Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  Randall told Anna about the woman he'd taken to the play, because he knew Evan would make sure she found out. As he'd expected, she didn't bat an eyelash.

  "I don't see anything so terrible about it." She shrugged. "Why did you feel obliged to tell me?"

  "Because Evan was there and went crazy when he saw me with another woman," he said shortly, ram­ming his hands in his pockets. "He very nearly threw a punch at me."

  Anna's heart jumped, but she schooled her face not to betray the shock of pleasure she felt at Evan's displeasure. "He's very old-fashioned," she began.

  "Like the rest of the Tremaynes, I know," he sighed. "Well, I'm never going to be Mr. Faithful, Anna," he added with a rueful smile. "I'm sorry. It's not in me."

  "I know that." She changed the subject abruptly, offering him coffee. He watched her make it and was suddenly grateful that he didn't love her. If he had, seeing how indifferent she was to his amours would kill him. She was going to live and die in love with Evan Tremayne. He pitied her. He pitied Evan more. There were worse things for a man than marrying a woman who loved him passionately. Evan had thrown away a precious gift and didn't even know it.

  Polly mentioned that Evan had been by the office and had talked about seeing Randall in Houston. It amazed Anna that he'd been so persistent. But she was even more surprised to find him waiting for her at the gallery when she went to open it the next morning in Mr. Taylor's absence.

  "It's about time," Evan said curtly, glaring at her as she produced the key.

  Her heart jumped, but she schooled her face not to show the dangerous excitement he fostered in her.

  She'd learned the hard way to keep a poker face these days. "What do you want?" she asked quietly.

  He followed her into the gallery, formidable in tan denims and a blue-checked Western shirt, his old black Stetson slanted arrogantly over one dark eye. "You know what I want. How long are you going to let Randall drag your pride through the dirt before you do something about it? Or don't you care that he's having women on the side?"

  She put her purse down and turned on the lights, very elegant in her tailored gray suit, with her hair in a neat chignon. "Randall is a grown man. I don't mind if he takes another woman to the theater when I'm not available."

  "Why weren't you available?" he demanded. "You're engaged, aren't you?"

  "I had a headache," she said inadequately.

  "Already?" he asked with a cold mocking smile. "I thought that came after your wedding night."

  She turned on him like a wounded thing. "Get out!" she cried. "Leave me alone!"

  He moved closer, the slowness of his movements imparting a sensual threat. "That isn't what you want," he said, his voice deep and slow and soft.

  She backed away until the counter stopped her, her eyes wide and frightened as they met his.

  He eased his hands onto the counter on either side of her, gently pinning her there with the threat of his body. He smelled of spice and leather and she had to close her eyes to keep her hands away from the expanse of broad, hair-roughened chest in front of her, where the snaps had come apart at his collar­bone.

  "Does it bother you to look at me?" he asked quietly.

  Her eyes opened, and he read the vulnerability in them, the helpless attraction. Her gaze went to his chest and was jerked back to his eyes.

  "So that's it," he said, almost to himself. He moved one hand to his shirt and, holding her eyes, ripped the snaps open down the front, baring the bronze, muscular chest under its thick mat of dark, curling hair. "Touch me," he said curtly.

  Her lips parted. She couldn't believe this was hap­pening, here in the gallery, in broad daylight.

  "It's all right," he said quietly. He caught her hands and put them inside his shirt, pressing them gently into the thickness of body hair.

  "Evan!" she moaned.

  His breath caught as he pushed her hands closer. "Oh, God," he managed as his body suddenly went taut with violent arousal. "Pull, baby," he breathed, bending to her mouth. "Get a handful of it and pull...!"

  She did, arching up to the open warmth of his mouth even as it met hers. He groaned as her hands grew bolder, caressing him, tugging at the thick growth of hair, glorying in his masculinity, in his size, his strength.

  He lifted her suddenly onto the counter so that he was between the folds of her full skirt, between her thighs. His mouth bent, nuzzling under the jacket to find the soft silk of her blouse and the softer warmth of her breast. His mouth opened on the hard tip, tak­ing it inside his lips along with the fabric.

