Sonora Sundown: Arizona (The Americana Series Book 3)

by Janet Dailey

  A refusal formed on her lips, then a sliding look saw the long scarlet fingernails curling possessively on Jim's wrist and the seductive light in LaRaine's dark eyes as she gazed into his face, the hard mouth curved slightly in an answering smile. In painful acknowledgment, Brandy doubted if Jim would even notice she was gone.

  "Yes," she accepted firmly. A determined smile was given to Bryce as she rose to her feet, aware of Jim's sideways glance of frowning surprise.

  "I asked Brandy to dance," Bryce informed him. "You don't mind, do you, Jim?" The question was coolly offhand with a suggestion of challenge. His arm curved around Brandy's shoulders.

  "Of course he doesn't," LaRaine answered before Jim had a chance.

  Bryce Conover didn't wait for a further answer as he turned Brandy toward the small dance floor. Reluctantly, she moved into her partner's arms, resisting his efforts to mold her close to him. Her gaze strayed to the table and Jim.

  "You might as well forget about him." Bryce's pale blue eyes arrogantly met her guilty start. "Corbett is all staked out as LaRaine's property."

  "Really?" Brandy tried to sound coolly indifferent. "Does he know that?"

  A mocking smile was her answer. "Everyone knows the two of them are skirmishing now. That's the way it always goes when you have two strong personalities. The outcome is obvious—Corbett will come out on top. But they have to go through this stage. It always happens. It's like a courtship ritual."

  Brandy's skin went cold. "I see," she said stiffly. "And what is my role in all this?"

  "You're the fair-haired ingénue, a striking contrast to LaRaine's more earthy attraction. Regardless of what you've seen in the movies, the ingénue rarely ends up in the hero's arms in real life." His head bent toward hers. Brandy turned, but not swiftly enough to avoid the caress of his lips against her cheek. "You're being used, honey, to bring LaRaine up to scratch."

  His statement vocalized the doubt that had been plaguing her since LaRaine had appeared. She didn't want to believe it, but the ugly facts were staring her in the face. What other conclusion could there be?

  The music ended and Brandy pushed herself out of Bryce's arms. His hand snaked out to claim her waist, but she jerked it away.

  "There's another song starting. Let's dance, honey." His sandy head bobbed toward their table. "They don't want you there."

  Her turquoise eyes flashed shimmering green toward the table. From this angle, Brandy could see LaRaine leaning sideways in her chair toward Jim. His granite features revealed nothing. If he found the glistening red mouth alluring, he didn't show it.

  LaRaine's half-turned position exposed more shadowy cleavage where the plunging neckline gaped open. Brandy wanted to rush over and stuff a handkerchief down the front of the black lace gown, but it wouldn't have concealed the actress's voluptuous figure, and the impulse died before she was tempted to act.

  A wounded anger drove Brandy back to the table. All of her doubts might be true, but she wasn't going to hide in a hole or on some dance floor like a whipped animal. Bryce followed, his displeasure obvious.

  "You're a fool, Brandy," Bryce muttered as they drew near the table. "She'll tear you apart."

  At their approach, Jim's gaze swerved to them, his eyes impenetrably hard like the rest of his features, flicking from one to the other with the smarting sting of a whip. Brandy became aware of Bryce's arm curving smoothly around her waist and the admiring expression that was on his face despite his last cutting remark. Yet Jim appeared coolly indifferent to the marked attention she was receiving from her new partner. Maybe he was relieved to have her off his hands.

  Before Brandy could reach her chair at Jim's side, a man crossed her path, dark-suited with a smoothly polished appearance. He stopped beside Jim, blocking her from the chair. Brandy paused, waiting for an opportunity to claim her place at the table.

  "Good evening, Mr. Corbett," the man clasped the back of Jim's shoulder in greeting, then glanced to LaRaine. "Miss Evans."

  "Mr. Spencer, this is a surprise," Jim replied in a contradictingly dry voice that said it was not a surprise.

  Bryce whispered in Brandy's ear. "He's a newspaper columnist."

