by Diana Palmer
Tears stung her eyes as she closed them. It had been so long since he’d touched her, since he’d kissed her. She caught her breath as he deliberately deepened the kiss, tilting her face at a sharper angle to give himself better access to her soft mouth.
She wanted to reach up, to hold him to her and savor the sweetness of being near him at last. But it was too soon; there had been so many misunderstandings between them, so much grief. She couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just trying to find some new way to torment her.
She pulled back gently and lowered her face.
He sensed her withdrawal, and the tenderness he was feeling for her clouded over with pain. She was building a wall of her own now, and thanks to his black temper, he wasn’t going to get past it easily.
“Thank you,” he said. He wanted to add that he wouldn’t take the ring off until he died, that it would always remind him of her.
“You’re welcome,” she said shyly. “I…bought it the day we went to San Antonio.”
He remembered that day all too well; it had haunted him ever since. His face went hard with bitter regret. “What did you buy it with?” he asked suddenly. “You wouldn’t let me stake you.”
She shifted a little, tugging at the skirt of her dress. “I…had a little money saved.”
He looked down at the ring. Diamonds. Real ones, set in gold. “My God,” he said under his breath. His eyes met hers and saw the embarrassment there. “This was expensive.”
She only looked more uncomfortable.
He sighed as he looked at the box he had wrapped for her. It was nowhere near as expensive as her gift to him. He hadn’t known how she’d feel about a ring now, so he’d taken back the ring he’d bought her before all the difficulties began and traded it for an emerald necklace—a very small emerald, with a few tiny diamonds, on a slender gold chain. It had reminded him of her—bright and delicate and beautiful.
“I wish I’d taken more trouble over yours,” he said hesitantly.
“I’ll like it,” she assured him.
He handed her the package and she opened it, finding that he had indeed duplicated her camouflage. She opened the first box, then the second, and caught her breath at the sight of the exquisitely crafted necklace nestled in the velvet lining of the box.
“Oh, it’s so lovely,” she whispered, touching it. “It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen!”
She took it out gently, fingering it, her face bright with pleasure, and he forgave himself for not having gotten her something more expensive. She seemed to be genuinely pleased with it.
She laced it around her neck and secured it, lovingly touching the stone as she smiled. “Thank you,” she said softly, her voice tender and husky, her face so beautiful that he wanted to take her in his arms and lower her to the carpet in a fever of passion.
Her eyes caught the flash of desire in his, and she hesitated about touching him. But in the end, her pleasure at his gift forced her forward. Shyly, she reached up and kissed the corner of his mouth, just faintly brushing it.
“Thank you so much, Ty,” she whispered.
He stiffened at the touch of her lips, trying not to betray how vulnerable he felt when she came close. Her gentle rejection of him earlier had hurt. He didn’t want to risk it a second time, so he didn’t touch her. When her lips moved away, he just looked at her, noticing the heavy shadows under her green eyes, the paleness of her face. She was beautiful, but there was a haunting sadness about her, a sadness he felt responsible for. He felt responsible for a lot of things. His conscience had disturbed him for days, for weeks. She might forgive him someday, but he couldn’t forgive himself. And his growing feeling for her had only made it worse, had only deepened his guilt. He’d struck out at her in pain, but she couldn’t know that. And he was too proud to tell her.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, rising. He moved away from her, pacing restlessly.
“The financial situation,” she said after a minute. “Is it any better?”
His broad shoulders lifted and fell as he felt for a cigarette and lit it. “Not appreciably.”
She bit her lower lip, thinking. She was walking much better now. And the more she exercised, the better she got. Before long, she’d be walking easily. The facial scars were fading, too. She was a new woman already. And she had talent, and the contacts to go back into modeling. Perhaps she could make enough money to help him out.
She sat back down on the sofa. “I’ve been thinking,” she said hesitantly, glancing at him. “I’m improving every day. In a little while, I might be well enough to go back to New York and get back on with my agency.”