  "Ev...an, no!" she cried, shuddering at the sheer ecstasy of his mouth on her body. But even as she protested, her head arched back and her hands went trembling into his thick brown hair, dislodging his hat, to hold him to her body.

  "You're mine," he whispered, nibbling softly at her nipple. "You belong to me. I'm not giving you to Randall."

  He lifted his head suddenly and moved back, breathing unsteadily, his eyes dark and smoldering as they met hers. He looked down at the damp fabric over her breast with pure masculine triumph. "Do you let Randall do that to you?" he asked mock­ingly.

  She could barely breathe. The sight of him like that—his hair disheveled, his shirt open and wrinkled over his bare chest, his mouth faintly swollen from its hard pressure against her body made her dizzy. What he was saying finally registered, though, and made her flush scarlet. She'd actually let him touch her in that intimate way, given in without a fight, and he was mocking her for it. She felt a wave of shame.

  "No, you don't," he answered his own question, his eyes blazing into hers. "You've never let any­body do to you what you'll let me. You never will."

  She was trembling, but the bold statement wounded her pride. He was telling her that he owned her, and that wasn't true. She couldn't let him hu­miliate her again.

  He lifted her down from the counter, kissing her with careless tenderness before he lazily resnapped the pearly buttons of his shirt. "Give Randall back the ring," he said with a satisfied smile.

  She pulled the jacket over the wet spot on her blouse, red-faced. She could still feel his mouth on her there. He must think she was easy, to treat her like that, like some loose woman. "No," she said huskily.

  His hands paused. "What?"

  She moved away from him to the door, deliber­ately opening it. "You wanted to show me that I can't resist you. All right, you've done it. Now you can go and laugh about it with Nina. But I'm going to marry Randall."

  "For God's sake, why?" he burst out angrily, al­most crushing the Stetson in his big hand. "You don't love him!"

  She lifted her eyes to his without flinching. "That is why," she said hoarsely. "Because I don't love him. Because he can never hurt me the way you have. Is your pride satisfied now, Evan?" she asked. "Has humiliating me healed it?"

  He drew in a sharp breath. "Anna, that isn't why I came," he began.

  "I'd like you to go, please."

  "You don't understand," he said angrily, pausing in front of her. "I came to explain something to you."

  She closed her eyes, tears threatening. "Please, can't you stop hurting me?" she whispered brokenly. "I'm getting married, I'm leaving Jacobsville be­cause of you...isn't that enough?"

  "Because of me?" He asked hesitantly, scowling.

  Her face lifted, her eyes opening, tormented. "I can't help...what I feel," she sobbed. "Why must you keep punishing me for it?"

  "Oh, baby, no," he said, horrified. "Anna, I didn't come here to hurt you!"

  "I don't ever want to see you again, Evan," she whispered. "If your friendship with my mother and me ever meant anything to you, then, please just go away."

  "And let you make the biggest mistake of your life by marrying that pill-peddling philanderer?"

  "At least he never treated me like a tramp!" she all but screamed at him.

  Evan stiffened. "I haven't. Not ever."

  "What would you call what you just did to me?" she asked, clutching the jacket closer,
horrified at her own actions, at her response.

  He began to realize just how innocent she was, how untouched. He let out a slow breath. "Anna, what I did to you...that's part of lovemaking," he said gently. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

  She went scarlet. "If you don't leave, I'll scream," she threatened, her eyes wet now.

  He threw up his hands. "All right. But this isn't the end of it," he said shortly.

  "Yes, it is," she cried. "Go away!"

  He went out the door, his mind already spinning with ways to pry her out of Randall's arms. But Anna closed the door and wept. She knew he didn't care about her now. He couldn't, and treat her like—like that! And worst of all was the memory that she'd let him. How could she ever face herself in the mirror again?

  Chapter Six

  Polly noticed how upset Anna was at supper. She didn't want to pry, but she was worried about the way her daughter was losing weight and brooding.

