by Diana Palmer
“I want to dance,” she said quietly, aware of the guests watching them. Nobody was dancing yet; everybody seemed to be waiting for someone else to get things started.
He stared her down. “I don’t dance anymore,” he said coolly. “I can’t. My leg won’t hold me up under sudden turns and dips.”
“It would if you danced slowly,” she said. She moved even closer, her perfume floating up into his nostrils, her warmth teasing, seductive. “Hold me, Winthrop,” she whispered, laying both palms slowly, hesitantly, flat down over the hard muscles of his chest.
He shuddered a little, and his chiseled lips parted. “I won’t, damn it,” he bit off.
She laid her head against his shoulder. “You want to,” she whispered, “and I want to. Everybody’s watching.” Her own forwardness was beginning to embarrass her, but the need to be held by him was so strong that she fought down the urge to give in.
“No!” he bit off.
He started to turn, but she blocked his path. Everyone stopped talking, and she held her breath while he decided.
With a glance behind them and a muffled curse, he pulled her into his hard embrace and began to move very carefully to the slow rhythm of the music.
Gerald and Sadie watched the tall man’s slow, hesitant movements with quiet smiles, amazed that Nicole had been able to manage such a small miracle. Winthrop was giving in, at least for the moment. His dark face was threatening, but he was holding her with such tenderness that it was almost tangible despite his temper.
Nicky savored her small victory, closing her eyes in wonder. Dancing with him was as sweet as she’d imagined it would be. He might hate her for it, but right now it seemed worth every expected bit of pain. He was tall and strong and warm, and he smelled of spice and soap. The lean, sure hand that held her made her feel safe and protected. She sighed with pure delight.
He felt that soft yielding and was furious at her for making a spectacle of him, for drawing everyone’s eyes to his disability. Damn her, what was she trying to do to him?
He gave in with ill-concealed irritation and drew her slowly against him, one lean hand possessing hers. He began to move to the rhythm, a little clumsily at first, but quickly with more and more confidence. She melted into him, then, careful not to knock him off balance, she smiled against his shoulder.
“There,” she mumbled happily, “I knew you could.”
“I could wring your neck,” he said, forcing himself to smile at her while all around them other people were finally joining them on the dance floor.
“It’s your house,” she reminded him. “The host is supposed to open the dancing. There are rules about that kind of thing.”
“I can’t dance with this leg,” he said through his teeth.
“You’re doing it, aren’t you?” She drew back a little and looked up into his darkly glittering eyes. “But if you’re sure you can’t do it, then why don’t you fall on the floor or something?”
“Lady,” he breathed through his teeth, “you’re brave in company.”
“If we were alone, what would you do to me?” she asked with open curiosity, her green eyes wide and twinkling.
The look in them softened him, just a little. She was a handful, but her heart was in the right place. She wouldn’t let him feel sorry for himself, or slide into thinking he had to give up living because he had a bum leg. And until now, he hadn’t even realized how much he’d used that leg to keep him away from people. It had become his excuse for being a recluse, his excuse for avoiding involvement.
His fingers edged between hers and caressed them as he turned her with amazing flexibility. He smiled then, the cold anger in his eyes melting into reluctant pleasure.
“You danced before the accident, didn’t you?” she asked, smiling. “You loved it, too. You’re very good, despite that leg. You move with such grace for a big man.”
“And what would you have done, Pollyanna, if I’d gone down on the floor with the first turn?” he asked.
“Oh, I’d have made sure I went down with you,” she said matter-of-factly, “so that everyone would have thought I tripped you.”
He felt his heart start pounding. Something stirred in him that he hadn’t felt since his youth, something young and daring and utterly reckless. He pulled her against him and stood there for one long minute, fighting the urge to kiss her in front of everyone. He liked the way her body melted into his when he drew her close, he liked the faint trembling of her legs against his. She was his the minute he touched her, and he especially liked that. His eyes narrowed as he remembered the feel of her soft mouth, the exquisite pleasure it gave him to kiss her. She’d been engaged once, she’d told him. He felt a sudden heat of unreasonable jealousy. What had the man been like? Why had he jilted her? Was there some secret in her past that she was afraid to share with him?
