by Diana Palmer
He sighed heavily as he watched her. It had been a while since he’d had a woman. His body ached for sensual oblivion, for something to ease the emotional pain he’d been through. Not that he remembered much about that supposedly wild night with Dale Branigan that had kept her hounding him. In fact, he hardly remembered it at all. Maybe that was why his body ached so when he looked at Allison. These dry spells were hell on the nerves.
Allison felt his gaze and lifted her hazel eyes to seek his across the space that separated them. Oh, but he was handsome, she thought dizzily. He was dressed in designer jeans and a neat white Western shirt with pearl snaps instead of buttons. He wore a burgundy bandanna around his neck and hand-tooled leather boots. His head was bare, his hair almost black and faintly damp, as if he’d just come from a shower. He was more masculine and threatening than any man Allison had ever known, and the way he looked at her made her tingle all over.
She shouldn’t encourage him; she knew she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t stop looking at him. Her life had been barren of eligible men. It was inevitable that she might be attracted to the first nice-looking bachelor she met, she told herself.
If that look in her eyes wasn’t an invitation, he was blind, Gene thought, giving in to it with hardly a struggle. He excused himself, leaving the cattleman with another associate, and picked up a glass of beer and a plate and utensils before he joined Allison. He threw a long leg over the wooden bench at the table and sat down, glancing at the tiny portions on her plate.
“Don’t you like barbecue?” he asked coolly, and he didn’t smile.
She looked up into pale green eyes in a lean face with a deeply tanned complexion. Her eyes were a nice medium hazel flecked with green and gold, but his were like peridot—as pale as green ice under thick black lashes. His black hair was straight and conventionally cut, parted on the left side and pulled back from a broad forehead. He had high cheekbones and a square chin with a hint of a cleft in it. His mouth was as perfectly formed as the mouth on a Greek statue—wide and firm and faintly chiseled, with a thin upper lip and an only slightly fuller lower one. He wasn’t smiling, and he studied Allison with a blatantly familiar kind of scrutiny. It wasn’t the first time a man had undressed her with his eyes, but it was the first time it had affected her so completely. She wanted to pull the tablecloth off the table and wrap herself in it.
But that wouldn’t do, she told herself. Hadn’t she learned that the only way to confront a predator was with steady courage? Her sense of humor came to her rescue, and she warmed to the part she was playing.
“I said, don’t you like barbecue?” he repeated. His voice was like velvet, and very deep. The kind of voice that would sound best, she imagined, in intimacy. She started at her own thoughts. She must be in need of rest, to be thinking such things about a total stranger, even if he was lithe and lean and attractive.
“Oh, I like barbecue,” she answered with a demure smile. “I’m just not used to having it cut off the cow in front of me.”
He smiled faintly, a quirk of his mouth that matched the arrogant set of his head. “Do tell.”
“Do tell what?” she asked with what she hoped was a provocative glance from under the thick lashes that mascara had lengthened.
He was a little disappointed at her easy flirting. He’d rather expected her to be shy and maidenly. But it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d been mistaken about a woman. He lifted a thick eyebrow. “Give me time. I’ll think up something.”
“A reason to stay alive,” she sighed, touching a hand to her chest. “I do hope you aren’t married with six children, Mr. Nelson. I would hate to spoil the barbecue by throwing myself off the roof.”
His eyes registered mild humor. “I’m not married.”
“You must wear a disguise in public,” she mused.
He studied her with pursed lips for a minute before he picked up his plate and glass and came around the table. Her heart skipped when he sat down beside her—very close. He smelled of soap and cologne, potent to a woman who wasn’t used to men in any form.
“You didn’t come alone, I suppose,” he mused, watching her closely. “Let me get a few bites of this under my belt so that I’ll have enough strength to beat your escort to his knees.”
“Oh, I don’t have one of those,” she assured him, hiding her nervousness in humor, as she always had. “I came with Winnie.”
“That spares my knuckles.” He was flirting, too, but she appealed to him.
“Have you known Winnie a long time?” he asked pleasantly.
“Yes,” she said. “We’ve been friends since we were kids, back in Arizona.”
Winnie had never mentioned her, but then, he hadn’t been around Winnie that much since she’d become engaged to Dwight. And these days, he had very little to say to Dwight.
“You said at the bar that you’d only be here a couple of weeks. How long have you been in Pryor?”
She smiled faintly. “Just a few days. I’m looking forward to a nice visit with Winnie. It’s been years since we spent any time together.” She couldn’t very well tell him that the length of her stay depended on whether or not she could keep anybody in Pryor from knowing who she was and why she was here. She’d successfully ducked the media since her arrival. She didn’t want them after her again.
“Have you done much sightseeing?” he asked, letting his eyes fall to her bare shoulders with bold interest.
“Not yet. But I’m enjoying myself. It’s nice to have a vacation from work.”
That sounded odd, as if she’d forced the words out and didn’t mean them. One pale eye narrowed even more. His gaze slid over her curiously, lingering on the thrust of her breasts under the low neckline. “What do you normally do—when you aren’t visiting old friends?” he asked.