  "Can I help?" she asked Anna gently.

  Anna's head jerked up and she flushed. "Uh, no, but thank you."

  "Something's wrong," Polly said. "Did Randall do something to upset you?"

  Anna shook her head. "It wasn't Randall."

  "Evan?"

  Anna flushed.

  Polly smiled gently. "I should have known. He went to see you, didn't he? And had plenty to say about Randall taking that woman to the theater."

  "How did you know?" Anna asked.

  "He came to see me, too," Polly said, smiling ruefully. "He'd worked himself into a real lather over it. Amazing how possessive he is about you, for a man who professes not to be interested in you." Her eyes narrowed shrewdly when Anna's flush got worse. "He did more than just talk, too, didn't he?"

  Anna's lower lip trembled as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips and took a sip. "He treated me like some woman he'd picked up for the night," she said huskily.

  Polly's eyebrows rose. That didn't sound like Evan. "He kissed you?"

  "Yes, and then he put his mouth on my...my..." She broke off, unable to put it into words.

  Polly only smiled. "Darling, I've sheltered you too much, haven't I?" She touched Anna's cold hand. "Anna, nothing is, or should be, taboo in love-making between a man and a woman, as long as they both enjoy it," she said gently. "Because a man touches you, or kisses you, in a less than conven­tional way, it doesn't mean he has a low opinion of you. Where did you get such ideas?"

  "Well, you never talk about it," Anna mumbled.

  "You've never asked me." She studied the tor­mented young face. "Did you enjoy what he did, Anna?"

  The younger woman's eyes closed. "Oh, yes," she whispered. "But I shouldn't have let him, and he shouldn't have touched me like that. I'm en­gaged!"

  "To a man who doesn't even want you," Polly said quietly. "I'd rather see you have a blazing affair with Evan than marry a man you don't love, Anna."

  "Mama!"

  “Well, I would," Polly said stubbornly. "At least Evan wants you. I can't imagine him going out with another woman if it was him you were engaged to. Can you?"

  "He's not like Randall."

  "No, he isn't. He's passionate and stubborn and more man than most women could ever handle." She searched Anna's face. "He's a very big man, Anna. There was some talk once about his having hurt a woman badly in bed."

  Anna flushed, her eyes meeting Polly's. "Delib­erately?" she whispered.

  "Of course not But he's uncommonly strong, and a man can't always control his passion when he's aroused. The woman he was dating was half his size, a fragile little thing and very innocent. I don't know if that has anything to do with his attitude toward you, but it's a possibility."

  "I'm not small and fragile," Anna reminded her mother.

  "I know. But you're very innocent. Virginity can be an impossible obstacle for some men, especially men who are already afraid of their strength. It's something to think about."

  "He didn't seem very afraid of it this morning," Anna recalled.

  "Kissing is one thing. Sex is quite another."

  She cleared her throat. "I won't have an affair with Evan."

  "I never thought you would," Polly replied calmly. "But if he's really interested in you, it wouldn't hurt to reconsider marrying Randall. Evan's twice the man he is."

  "Evan hates me," she said unsteadily. "He looks at me as if he could tear me limb from limb half the time."

  "He wants you," Polly clarified. "Desire is vio­lent, especially great desire that's been repressed too long. I've seen the way Evan looks at you. Believe me, it isn't hatred."

  "He isn't a marrying man," Anna said wearily. "Even if he does want me, it isn't for keeps. I can't handle that kind of relationship. I'd hate myself."

  "Is marrying a man you don't love any better?"

  "Probably not," Anna had to admit. She put down her cup. "Randall and I are driving to Houston to­morrow for a party his parents are giving. We'll be late getting back. He wants to tell them about our engagement."

  "All right. It's your life, Anna. I'll advise you, but I won't try to sway you again. You have to live with your own decisions, not mine."

  Anna looked at the older woman quietly. "You're a terrific mother, did I ever tell you?"

  Polly smiled gently. "Frequently. But I never tire of hearing it."

  "I think I'll get to bed early tonight," Anna said. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."