“Are we doing statue imitations?” she asked breathlessly.
His lips pursed. “I’m trying to decide whether to kiss you.”
“Not in front of all these people, for heaven’s sake,” she burst out.
“These people—or Gerald?” he asked softly.
Her eyebrows went straight up with surprise. “Well, come to think of it, I’m not sure how he’d react to it,” she had to admit. Gerald hadn’t said anything about her interest in Winthrop, and she didn’t think he’d fire her over it. But, then again, she wasn’t sure….
Winthrop sighed, and drew her back against him. “Never mind, daffodil. Just dance.”
“Why did you call me that?”
He smiled against her temple. “There’s nothing more full of hope than a daffodil. It comes before the last snow is gone, fluffing up yellow and pretty and optimistic in the middle of all that freezing white. It takes a lot to kill a daffodil. They’re glorious.”
Tears stung her eyes. He could call her daffodil forever, if he liked. She snuggled closer. “What a nice compliment,” she said.
“I meant it.”
“I know. You’re not the kind of man who spouts insincere flattery.”
“Perceptive of you, Miss White.”
“You bet, Mr. Christopher.”
He was quiet then, circling the floor lazily with her soft weight against him, feeling his head whirl with delicious sensations. His leg was beginning to throb from the unfamiliar strain, but he’d have fallen on the floor before he’d have given in to it now. He didn’t want to let go of her. He wanted to pull her closer, and bend his head and take her soft mouth fully under his….
All too soon the music stopped, and Gerald was there, waiting.
“My turn.” He grinned. “Sorry, big brother.”
Winthrop stared at his brother for a long minute, searching the younger man’s eyes curiously. And for just a minute, he thought about refusing. Then he came to his senses. She was just a woman, for God’s sake, and women were treacherous. He wasn’t going to fight with his brother. If Gerald wanted her, he could have her, Winthrop thought angrily. He smiled, but there was no humor in it. He nodded with a mocking smile at Nicole and then walked slowly away to the punch bowl, pausing to talk to some of the other men on the way.
“You angel,” Gerald said, hugging her. “At first I thought he was going to breathe fire at you.”
“So did I, but I bluffed him out. Doesn’t he dance beautifully?” she murmured dreamily, staring past Gerald at Winthrop.
“Indeed he does, with the right partner.” He whirled her around. “You’ve brought him back to life. I’d given up hope that he was ever going to put things into perspective. You’re very good for him.”
“Where’s Sadie?” she asked.
“Phoning Mary to make sure Mrs. Todd is all right.” He slowed down a little. “I wish I could decide what to do about it.”
“Why don’t you do what you want to and solve all your problems when the time comes? You can’t cross a bridge until it’s in front of you.”
“Where did you learn so much?” he asked curiously. “You’re not at al
l what you seem.”
“I’ve had plenty of practice,” was all she’d admit. And then that dance, too, was over, and she went from partner to partner for the rest of the evening.
Winthrop didn’t dance with her again, but she felt his gaze on her wherever she went. Her eyes were on him just as much, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He was so good to look at. Dressing up suited him. Even in a simple white cotton shirt and dressy tie, he looked elegant. It made him seem darker than ever, more sensuous. She wasn’t even surprised to discover that she loved him. That seemed as natural as breathing.
All too soon, the guests were leaving. Nicole had the crazy idea of being alone with Winthrop while Gerald took Sadie home. But he looked in her direction with an expression on his face that chilled her to the bone. It was as if he hated her, and perhaps he did for what she’d done to him. Dragging him onto the dance floor in front of all the neighbors might not have been the way to his heart, she realized. And because she was confused and a little hurt by his coldness, she asked if she could ride with Gerald and Sadie. They took one look at her face and agreed without protest.
