her eyes brimming with excitement. Jace! Had it really happened? She touched her mouth and looked in the mirror, as if looking for evidence of the kisses he’d pressed against it. There was a faint bruise high on one arm, and she remembered with a thrill of pleasure the blaze of ardor she’d shared with him. It hadn’t been a dream after all. But had he felt the same pleasure she had? Or had it all been something he already regretted in the cold light of day? Would he be different? Would he smile instead of scowl, would he be less antagonistic? Or would he hate her even more…?

  She
got into jeans and a scoop-necked powder-blue blouse and hurried downstairs, her hair loose and waving around her shoulders, her eyes full of dreams.

  It was past ten o’clock, and she hadn’t really expected Jace to be at the breakfast table, but she felt a surge of disappointment anyway when she opened the dining-room door and found only Marguerite and Terry there, Terry looking faintly irritated.

  “There you are.” He sighed. “Look, Mandy, you’ll have to handle this account from here on in. Jackson called me a few minutes ago and he doesn’t like the television spot we worked up—says it’s too ‘suggestive.’”

  “But his son approved it,” she protested.

  “Without his permission, it seems,” Terry grumbled. He gulped down the rest of his coffee and stood up. “Sorry to leave you like this, but if we lose that account we’re in big trouble. It’s the largest one we have—I don’t need to remind you about that.”

  “No, of course not. Don’t worry,” she said with a smile, “I can take over here.”

  “I never did get to talk to Jace last night.” He grinned back at her. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.” Then he thanked Marguerite for her hospitality, reminded Amanda to call him at the airport when she got into San Antonio after she finished discussing the account, and hurried away to get a cab.

  “You don’t sound quite as nervous of Jason as you did,” Marguerite murmured, eyeing her with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I wonder why?”

  Amanda flushed in spite of herself and burst out laughing. “I’ll never tell,” she murmured.

  “I thought he’d get around to showing you how upset he’d been,” the older woman remarked as she stirred cream into her hot coffee. “I’ve never seen him like that. By the way,” she added, glancing at Amanda, “I have a delightful surprise for you.”

  “What?” Amanda asked, all eyes.

  “It will have to wait a little,” came the mysterious reply, with a smile. “Jason’s at the office this morning, but I think he may be in for lunch. Oh, and Duncan’s at the dentist.” She bit back a smile. “Jason loosened two of his caps.”