His back went ramrod stiff. So here it was—she was feeling her beauty again. She was missing the old life, and she wanted to leave. She was hungry for—how had she put it?—the bright lights and the excitement. And maybe for a man whose face didn’t look like the side of a cliff. He laughed bitterly to himself. At least he had no illusions about her feelings for him. He hadn’t fooled himself into thinking that just because she responded to him physically, she felt anything emotionally.
“If that’s what you want, go ahead,” he said carelessly. “It might be a good idea, after all.”
She’d known he was going to say that. Even so, his saying it gave her a sinking feeling, and she struggled to speak normally. “I can’t go immediately, of course. I’ll need a little more time.”
“Wait until spring, if you like.” He sounded indifferent, but the silvery eyes she couldn’t see were telling a different story.
“No, I won’t need that long,” she said quickly. “I’ll just take another few weeks.”
“Suit yourself.” He took a long draw from his cigarette and studied the ring she’d put on his finger. He loved the feel of it, the symbolism of it. When she’d bought it, she must have felt something tender for him, at least. The memory of it would have to last him all his life, through all the years without her, without his love.
He thought about the child she’d lost, and his eyes darkened with pain. She’d felt alone, she said, and empty. And he remembered that, and ached to think of her with no one to look after her, to care for her. She’d been all by herself in that hospital, and he wondered…
He turned unexpectedly and saw her watching him. “You wanted to die, didn’t you?” he asked gruffly.
She blinked. “What?”
“After the accident.” He held the forgotten cigarette carelessly in one lean hand. “You wanted to die.”
How had he known that? She hated discussing it. Every time they talked about it, he got worse, more distant, more unapproachable.
“I thought my life was over,” she said slowly. “I suppose, for just a little while, I didn’t care about living.”
He examined her carefully, noticing the becoming weight gain, the silkiness of her hair, the brightness of her eyes. “I guess you damned me to hell every time you thought about me,” he murmured.
“I wanted to call you,” she confessed, flushing.
He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. “You…what?”
“I wanted to call you. I almost did.” She searched his narrow eyes quietly. “But Bruce convinced me that you had no use for me, that you wouldn’t have spoken to me anyway,” she said. Her eyes darkened with remembered pain.
“I would have come, though,” he said.
She tried to smile. “I think I realized that before, but it was nice to hear it, all the same. It feels so terrible now. I hated you for all the wrong reasons, for things that Bruce was responsible for. But I believed him, you see.”
“I guess you had enough reason not to question what Bruce told you,” he replied, his voice deep. “I’d been unspeakably cruel to you.”
She searched his face. He had such a poor opinion of himself; how could she tell him that she thought he was the sexiest man alive, and that she grew as shy as a schoolgirl every time she was near him?
“Why?” she asked gently. “Was it really just because you wanted me
?”
“What other reason could there have been?” he countered brusquely, drawing away.
Once, she thought wistfully. Just once to shake him out of his brooding, to unsettle him. She wondered what he’d do if she peeled open her bodice and let him look at her.
He walked to the door, touched the doorknob and hesitated. “I’ve got a new colt in the barn,” he said with his back to her. “Want to come look at him?”
The invitation was unexpected, and it thrilled her. She smiled shyly. “I’d like that, yes.”
“You’ll need a jacket. It’s cold out today.”
She followed him into the hall, forcing herself to take slow, easy steps and not to limp. She was proud of her progress, and it showed in the radiance of her elfin face, her big green eyes. She laughed as he held out a denim jacket to her. It was broad and long-sleeved and had to be one of his.
“That will swallow me,” she protested.
“You don’t seem to have a winter coat,” he replied, hesitating uncharacteristically. “I couldn’t find one in the closet a few days ago.”
She smiled at him. “I used to have a full-length mink. I sold it, after the…after I…Oh, Ty, don’t,” she said, the smile fading at the look in his eyes. “Please don’t. You said yourself that it was in the past, and it was. We can’t go back.”