When they got to Sadie’s house, Mrs. Todd was asleep, and Mary was watching a gory horror film on television. It was just ending and Mary sat with a big bowl of popcorn on her ample lap, refusing to budge until the last drop of blood was spilled.
“Good movie,” she enthused, walking out with Nicole while Sadie and Gerald said a lingering good-night indoors. “You like horror films?” she asked.
“I like vampire movies,” Nicole said. “But I like science fiction better.”
“You and Winthrop.” She shook her head. “Those films are noisy. Too noisy. I like quiet movies.”
“With screaming and lots of victims,” Nicole chided.
Mary stared at her, stone-faced. “Beats all those noisy machines.”
Nicole laughed delightfully. “I guess so. How did Mrs. Todd do tonight?”
“Done fine. We had pudding. I like pudding.”
“So do I,” Nicole said, smiling. “It was a good party. Winthrop and I started the dancing.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Winthrop was dancing?”
“Yes. He does it very well.”
“He used to,” Mary agreed. “But I have not seen him dance since the accident. How did you manage it?”
Nicole chewed her lip a little and peeked at Mary. “I stood in front of him on the dance floor and wouldn’t move.”
Mary laughed. She did it seldom, but when she did, it was wholeheartedly. “Good medicine,” she told the younger woman. “We should bottle you.”
“I’d most likely ferment and become illegal. There’s Gerald.”
He joined them, looking a bit hot under the collar and flustered. He grinned. “Ready to go?”
“Been ready quite some time,” Mary said. “Long past my bedtime.”
“There, there, too much sleep can kill a good woman,” Gerald said soothingly. “Think of how I’m saving you from certain death.”
“Saving me from much needed rest,” Mary countered, climbing into the pickup between him and Nicole. “Winthrop danced, she tell you?”
“She didn’t have to. I saw it with my own eyes,” he volunteered, grinning past her at Nicole. “I wish I could have taken a picture. Nobody will believe it.”
“Isn’t it cloudy tonight?” Nicole was trying to change the subject, but it really did look cloudy, and it was getting colder.
“Snow clouds,” Mary said. “We get buried in snow pretty soon.”
“Not in November,” Nicole said.
“This is Montana. Snow comes early and late—you can’t predict mountain weather. And snow in November is pretty routine,” her boss informed her. “Lord, I hope we don’t get shut up with that horsey set from back East. They’ll be here tomorrow.” He glanced at Nicole. “By the way, one of Winthrop’s guests is from Kentucky, an expert on thoroughbreds. Winthrop wants him to take a look at the colt and give him an opinion. He wouldn’t be able to race it for a couple of years, of course, but he’s thinking along those lines.”
Nicole knew a number of people in the horsey set. She was afraid of meeting someone from her old life, someone who knew her father, who might tell him where she was and what she was doing now. She didn’t want him to know anything about her new life. There were deep scars from those young years. She wanted nothing to do with the man who’d driven her mother into a succession of lovers, followed by a fatal accident. Nothing at all.
“Did he tell you the man’s name?” Nicole asked quietly.
Gerald glanced at her. “As a matter of fact he did,” he replied. He grinned ruefully. “But I was on the phone at the time and I didn’t catch it. There’s a Murdock woman, and a couple of brothers named Harris. But I don’t think the Harrises know much about horses.”
Nicole consoled herself with the thought that there must be hundreds of horsey sportsmen in the world besides her father. She only nodded, closing her eyes as they went back to the Christopher ranch.
The house was quiet when they got there. If Nicole had hoped to see Winthrop again, she was disappointed. He was nowhere in sight. She said good-night to Mary and Gerald and went reluctantly to her room.
She didn’t sleep. She lay awake staring at the ceiling for what seemed hours. Finally she got up and decided to make herself a cup of hot chocolate. Perhaps that would do the trick; she really couldn’t stay awake all night.
