Tess had never really liked his mother—Nita Lassiter had been very brittle, very flighty. When Tess's father wasn't around, she was all but hostile toward Tess, and even more so toward Dane.
Dane's ex-wife hadn't seemed much of a prize, either, judging from that one dinner Tess had spent with Dane and her. Her sullen, resentful behavior had convinced Tess that the woman had never loved Dane, and he himself had said that it was the uniform that had attracted Jane more than the man inside it. Jane had struck Tess as being just as much a man-hater as Dane's mother.
She frowned thoughtfully. Didn't they say a man unconsciously looked for women who reminded him of his mother? Or that men sometimes, equally unconsciously, chose women who lived down to their image of them? Dane had spent his time around women of questionable character in his youth, so perhaps he thought sex was only permissible with women who had no softness, no vulnerability.
It was a sobering thought. But she had no time to work on the theory, because Dane announced suddenly that he'd been away from the office long enough and had to get back. Naturally, Tess agreed to return to work, too, because her arm was back to normal, even if a little soreness remained.
He packed and drove them back to Houston, silent and unapproachable, after Tess had said her goodbyes to Beryl.
"I'm going to post a man outside your apartment, and I'm having you followed," he said curtly when he deposited her suitcases in her apartment an hour later.
She looked up at him irritably. "I don't need a watchdog. I'm perfectly capable of calling the police if I need to."
"No, you aren't," he replied. "You don't know these people. I do."
"Mr. Policeman." She nodded, eyes flashing at him. "I'll bet when you were a beat cop, your badge was sewn to your skin!"
He smiled, a sensual twist of his lips that made her heart race. "I loved the job," he agreed. "It was, and is, the only place I feel comfortable, apart from the ranch. Detective work isn't so different from what I did. Especially when I take a criminal case."
That was a fact. During the time she'd worked for him, she'd known him to track down murderers and bank robbers, to subdue them and bring them in, all as part of the job. Returning fugitives for worried bail bondsmen was a big chunk of the agency's income. Tame cases he left to the skip tracers and operatives. He took the dangerous ones—he and Nick, his protege.
"It's the adrenaline," she murmured. "You're addicted to the danger."
"Am I?"
"It would explain why you won't slow down," she said. Her eyes slid down the muscular length of him, over the scarred shoulder and chest she knew were hidden under his clothes.
"You wouldn't want to look at me after the damage the bullets did," he said quietly. "It would make you sick."
Her eyes jumped back to his. "I was thinking about how it happened," she said. "Not how it would look."
He relaxed a little, but not much. He always seemed as if his spine were glued to a wall. He walked tall, never slumped or slouched. His posture, like his character, was arrow-straight.
"All the same, I'll never be anyone's idea of a pinup in a bathing suit," he said with a faint smile. "Not that I was before I got shot."
Her unblinking stare was involuntary. "I've never seen you in a bathing suit," she remarked absently.
He didn't move, but his eyes darkened, became intent on hers. “I wouldn't be caught dead in one, now. Not in public, anyway." His chest rose and fell heavily. "I'd let you look at me, I guess. But no one else."
Her body stilled as she looked up at him. "Why me?" she asked softly.
"Because you wouldn't make me feel like less of a man," he said simply. "Some women have a knack for putting a knife in a man's ego. It makes them feel superior. When a man does the same thing to a woman, they call him a chauvinist. Some double standard."
"All women aren't like that."
He moved a step closer to her. When she didn't tense or move back, he took another step, and another, until he was close enough to smell the faint scent of violets that clung to her skin. She was wearing a soft gray pantsuit with a heather-colored jacket. Her hair was loose and she looked young and pretty and very vulnerable.
He caught a handful of her hair a little roughly and pushed up at her nape to lift her face to his narrow, darkening eyes.
"Teach me," he said huskily.
Her lips parted on a rush of breath as her heartbeat ran wild. "Wh-what?" she whispered.
His eyes fell to her mouth and he bent toward it, his own mouth parting just as it touched hers. "Teach me how to be gentle...."