“I wish we could,” he said fervently. “I’d give anything to change it.”
“Here,” she said as she handed him the coat. “Put this enormous thing on for me, and I’ll try not to trip over the hem.”
He actually laughed, although it was quick and faint. “All right. Put your arms in.”
It was cold outside, and a little misty, and the sky was as gray as Ty’s eyes. He took her arm, propelling her toward the large, modern barn.
All his hands had the day off, and most of them were away from the ranch with near and distant kin, celebrating Christmas. Erin followed Ty into the cool interior and waited until he closed the door. Then she followed him down the long, neat corridor that separated rows of clean, straw-filled stalls, only a few of which were occupied.
“Don’t you have many horses?” she asked curiously.
“We,” he corrected “have quite a few. But we only bring the expectant mamas in here.”
“Because of the cold?”
“That’s it.” He stopped at the next stall and turned her to the right. “There he is. Born last night.”
He was an Arabian. Pure black, with the small head that denoted a purebred stallion, and so tiny. He walked on spindly legs that seemed too tiny to support him, and his proud mama licked and nuzzled him. As she watched, Erin marveled at the ability of an animal to show such tenderness.
“Most mares make good mothers,” he said, smiling at the little one. “You won’t know him in about a month, when he’s got the freedom of the paddock and can toss his head and gallop. He’ll be a different colt then.”
She leaned back against the side of the stall, searching his dark face. “You love your animals, don’t you?” she asked.
“It’s easy to love animals,” he replied, pinning her with his eyes. “They can’t hurt you, except maybe physically if you abuse them or pen them in a corner.”
“And people can.”
“I learned that as a boy,” he told her. “Anything different gets attacked, haven’t you figured that out by now?”
“Were you so different?” she asked.
“Big feet, big ears, a face only a mother could have loved, and a black temper,” he replied. “You tell me.”
“I did notice the black temper,” she murmured.
“When?” He laughed coldly. “You haven’t come near me lately.”
“How could I, when you’ve avoided me?” she replied, her eyes kindling. “You’ve done everything except ask me to leave.”
“I can’t do that,” he said. “You’re half owner. And my wife.”
“In name only.”
“Not since that day in San Antonio,” he replied curtly, and the memory was in his eyes, like a fire burning.
“That’s right,” she agreed, deliberately misunderstanding him. “Not since. Not once.” She let the denim jacket slide down her arms, oblivious to the shock in his eyes. Her hands went to the bodice of her dress and began to unfasten the buttons.
“What in hell are you doing?” he demanded. But his eyes were watching her hands, not her face.
“I’ve gained weight,” she said. “I thought you might like to see for yourself.”
Without questioning her own motives, her own hunger, she opened the last button and slowly peeled the dress down her arms. The material was medium-weight, so she hadn’t bothered with a bra. Her breasts were high and full and firm, and she displayed them brazenly, her heart throbbing wildly in her chest.
“Erin…”
She liked the rapt expression, the appreciation that darkened and narrowed his eyes and quickened his breathing. She came close to him, quietly removing his coat while he watched her, disbelieving. Slowly she unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his broad, hair-matted chest to her exploring hands. She smiled in satisfaction as the thick, cushy hair tickled her palms.
“Oh, Ty…” She slid her arms under his shirt and around his waist, so that she could press her taut breasts against him.
“God,” he groaned. He caught her shoulder and moved her abrasively against him so that he could feel her silky firm flesh and aroused peaks brushing against his muscular chest. She was so warm, so sweet.
His heart ran wild when her hands found him, blatantly caressed him in a place she’d never touched before. He almost went to his knees with the force of the passion she aroused.
She felt his hunger for her and moved closer, letting her thighs touch his, drowning in the remembered pleasure of flesh against burning flesh.
“Your skin is hot,” he whispered roughly.