  The man glanced around the table at the fairly large gathering. "It looks as if you're having a celebration of some sort. Is someone engaged?" The probing question was directed to LaRaine's feline smile of satisfaction.

  "Heavens, no, Mr. Spencer!" Her laughing protest that the question was ridiculous only made it sound the opposite. "It's merely a little weekend fling—if to celebrate anything, then the fact we don't have to work tomorrow."

  "How disappointing," the columnist shook his head in mock regret. "I thought I might finally hear the two of you admit that things were serious between you."

  "You have to remember, Spencer," Jim picked up his glass to study the liquor whirling inside, "we're working on the same picture. It's natural for us to be seen together. We're friends and fellow members of the profession." A dark, measuring look was directed at the columnist, almost daring him to dispute the simple statement of explanation to imply that there was anything more.

  "That's right," LaRaine agreed huskily, a falsely demure look on her face. "Jim and I are just good friends."

  "I'll quote you on that," the man laughed smugly.

  A pain like cold steel plunged into Brandy's heart. She knew that the standard answer of "just good friends" meant the relationship was much more intimate. She watched in sickening anguish as the man walked away from the table. A muscle twitched in repressed anger alongside the powerful jaw when Jim met her tortured look.

  As quickly as she could, she tried to conceal the hurt caused by her discovery. Had there been a choice, she would have sat anywhere other than beside Jim, but Bryce was already holding out the chair for her. With a defensively proud lift of her chin, she sat down.

  Without a word of inquiry as to the wishes of the others, Jim signaled the waiter and asked him to prepare a table for them in the dining room. Brandy silently applauded his decision. She wanted the evening over with quickly.

  A few offered a token protest, but not LaRaine. She was much too anxious to be on his side to oppose his decision.

  Chapter Eight

  LARAINE HAD SUPERVISED the seating arrangements at the circular dining table, ordering Brandy to sit beside Jim, a move that surprised Brandy until she realized that LaRaine had saved the coveted seat to his right for herself.

  Conversation was again dominated by LaRaine, although twice Jim did try to encourage Brandy to join in. But as the meal progressed she grew quieter and quieter, the turned-up tip of her nose unconsciously elevating with pride.

  When everyone was through eating, they lingered at the table over coffee. As the waiter came around to refill their cups a second time, Brandy wondered how much longer the evening was going to drag on. A tiny sigh broke from her lips.

  The sound drew Jim's sharp gaze to her downcast face. Abruptly he refused more coffee and pushed his chair away from the table. An astonished blink later, he was drawing her chair away from the table.

  "It's time we left, Brandy," he answered the unspoken query in her expression.

  "So soon?" LaRaine protested with mock petulance, but otherwise unperturbed by his announcement. "The night is young."

  "The night may be, but I'm not. And it's been a long day," was his smooth reply, uttered very firmly.

  After a round of goodnights to the other members of the party, Jim guided Brandy out of the restaurant to his car. The carved features gave no explanation for his mood of tight-lipped silence. Brandy reminded herself that she didn't care, and that she just wanted to get home the quickest way possible.

  But it wasn't true. She did care. It didn't matter how crazy it was for her to have fallen in love with Jim Corbett. It wasn't something she could change in one evening, or maybe even a lifetime of evenings.

  Soon they were speeding out of Tucson. Pride kept her silent as she stared out the window and tried not to remember h
ow very well they had got along during the earlier part of the evening. That was before LaRaine appeared and raised the ugly probability that she was being used.

  Without warning, Jim slowed the car on to the shoulder of the graveled road and switched off the motor. Brandy stiffened, self-consciously brushing a feathery-gold curl away from her temple.

  "Why are we stopping here?" she asked curtly.

  He turned slightly, leaning against his door, his arm resting across the steering wheel. The movement let the shadows of night close around to conceal his expression, but not his piercing gaze.

  "I want to know what's the matter," he stated evenly.

  She stared straight ahead. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Something has happened to get your back up, and I want to know what it is."