He spoke the words into her mouth. She stiffened at the moist, hot pressure, the smokey warmth of his own mouth so intimately touching hers. She could breathe him, smell the tang of cologne, feel the strength and power of his body almost touching her.
His eyes were open, and she looked into them just as his lips brushed hers.
"What do you like, Tess?" he whispered. His teeth opened and closed with exquisite tenderness on her upper lip, while his tongue softly tasted its moist inside. "Tell me."
Her hands were on his chest, under the tweed jacket, against his white shirt. Under the material, she could feel a thick cushion of hair over hard, warm muscle. "Dane, you can't," she began shakily.
“Why?"
His mouth was easing her lips apart. The contact was making her knees weak. "You hated...me," she whispered.
"I hated my mother," he corrected, his eyes searching hers while he played with her mouth, that steely hand at her nape still clutching her soft hair, "I hated my ex-wife...I hated half the world. But I never hated you." His heavy brows drew together in something like pain. "Never, Tess...!"
She felt him shudder as his mouth came down completely over hers, capturing it in a silence that danced with tension, with impossible desires.
For an instant, it was like the past again. But his arms weren't bruising. She could feel the restraint in him, the determination to go slow, to not rush her. Because of it, and because of what she'd learned about him, the panic began to recede. She let him hold her. And for the first time, she allowed herself to feel his mouth, to let herself taste it as he kissed her with exquisite softness. The contact was more pleasurable than she'd ever dreamed. His lips were firm, and he tasted of coffee. She liked the way he tasted.
As the pleasure grew, she felt a sudden heat in her lower body, a faint trembling in her legs. "Dane..." She heard her voice sobbing against the pleasure of his mouth, but like lightning striking, his hand contracted and he ground her lips apart under his, so that his tongue could ease between her teeth and push softly inside the sweet darkness of her mouth.
She remembered the one time she'd shared a deep kiss with him and gasped.
He lifted his head slowly, his heart pounding with a heavy beat. He looked down into her shaken eyes for a long moment, fiercely satisfied with what he saw there. She wasn't afraid; she was aroused. Amazing, that tenderness could make such a difference. It enhanced his own pleasure.
But he read the hesitation she couldn't disguise. "You don't like deep kisses with me, do you?" he asked huskily, his eyes glittering with desire. "My tongue pushes inside your mouth, penetrates it, and you shiver because of the images it produces." His hand loosened on her hair, smoothing it. She stood quietly against him, not protesting, as his deep, soft voice held her captive. "It's very much like another kind of penetration," he breathed, nibbling at her mouth. "Intimate, and urgent, and very, very deep...." He whispered into her mouth, suiting the action to the words as his tongue probed slowly.
She cried out and suddenly lifted her arms convulsively around his neck, at almost the same moment that the telephone jangled noisely in the heated silence.
Her body jumped, and her wounded arm throbbed, even as his head lifted with a faint groan. Her eyes were wild, frightened all over again. She was trembling, but this time not because of fear. She was clinging to him, not fighting him. He'd aroused her. The knowledge made his heart slam at his ribs.
She couldn't stand. Her knees gave way when he let go of her.
"It's all right," he whispered, lifting her in his arms. "I've got you."
She laid her cheek against his jacket, clinging to him weakly as he carried her to the sofa and sat down with her in his lap before he answered the telephone.
"Yes, she's back. Yes, she's all right. No, you can't speak to her. I'll have her call you later," he said tersely.
He hung up. "Helen," he murmured dryly, looking down into her dazed eyes. "Checking to see if you were home."
"That was nice of her."
"Yes, it was, but her timing stinks," he said huskily. His eyes fell to her mouth. "I'm glad that I can make you want me, Tess."
"That's conceit..." she began.
His mouth covered hers, parting her mouth, making her cling to his strong neck. He didn't increase the pressure or deepen the kiss. He stroked her mouth with his for a few aching seconds and then lifted his head. He looked at her with pure hunger until she flushed and averted her gaze to his throat.