“I’m a vamp,” she murmured dryly, enjoying herself as she registered his mild surprise. It was like being an actress, playing a part. It took her mind off the horror of the past months.
“No, I won’t buy that,” he said after a minute. “What do you really do?” he persisted, fingering his glass.
She lifted her own glass to her lips, to give her time to think. He didn’t look stupid. She couldn’t say anything that might give her away to Winnie’s neighbors, especially her future brother-in-law.
“I’m in the salvage business,” she said finally.
He stared at her.
She laughed. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean used cars and scrap metal and such. I’m in the human salvage business. I’m...” she hesitated, searching for something that wouldn’t be a total lie.
“You’re what?” he asked.
He was dangerously inquisitive, and almost too quick for her. She had to throw him off the track before he tripped her up and got at the truth. She lifted her eyebrows. “Are you by any chance the reincarnation of the Spanish Inquisition?”
“I don’t even speak Spanish,” he said. He smiled slowly, interested despite his suspicions. “How old are you?”
“Sir, you take my breath away!” she exclaimed.
His eyes fell to her mouth. “Is that a request?” he murmured, and there was suddenly a world of experience in the pale eyes that skimmed her mouth, in the deepness of his soft voice.
Her hand trembled as she put down the glass. He was out of her league and she was getting nervous. It didn’t take a college degree to understand what he meant. “You’re going too fast,” she blurted out.
He leaned back, studying her through narrow eyes. She was a puzzle, a little mass of contradictions. But in spite of that, she appealed to him as no one else had in recent years.
“Okay, honey,” he said after a minute, and smiled faintly. “I’ll put on the brakes.” He took another bite of barbecue and washed it down with what looked and smelled like beer.
“How old are you?” she asked without meaning to, her eyes on the hard l
ines of his face. She imagined that he had a poker face when he wanted to, that he could hide what he was feeling with ease. She knew his age, because Dwight had told her, but it wouldn’t do to let him know that she’d been asking questions about him from the very first time she saw him.
He glanced at her, searching her wide, curious eyes. “I’m thirty-four.”
She dropped her eyes to his chin and farther down, to his broad chest.
“Too old for you, cupcake?” he asked carelessly.
“I’m twenty-five,” she said.
His dark brows drew together. He’d thought she was younger than that. Yes, she had a few lines in her face, and even a thread or two of gray in her dark hair. Nine years his junior. Not much difference in years, and at her age, she couldn’t possibly be innocent. His heart accelerated as he studied what he could see of her body in the revealing dress and wondered what she’d look like without it. She was nicely shaped, and if that beautiful bow of a mouth was anything to go by, she was probably going to be a delicious little morsel. If only she wasn’t best friends with Winnie.
He studied her again. She really was a puzzle. Young, and then, suddenly, not young. There had been a fleeting expression in her eyes when he’d asked her about her profession—an expression that confused him. He had a feeling that she wasn’t at all what she seemed. But, like him, she seemed to hide her emotions.
“Twenty-five. You’re no baby, are you?” he murmured.
Her eyes came up and that expression was in them again, before she erased it and smiled. Fascinating, he thought, like watching an actress put on her stage makeup.
“No. I’m no baby,” she agreed softly, her mind on the ordeal she’d been through and not really on the question. She didn’t realize what she was saying to him with her words, that she was admitting to experience that she didn’t have.
He felt his body reacting to the look in her eyes and he stiffened with surprise. It usually took longer for a woman to affect him so physically. He wouldn’t let her look away. The electricity began to flow between them and his eyes narrowed as he saw her mouth part helplessly. She was close, and she smelled of floral cologne that drifted up, mingling with the spicy scent of barbecue and the malt smell of his beer.
His gaze dropped to the cleft between her breasts and lingered there, on skin as smooth and pink as a sun-ripened peach. His chest rose and fell roughly as he tried to imagine how her breasts would feel under his open mouth...
The sudden shock of voices made the glass of beer jerk in his lean hand.
“Did you think we’d deserted you?” Dwight asked Allison, echoing Winnie’s greeting. “I see you’ve found Gene,” he added, patting the older man on the shoulder as he paused beside him. “Be careful that he doesn’t try to drag you under the table.”
“Watch it,” the older man returned humorously. But his eyes were glinting, and he knew that Dwight wouldn’t mistake the warning even if it flew right past his new acquaintance.
Dwight understood, all right, but he didn’t do the expected thing and go away.
“You don’t mind if we join you, do you?”
“Of course not,” Allison said, frowning slightly at Gene’s antagonism. She glanced from him to Dwight. “You two don’t favor each other a lot.”
There was an embarrassed silence and Winnie actually grimaced.
“No, we don’t, do we?” Gene’s eyes narrowed as they glanced off Dwight’s apologetic ones. “We all share the same mother, but not the same father.” He leaned back and laughed coldly. “Isn’t that right, Dwight?”
Dwight went red. “Allison didn’t know,” he said curtly. “You’re always on the defensive lately, Gene.”