  "Do that, darling. Sleep tight."

  "You, too."

  But she didn't sleep. She lay awake, feeling over and over again the heat of Evan's mouth on her breast. She touched her bodice where the lace fell away and felt her body tauten at just the memory of his warm lips there. She shuddered, closing her eyes. She could hear his voice, whispering, seductive, teaching her how to touch him, to excite him, while he made her body sing with his mouth. She'd never dreamed she could feel so hungry, so wanton. But it had been new and frightening and embarrassing, to be so intimate with him. She'd reacted badly. He'd gone away, as she'd asked, and he hadn't called or come back. Perhaps she'd really driven him away this time, and it might be for the best. Whatever her life was like with Randall, she wouldn't be at the mercy of her body, of needs she hadn't known she had.

  Evan wasn't sleeping, either. He lay wide awake on his own bed, thinking of Anna, remembering the softness of her under his lips. That had been an error in judgment. He should have talked to her first, be­fore he came on too strong and frightened her. He hadn't known she was so innocent that she felt in­sulted by the soft loveplay they'd shared. Under dif­ferent circumstances, he could have taken her in his arms and explained it to her, gently coaxed her to give in to him. But he'd chosen a bad time, an im­possible place. Next time, he'd have to be more cau­tious. But somehow he had to get her away from Randall before she married the man. Then what? What would he do about Anna? She was very innocent and the old fears still haunted him. What if he hurt her? What if his strength sent her running, as it had Louisa? Could he bear that?

  He rolled over, closing his eyes. One step at a time, he thought bitterly. He'd done enough damage to her pride and her heart. Now he had to put it right. If he could.

  Randall's parents lived in a middle-class suburban home in Houston, nothing really fancy, but nice. They were pleasant people. His father was a teacher, his mother a dietician, and they were kind to Anna. But she felt very much on display when their friends began to arrive, and it was almost a relief when Randall offered to go for more liquor later in the evening.

  Anna went with him, despite his protests. The liq­uor store was in a bad part of town, he told her, and there was no drive-in. He'd have to leave her in the car.

  She could lock it, she told him, laughing. He had nothing to worry about.

  He gave in with obvious reluctance. Anna was wearing an expensive dress and a diamond pendant that Polly had bought for her. She looked as though she had money. But he couldn't talk her out of going with him, so he made her promise to stay in the car and keep the doors lock
ed.

  Ordinarily she would have done so. But a kitten wandering on the side street caught her attention. It was small and pitiful looking, and it headed right for the street. There wasn't a soul in sight, and the park­ing lot was well lighted. She got out of the car and went after the kitten.

  Unexpectedly it darted away and she followed, calling it. Her soft voice attracted the attention of a vagrant on the other side of the street. He saw the way she was dressed and assessed the shiny pendant around her neck and the glittery ring on her hand.

  He was on her before she knew what had hit her. She fought like a tigress, but her struggling only en­raged him and made him much more dangerous than he would have been if she'd let him have the dia­mond and the emerald ring.

  She felt stark terror as his big fist connected with her face, and she screamed, but he kept hitting her. She couldn't even get away. He was an enormous man, heavyset and vicious, and by the time she fi­nally blacked out, she tasted blood and felt as though he'd broken her to pieces...

  Randall came back to the car and when he found it empty, he panicked. Dropping the bag of liquor on the hood of the car, he ran down the street, calling her. A shadow moved, and he went toward it hesi­tantly, just in time to see a man's shape move quickly away. There was a dark blob on the ground, and Randall knew all too well what it had to be.

  He rushed to Anna's side, groaning as he saw her bleeding, bruised face. He examined her quickly, professionally. Her dress was torn but, thank God, the man hadn't raped her. He might have, if Randall hadn't come along when he had. As it was, he'd left with her jewelry. Her pulse was weak, but still there. There was blood in her hair from where she'd hit the pavement and she was almost surely concussed.

  "Anna, can you hear me?" Randall asked huskily.

  She didn't answer. She was unconscious.