"I've never kissed anyone like this," he whispered after a minute.
"Neither have I." Her cheeks flushed with heat. "The things you said to me...!"
"Turned you on so much that you gasped," he murmured, his eyes glittering. "I've never said things like that to another woman. They seem to come naturally with you."
"You didn't hurt me."
His jaw tautened. He looked at her mouth until his body began to ache. He was getting in over his head here. He had to stop, now, while he still could. "No," he returned deeply. "I didn't hurt you." He'd never tried to be gentle. Tess made him want that. Made him want things he resented wanting. "I couldn't hurt you now. Not even if I wanted to."
He nuzzled his cheek against hers with rough affection and hugged her close for an instant before he made himself put her gently away and get to his feet. "I'd better go. Keep the door locked. Get some rest. We'll try to restore order to the office in the morning, if you're sure you feel up to a day's work."
"Of course I do," she stammered. Her hair was disheveled, and her mouth tingled. She stared at him helplessly as he straightened his tie. "Why?" she whispered.
He was still getting himself back together. He'd never felt such a weakness for a woman, such a raging need to please, to pleasure her. He hadn't thought he was still vulnerable, but he was. He wanted Tess as he'd never wanted another woman. He couldn't afford to give in to it. Not now. Not yet.
His dark eyes pinned hers. "Remuneration for past sins?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow as he smiled mockingly.
Her face fell. "Oh."
Her naked vulnerability took the sting out of his hunger for her. He took a long breath. "Hell!" He laughed harshly. "I'm a loner, have you forgotten? None of this is easy for me." He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with a flick of his lighter. “I wanted to know that I could arouse you, that I could make you stop being afraid of me, all right?" he asked irritably.
"Only that?"
“No. You know, you must know, that I want you so much I can hardly bear it." His eyes dropped to her mouth. "Don't let me get that close again, for your own sake," he said finally, turning away.
"There's no future in it. Let's just say that I wanted to see if tenderness had any selling points."
"Does it?"
At the doorway he turned, the knob already in his hand. He didn't answer the question. He looked at her with quiet desperation. "Tess, I'm set in my ways, too jaded and hard for a little puritan like you. I'll probably always want you, but I don't want commitment. That being the case, you can't let me seduce you. Let's keep some distance between us, okay?"
She forced a smile. At least he was honest. And some of those old scars were smoothing out, because of what had just happened. "Okay. Thanks for taking care of me, when I needed help."
"I'll always be around if you need me, baby," he said gently.
The casual endearment made her pulse race. She couldn't hide her reaction to it from him.
"You remember the last time I called you that, don't you?" he asked quietly. "Despite the way I just was with you, in bed I'm rough and quick and my pleasure comes first," he said with brutal honesty. "Virgins aren't my style, and I'm sure as hell not yours." He drew in a slow, regretful breath and his lips twisted. "So let's quit while we're ahead. Good night, Tess."
He went out and closed the door. She went to it, her fingers touching the doorknob with exquisite care, as if she could still feel the warmth of his hand there. He'd just walked out on her for the second time, except that now she wasn't afraid of him anymore. She was back in her old rut, teetering on the knife-edge of love, with no way to go but down.
Chapter Four
Dane hadn't relented on the subject of Tess's bodyguard. One of the operatives, a free-lancer named Adams, was two steps behind her all the way to work.
Helen grinned when she came into the office. She sang a few lines from "Me and My Shadow" and did an impromptu tap dance.
"Oh, shut up," Tess grumbled. "Dane thinks I'll be killed in broad daylight, I guess."
"He can't take the chance," Helen whispered, wiggling her eyebrows. "Think of the damage it would do the agency's reputation if our own secretary bit the dust with us guarding her!"
Tess burst out laughing. "You raving lunatic." She hugged the other girl warmly. "It's good to be back to work."
"We missed you," Helen asserted. "Nobody hid under my desk all week."
"I don't hide under your desk."