The past few months came back to torment him. He stared at his half brother with eyes as cold and unfeeling as green stone. “I can’t forget. Why should you be expected to?”
“You’re family,” Dwight said, almost apologetically. “Or you would be if you’d stop lashing out at everybody. You’re always giving Marie hell.”
“She gives it back.” Gene swallowed his drink and put the glass on the table. His eyes went to a silent, curious Allison. “You don’t understand, do you, cupcake?” he asked with a smile that was mocking and cruel. “I had a different father than Dwight and Marie. I was adopted. Something my mother and stepfather apparently didn’t think I needed to know until my stepfather died six months ago.”
She watched him get up, and her eyes were soft and compassionate as they searched his. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “It must have been very hard to find it out so suddenly.”
He hated that softness in her eyes, that warmth. He didn’t want compassion from her. The only thing he might ever want from her was that silky body, but this was hardly the time to be thinking about it. He glared at her. “I don’t want pity, thanks.”
“Gene, for God’s sake,” Dwight ground out.
“Don’t worry. I won’t spoil your party.” He caught a strand of Allison’s dark hair and tugged it. “Stay away from me. I’m bad medicine. Ask anybody.”
He grabbed his beer and walked away without another word.
Allison’s eyes followed him, and she almost felt his pain. Poor, tormented man....
“Don’t make the mistake of feeling sorry for him,” Dwight told her when Gene was out of earshot. “Pity is the last thing he wants or needs. He has to come to grips with it himself.”
“Where is his real father?” Allison asked quietly.
He started to speak, but before he could, a smaller, female version of Dwight slammed down into a chair beside Winnie.
“So he’s gone,” Marie Nelson muttered. “Dwight, he’s just impossible. I can’t even talk to him....” She colored, looking at Allison. “Sorry,” she said. “You must be Allison. Winnie’s been hiding you for days, I thought she’d never introduce us!” she said with a smile. “I didn’t mean to start airing the family linen in public. You’ll have to excuse me. Gene always sets me off.”
“What’s he done now?” Dwight groaned.
“He seduced my best friend,” she muttered.
“Dale Branigan is not your best friend,” Dwight reminded her. “She’s a divorcée with claws two inches long, and if anybody got seduced it was Gene, not her. It’s not his fault that she won’t realize it was a one-shot fling for him.”
“I don’t mean Dale,” she sighed. “I meant Jessie.”
“Gene’s never been near Jessie,” Dwight said shortly.
“She says he has. She says—”
“Marie,” he said, calling her by name for the first time and confirming Allison’s suspicions, “Jessie couldn’t tell the truth if her life depended on it. She’s been crazy about Gene for years and it’s gotten her nowhere. This is just a last-ditch effort to get him to marry her. I’m telling you, it won’t work. She can’t blackmail him to the altar.”
“She might not be lying,” Marie said, although not with as much conviction as before. “You know how Gene is with women.”
“I don’t think you do,” Dwight said. “Jessie isn’t even his type. He likes sophisticated, worldly women.”
Marie leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Poor Jessie.”
“Poor Jessie,” Dwight agreed. “Now say hello to Winnie.”
“Hi, Winnie,” Marie greeted belatedly, and smiled. “It’s nice to see you again. And I’m glad Allison could come,” she added, smiling. She didn’t add what Dwight had said about the effect she had on Gene. Now that she’d seen it for herself, she was intrigued. There was indeed something very special about Miss Hathoway, and apparently Gene had noticed it.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Allison replied sincerely. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“You aren’t. How do you like Wyoming?”
“Very much. It’s beautiful.”
“We think so.” Marie studied her
curiously. “Winnie’s very secretive about you. You aren’t a fugitive Hell’s Angel or anything, are you?” she teased, trying not to give away what Dwight had told her about the other woman.
“I don’t think so,” Allison said, leaning forward to add, “but what if I have memory failure and I’ve got a motorcycle stashed somewhere?”
“As long as it’s a Harley-Davidson, it’s okay.” Marie grinned. “I’ve always wanted to ride one.”
“Horses, okay. Motorcycles, never.” Her brother grinned. “She’s a former rodeo champion, or did I mention it?” he added.
“Are you, really?” Allison asked, all eyes.
“Gene, too,” Marie said, sighing. “He was world champion roper one year, before he hurt his hand. He doesn’t compete anymore. He’s bitter about so many things. I wish he could stop blaming Dwight and me. We love him, you know. But he won’t believe any of us do.”
“Maybe he’ll come around someday. It’s a blessing that he has so much to do that he doesn’t have time to brood,” Dwight added. “We supply broncs and bulls for rodeos,” he told Allison. “It’s a full-time job, especially since we’re always shipping or receiving livestock. The paperwork alone is a nightmare.”
“It sounds complicated. And dangerous,” she added, thinking about the wildness of the animals involved. She wasn’t a rodeo fan, but she’d seen the kind of animals cowboys had to ride in competition when she and Winnie had lived in Arizona.