  She glanced at the bag in her lap, gleaming a ghost white in the pale moonlight. "You must be mistaken," she replied, trying to make her voice sound as cool and even as his.

  "Your silence makes a louder denial," he mocked.

  "My silence!" she laughed shortly and without humor. "You haven't said a word since before we left the restaurant." She hurled an accusing look of brilliant green at him.

  "Considering the monosyllabic replies I received at dinner, I decided it was a waste of time until I could find out what was really bothering you." The dimness didn't lessen the watchful sensation of his dark eyes studying her. "I want to know why you're angry."

  It was a command. Brandy pressed her lips together, wanting to vent all the anguished fury that had built inside her, yet unwilling to let Jim know that she had fallen in love with him.

  "I'm not angry." The answer came out short and snappishly defensive.

  With a swiftness she should have remembered, her chin was imprisoned by his hand as he roughly jerked her head around to face him. The moonlight bathed the demanding harshness of his features, black brows sternly lowering over his narrowing eyes. His closeness, the controlled anger glittering in his eyes, let her see that he meant exactly what he said.

  "I want to know," he repeated with finality.

  Part of her wanted to cower, but Brandy wasn't the type to knuckle under without putting up a fight. She let him hold her gaze without faltering, almost without flinching.

  "A person doesn't like to be used any more than she likes to be laughed at," she replied in challenge.

  A dark brow shot up. "Used?" Jim questioned arrogantly. "Is that what I'm supposed to be doing—using you?"

  "Oh, please," she sighed in tight exasperation. Her fingers closed over the wrist of the hand that held her chin, but she couldn't push it away. "Spare me the protests of your innocence. Do you think I'm blind?"

  "I'm beginning to wonder." His mouth thinned into a grim line. "How am I supposed to be using you?"

  "Isn't it obvious?" she protested. Her lashes fluttered down to conceal the burst of pain that filled her eyes. "I know why you invited me out tonight, so there isn't any need to go on pretending."

  "Why do you have to continue to talk in riddles? Why can't you say whatever it is in plain English?" His fingers tightened punishingly on her chin.

  "I'm referring to LaRaine," Brandy flashed, "and that ridiculous charade of an evening."

  He breathed in deeply, giving her a long, considering look before relaxing his hold on her chin. "I see," he drawled sardonically. "You've come to some conclusion about LaRaine and my motives for asking you out tonight."

  She was not going to comment on that. "Would you please take me home?"

  "I suppose you also think you're entitled to an explanation. I'm not giving you any," Jim declared coldly.

  "I didn't ask for any, Mr. Corbett," she snapped.

  There was a muttered imprecation simultaneously accompanied by a large hand circling her throat, the thumb forcing her chin upward. The hard force of his mouth closed bruisingly over hers.

  Brandy fought his kiss for about five seconds before she let him overpower her resistance. An arm curled around her waist to drag her sideways from the seat and against the rock wall of his chest. There, her head was bent backward over his arm, her breath denied by the iron band of his arm crushing her against him.

  The pain was sweet torture. As blackness swam before her closed eyes, she wound her arms around his shoulders, a hand slipping to the back of his neck to explore the luxuriant thickness of his dark hair growing down to the collar. The hard metal of her silver and turquoise necklace was digging into the soft flesh of her breasts.

  Her mouth was released to breathe in the intoxicating air, scented with the sweet freshness of the desert and the musky aroma of his maleness. The hard, masculine lips roughly explored the arched curve of her throat.

  Black fires blazed in his eyes as he lifted his head to gaze into her face. Her thudding heart skipped quickly into a faster beat at the unmistakable desire that burned in his look.

  As easily as one would maneuver a baby, Jim twisted her the rest of the way around and on to his lap. A hand slid in a sensuous caress along her hip and thigh. Cradled in his love-hold, she drew his head down to hers, lips parting at the touch of his.

  The firm and passionate mastery of his mouth and the arousing touch of his hands over her body carried her to another plateau of sensations. She let Jim's expertise teach her what she didn't know until the willing pupil and the ardent teacher reached the last lesson.