Since the household was asleep, she didn’t stop to fumble through the closet for a robe. Besides, her long flannel pajamas were more than decent, with their pale-pink rose pattern. She looked very young without her makeup and barefoot, as she went down the long, dark staircase. She hoped the house didn’t have ghosts, she didn’t fancy meeting one.
The kitchen light was on. She opened the door and paused, stopping dead at the sight of Winthrop bending over the stove. He was wearing pajama bottoms, nice brown striped ones, but no top. His chest was … incredible. Broad and bronzed and thick with a wedge of hair that covered his rippling muscles.
He turned, his dark hair tousled, and stared at her. “Looking for someone?” he asked.
“For some hot chocolate,” she confessed. “I can’t sleep.”
“I’m making some,” he said. “Come in and find some mugs.”
She stared at herself. “I should get a robe …”
“Why?” he asked, glancing at her. “You’re covered up in all the right places, and I’m hurting like hell. I’m not in any condition to lay you down on the kitchen table with evil intent.”
She smothered a giggle, went in and closed the door behind her. “How savage sounding,” she mused as she searched the cupboard for cups. “Think of the splinters!”
“A nice girl like you. Shame on you.” He took the hot chocolate off the stove and poured it into the mugs before he put the pan in the sink to soak. He was limping rather badly, and she grimaced as he sat down with a hard wince.
“That’s my fault, isn’t it?” she asked gently. “I made you dance when you didn’t want to, and you hurt it because of me. I’m sorry.”
“Nobody makes me do a damned thing,” he said curtly. He had two pills. He took them, swallowing them down with a sip of the hot chocolate. “I could have walked away from you if I’d wanted to.”
“But you didn’t.”
He turned, his dark eyes holding hers. “I didn’t want to. I like holding you. The excuse isn’t particularly relevant.”
Her face colored, and he smiled slowly.
She lowered her eyes to her cup and lifted it quickly to her mouth. She sipped at it for a long time, her mind hungry with sweet longings, her eyes darting to his broad, bare chest and back to her cup. He was through with his chocolate, but he sat back, quiet and faintly threatening, and just looked at her until her body began to tremble.
“Did you wonder what I looked like under my shirt, Nicky?” he asked with blatant seduction in his voice.
Her lips parted on a h
usky sigh. She couldn’t quite meet that searching gaze. She clung to her empty mug as if it were a life jacket. The silence was suddenly too sweeping, the loneliness of the deserted room staggering in its implications. They were alone. And he wanted her.
She felt him move before she saw him. He took the mug out of her hands and drew her up in front of him, holding her gently by her upper arms.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he whispered. “Nothing at all.”
He bent his head and she saw the shadow of his face, felt his chocolaty breath as his mouth brushed against hers. She relaxed then, because he was very slow and sure of himself. He wasn’t in any hurry, and the leisure of his movements stopped the panic inside her. She began to unwind, feeling the softness of his mouth along with its hardness, liking the delicate probing of his tongue just under her upper lip. Amazing, she thought, how sensitive her mouth was to that light touch.
She lifted toward him a little, and heard his breath catch. She couldn’t know that he was on fire with need, that he was in agony trying to hold back enough to keep from frightening her.
“Sweet,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re so sweet.”
He had a lover’s voice, she thought, very deep and seductive. She loved to hear him talk anytime, but particularly like this, in hushed whispers. She put her hands against him and felt them tingle where they touched the thick hair that covered him. It was wiry against her palms, deliciously abrasive when she began to draw them over his broad chest, disturbing the muscles so that they rippled under her fingers.
His breath caught. He stopped and suddenly moved back. His eyes held hers, searching them. “I want more than this,” he said tautly.
She couldn’t look away. “How … how much more?”
His eyes went to her pajama jacket. “Nothing terribly indiscreet,” he said quietly. His hands followed his gaze. He hooked his index finger into the V neckline of her pajamas and tugged her toward him. “Don’t panic, okay? I promise I won’t let it go too far.”