"You would have, but there isn't room, what with my feet and the trash can I keep under there. I'm really sorry I forgot to tell you about that stakeout," she said with a grimace. "Dane in a temper is a sight to behold, isn't he?" She sighed. "Although sometimes I think it's too bad I'm committed to Harold. I could go for Dane in a big way." She frowned thoughtfully. "He hasn't dated anyone since his ex-wife left him, has he? Do you think it's because he got shot?"
"What do you mean?" Tess asked curiously.
"I mean, he limps sometimes," the other girl replied, careful to make sure they weren't being overheard. "It might cramp his style in bed."
Tess cleared her throat. "It doesn't cramp it on a horse," she said. "He was out helping round up new calves while I recuperated at the ranch."
"Good point." Helen shrugged. "Maybe he thinks he's unsightly. Or maybe he just hates women. What a waste of a good man. If only he didn't have that textbook police officer's face. He hardly ever smiles, and everything is always business with him." She shook her heard and turned away. "I wonder if he's like that with a woman."
Thinking about how Dane was with a woman made Tess's knees go weak. The things he'd whispered to her when he kissed her weren't dry as dust, for a fact. He might be rough, but he was sensual, and she was just discovering—as he seemed to be, too— that he could be very tender....
"Catch me up, will you?" Tess asked as she uncovered her computer. "I feel as if I've been away for a month."
"I don't doubt it. Arm okay?"
"A little stiff." She grinned at Helen. "No need to worry. We tough, dedicated professionals can take the odd gunshot in our stride."
"Rub it in," Helen groaned. "Now, everybody in the office has been shot except me. Even the secretary!" she added with a hot glare at Tess.
Tess raised her hands. "Not my fault. I swear I didn't invite those men to point a gun at me, not even to get one up on you."
"Oh, yeah?" Helen propped her hand on her hip. "How do I know that?"
The office door opened and Dane glared at them. "On company time, you work. Get busy."
"Yes, sir," Helen said demurely.
Tess couldn't quite meet his eyes. She sat down at her desk. "Helen was going to catch me up."
"Make sure it's business, not play," he said tersely.
She glanced at him. "You look tired."
"I didn't sleep." He ran a hand through his dark hair, letting his eyes dart off hers without lingering. "When Andrews calls, have
him drop by the office about lunchtime. I've got an assignment for him. I'll be in conference with the skip tracers. Hold my calls until I'm through."
“Will do."
His dark eyes slid over her face and down to the rounded neckline of the red blouse that went with her cream-colored suit. Her hair was in a chignon and she was wearing only a trace of makeup. "You look very elegant this morning," he said unexpectedly. "Lunch date?"
"No." She fiddled with the keyboard. "I didn't want to disappoint my shadow by dressing like a boring office girl. I thought he might be more impressed if I put on my Mata Hari outfit."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Wrong genre. We're detectives, not spies."
"It wouldn't be the same if I wore a trench coat and an Indiana Jones hat."
"Maybe not." He stuck his hands in his pockets. There was something preoccupied in his manner.
She hadn't missed the black scowl. "What's wrong?"
He let out a hard sigh. "Your assailant jumped bail. He's out on the streets and nobody knows where."
Her arms felt chilled. She didn't have to ask why that worried him. It was disturbing and frightening to know that she was the only witness to a drug deal. What she'd seen could send two men to prison. If they were desperate enough to silence her, her life wouldn't be worth a plug nickel.
"Adams had me in sight constantly this morning," she said.
He nodded. "He's one of the best. But having you in sight won't be enough. He can't sleep with you."
"You could teach me how to use a pistol."
"It takes years of experience to shoot one properly," he reminded her. "And it isn't the same when you're in a desperate situation, as when you're on the practice range."
He would know, she thought, watching him. He'd been in enough desperate situations over the years. "I could move in with Helen," she suggested, as she had once before.
He took his hands out of his pockets and sat on the edge of her desk, leaning forward so that none of the others in the office could hear him. He stared at her intently. "Don't take this the wrong way. I'm not making improper suggestions. But I want you to move into my apartment until we catch your assailant."
Books By Diana Palmer Page 100