“So is yours.” She arched backward so that she could see his face. Her own was flushed with hunger, her eyes fiercely passionate, her lips parted sensually. “I want you.”
“Yes, I know,” he said, his voice harsh and almost unrecognizable. “I want you just as much.”
Her breath sounded ragged as it sighed out. “Here,” she whispered. “Can…we?”
“I think we’ll have to,” he replied with bitter humor, shuddering a little with his own arousal. He bent and lifted her, pressing his mouth hungrily against one full, perfect breast and glorying in her passionate response.
She moaned sharply, opening her eyes as he lifted his head. She shuddered in his hard embrace, feeling his body absorb the shock of his steps as he carried her to the end stall, which was filled with clean hay.
“No one will come, will they?” she asked.
“No one will see us, or hear us.” With one hand he jerked a clean piece of canvas off the wall to use as a cover over the soft but prickly hay. Then he lowered her to their makeshift bed and slowly peeled the dress down her hips, taking her lacy undergarments and hose with it in an undressing that was pure seduction. His lips followed the movement of his hands, and he used them both to drive her wild, nibbling hungrily at her soft hips, caressing her thighs slowly, rhythmically, until he felt her arch and shudder helplessly beneath him.
He touched her then, and she cried out, because it had been so long, and it was so sweet. His warm hands on her body made her forget the chill of the stable and the sting of the cold cloth against her back. She lifted toward those exquisite hands, begging for them, savoring the exquisite roughness of them on her soft flesh. He felt himself throbbing all over with pleasure as he gazed into her lazy, misty eyes and saw her need for him.
“Oh…” she moaned, hurting for him, so on fire with the pleasure he was giving her that she couldn’t quite hold it all. She bit her lip, trying to keep quiet.
“Cry out if you feel it like that,” he whispered, his voice rough with passion. “Let me hear you.”
“I…ache,” she whimpered, trembling as he rubbed tend
erly at the sensitive peaks of her breasts.
“Not half as much as I’m going to make you ache now.” He bit at her soft lips, teased them, rubbed at them, laughing sensuously when she reached up and caught his head and dragged his mouth down hard onto hers.
The kiss they shared was hotter and wilder than anything that had come before. She couldn’t get enough of him. She was drowning, and only he could save her.
“Please, now,” she heard herself whisper into his demanding mouth. “Please, Ty, please, please…”
“Shh,” he whispered gently. “Shh. Just a minute. Just another minute.”
He moved a little away and removed his clothing slowly, watching her, feeling her eyes on him. He had a good body at least—if not a good face—and he liked the way she looked at him with those lazy, hungry green eyes. She shifted on the cloth, her hips moving sinuously, her eyes promising heaven.
He eased down beside her, and she touched his hips, pulling, half pleading.
“Not yet.” He touched her softly, watching her arch and moan. “Not just yet. I want to make you beg me this time,” he whispered roughly. “I want to watch you cry.”
“Please…!”
His mouth covered hers and his hands touched her in new, unfamiliar ways, and for minutes that stretched like exquisite torture, he taught her new ways to ache. She lost her ability to reason in the throes of the most unbearable pleasure she’d ever experienced.
Finally he eased her down onto the cloth and moved over her, his hands on her thighs, his chest crushing gently over her taut breasts. He looked at her as she opened her tormented eyes and breathed in helpless shudders, her nails digging into his flat hips in fierce pleading.
“Easy, now,” he whispered, his own voice unsteady, husky with controlled passion. He moved a little and felt her jerk, and saw her eyes dilate frantically. “Easy,” he persisted, watching her eyes as he overwhelmed her in a slow, tender rhythm that had the effect of dynamite on her overstretched nerves.
She began to cry at the exquisite tenderness, the slowness of his movements as he deepened his thrusts and his weight gradually began to settle over her. She felt abrasive hair, warm, hard muscle and the heavy, quick throb of his heart over hers.