  With a broken sigh, Jim pulled his mouth away from her pliant lips and pressed her honey-gold head against the hollow of his shoulder. The erratic beat of his heart beneath her ear was in tune with the staccato rhythm of hers. The hand cupping her breast gently withdrew itself from beneath her tunic blouse, tenderly smoothing the rumpled material.

  "Jim." Her whispering voice echoed the ache in her loins.

  "Sssh!" His mouth moved against her hair in understanding as he held her closer. "Now do you understand why I didn't dare to be alone with you at the ranch?" he murmured.

  Her lashes fluttered down. "Yes," she answered softly, almost with regret.

  "In a car, there's time for second thoughts." She felt the movement of his lips against her hair, the corners lifting into a smile.

  "Second thoughts?" she repeated warily, wondering if he was sorry he had made love to her.

  "Brandy." His soft chuckle moved the air about her face. "Are you always so uncertain of your attraction?''

  "No." She tipped her head back to look at the rugged, compelling face so close to hers. She had never been uncertain before. "Only with you," she admitted hesitantly. She was still wary of letting him see how much power he had over her, yet it wasn't part of her nature to keep everything bottled up inside.

  The suggestion of a smile faded from his mouth. His expression became thoughtfully serious, but its cause wasn't revealed by the enigmatic darkness of his eyes as he studied her face.

  The grooves around his mouth deepened suddenly into a wry smile. "I'd better take you home."

  Before Brandy could protest that she didn't want to leave yet, Jim was turning her off his lap and setting her again in the passenger seat.

  After the car was started and he had turned it back on to the road, he took her hand and started talking, mostly about the film he was making and the crew. It was several minutes before Brandy realized he was explaining some of the things that had been discussed at the party that night, things that at the time she hadn't known about nor understood and had thus been subtly ostracized from the group. A wondrous flood of love warmed her heart at his understanding gesture.

  In the driveway of her home, Jim shifted the gears into neutral, but left the motor running. The house was dark except for one light shining through the window near the front door.

  "It isn't very late. Would you like to come in for some coffee?" Brandy offered.

  "No," he refused, "I have a lot to do tomorrow, so I'd better have an early night."

  "But you aren't working tomorrow," she frowned, remembering LaRaine's statement that they had tomo
rrow off.

  "We aren't filming tomorrow," he corrected. "But I have a lot of script revisions to go over as well as a business meeting with Don, my manager. It will be a full day."

  "Of course. I hadn't thought." She smiled weakly, trying to hide her disappointment. For the last couple of miles she had been hoping that Jim would want to spend part of tomorrow with her.

  "Do you get up early in the morning?"

  Brandy tipped her head curiously to one side. "Sometimes. Why?"

  "I like to take a ride in the desert in the morning before the sun gets too hot. Would you like to come with me tomorrow?"

  "Yes." She couldn't get her acceptance out fast enough.

  "Is five-thirty too early?" he asked, adding, "I'll trailer my horse over here."

  "That's fine," she agreed swiftly.

  His firm mouth moved into a faint smile, and Jim leaned over and kissed her lips, his mouth moving warmly and mobilely over hers. Brandy still felt the disturbing pressure after he had moved away.

  "In the morning," was his goodnight promise.

  Shaken slightly, she nodded and stepped from the car. Jim waited in the driveway until she had unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Only when he had driven away did she realize that he had kept his word. He had said he would not explain about LaRaine, and he hadn't. She could not be any more certain about where she stood with him than she had been before. But at the moment nothing seemed able to trouble her greatly.

  HUMMING MERRILY, Brandy filled the small glass with orange juice, taking a quick swallow, then turning to put the pitcher back in the refrigerator. There was a shuffle of footsteps in the hall.

  "Brandy!" Her father paused in the doorway in the act of tying the sash of his robe. His pepper-gray hair was disheveled from sleep, his expression startled and disbelieving. "Lenora said she heard someone moving about."

  He glanced out of the gray-darkened windows. "What are you doing up at this hour?"