by Diana Palmer
“Sure,” he said readily.
“You may not approve of my guest list,” she added gently.
He took a deep breath. “Tyler Jacobs will be on it, I gather.”
“And Shelby.” He glared at her, and she smiled hesitantly. “Justin, I can’t very well invite him and not her. How would it look?”
“Calhoun might—” He stopped short.
Abby lifted her chin. “I have to stop caring what Calhoun does, and so do you. And if you don’t like Calhoun paying attention to Shelby, why not do something about it?” she added impishly. “You might get her drunk and teach her that terrible song.”
He almost smiled. “I did once,” he said, his dark eyes softening at the memory. “The night we got engaged.” Then he flinched and got up from the table. “I’ve got to try and go to work. How about you? Can you make it?”
“Of course I can.” She stood up, feeling as wobbly as he looked. She glanced at him ruefully. “Shall we flip a coin and see who drives?”
He chuckled. “I think I’d better. I’ve got more practice at it than you have. Come on.”
They muddled through the day, and at the end of it Abby called Mrs. Simpson and asked if she could go ahead and move in later that week. The older woman was delighted and promised to have the room ready. Then, with a heavy heart, Abby began to pack up her things, getting ready to say goodbye to the only home she’d known for the past five and a half years. Worst of all was the realization that once she left it she’d probably never see Calhoun again. Although she hadn’t mentioned it to Justin yet, she’d decided to quit her job at the feedlot, too. The prospect of seeing Calhoun every day, knowing that he wanted her but had no love for her, would tear her heart out.
Justin and two of the cowhands helped her get her possessions over to Mrs. Simpson’s house. Since the room was furnished, she hadn’t tried to take furniture with her, but she had plenty of clothes and records and books to carry. Her stereo and her color television went with her, along with her memorabilia. It was easier to think about living elsewhere with her belongings around. But after having a home of her own, even if she had shared it with the brothers, it was hard to adjust to a small apartment in someone else’s house.
She gave notice at the feedlot the very next day. It was hard, but Justin seemed to understand. He didn’t say a word. He just smiled.
But Calhoun didn’t understand. He came back unexpectedly in the middle of the following week, and when Abby came back from lunch it was to find him sitting on the corner of her desk, looking worn and smoking like a furnace.
She stared at him with eyes that adored him. It had only been a few days. A little over a week. But she’d ached for him. To be without him was like having part of her body cut away, and she didn’t know how she was going to manage to hide her feelings from him.
He was wearing a beige suit with a striped shirt, and his blond hair gleamed clean and thick in the light from the office window. He scowled over his cigarette.
She straightened the skirt of her pale blue dress nervously, waiting for him to look up. Then he did, and she saw the darkness of his eyes, the faint shadows under them.
He looked at her for a long time, oblivious to the noise around them, the ringing telephones, the buzz of printers. He looked at her until she felt uncomfortably warm and she blushed.
“You’ve moved out,” he said without preamble.
“Yes,” she replied huskily.
“And you’ve put in your notice here.”
She took a deep breath, moving a little closer. He smelled of spice and soap, and she stared unconsciously at his mouth, remembering its exquisite sweetness on her lips. “I…I’m going to work for George Brady and his father,” she said. “At the insurance office. I’m used to working with forms, so it won’t be so unfamiliar.”
“Why?” he ground out.
She smoothed her lower lip with her tongue, looking up at him with soft, wounded eyes.
“Here,” he muttered, catching her arm. He pulled her into his office and closed the door behind them, frowning down at her. He didn’t let go even then. His fingers were warm and firm through her soft sleeve, and their touch made her tingle.
“You know I can’t stay in the house anymore,” she whispered. “You know why.”
“Are you that afraid of me?” he asked quietly.
She shifted restlessly, letting her eyes slide down to his firm jaw. “I’m afraid of what could happen.”
“I see.”
It was embarrassing to talk to him about it, but he had to know how vulnerable she was. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t guessed. She studied his patterned red tie carelessly.
“I suppose I sound conceited,” she added. “But…but if you—” Her eyes closed. “I’m vulnerable,” she whispered. Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it. “Oh, Calhoun, I’m so vulnerable—”
“Don’t you think I know?” he said under his breath, and the eyes that met hers were dark with emotion. “Why do you think I left?”
She couldn’t look at him anymore. She felt naked. “Well, I’m saving you from any more complications,” she said tightly. “I won’t be around.”
He couldn’t seem to breathe. His cigarette had burned out, and it hung in his hand, as dead as he felt. “Is that what you want?”
She straightened. “Tyler’s taking me to dinner tonight,” she said out of the blue, just to let him see that she wasn’t going to try to hang on to him or act lovesick. “He’s got a job, too, by the way. He’s going to manage old man Regan’s ranch for him. In no time at all he’ll be settled and able to take on more responsibilities.”
Calhoun’s heart felt like lead in his chest. Was she saying what he thought she was? Was she implying that she might marry Tyler?
“You don’t love him,” he said harshly.
She looked up. “I don’t need to,” she replied quietly. “Love isn’t anything. It’s just an emotion that blinds people to reality.”
“Abby!” he burst out. “You can’t believe that?”
“Look who’s talking.” She glared at him. “You’re the one who said it was for the birds, aren’t you? You’ve never let your emotions get in the way of a good time!”
He took a slow, steadying breath, and his dark eyes searched hers in the static silence that followed. “Maybe that was true a few years ago,” he admitted, his voice deep and slow and measured. “I’ve never had any trouble attracting women, and I had a sizable appetite back then. But I learned that sex by itself has very little flavor, and it didn’t take long to realize that most of those women were trading their bodies for what I could give them.” He laughed bitterly. “How would that appeal to you, tidbit? Being traded a few kisses and a night in bed for a car or a coat or some expensive jewelry, so that you never could be sure that it was you or your wallet they really wanted?”
She’d never heard him talk like this. He never had, at least not to her. She searched his face, finding cynicism and faint mockery in his smile, in his hard eyes.
“You’re very attractive,” she replied. “Surely you know that.”
His big shoulders rose and fell. “Plenty of men are,” he said without conceit. “But I’m rich with it. My money has appeal.”
“Only to a certain type of woman,” she reminded him. “One who doesn’t want ties or emotional liabilities. One with mercenary tendencies who could walk away from you if you lost everything, or if you were sick or old.” She smiled gently. “I suppose you liked that, too. You could be independent and still enjoy yourself.”
He frowned a little, watching her. “I haven’t had a woman since the night you went to the strip show,” he said quietly.
She didn’t want to hear about his love life. She turned her head. “You had dates….”
“Well, my God, I can date women without seducing them!”
“It’s none of my business.” She started to reach for the door-knob, but his big, warm hand engulfed hers, sensuously caressing her fingers as he mov
ed closer, drowning her in the clean cologne-rich scent of him.
“Make it your business,” he said tautly.
She looked up at him slowly, searchingly. But there was nothing readable in his face or his eyes or even the set of his head. It was like trying to learn from stone. “I don’t understand,” she said, her voice faltering.
“I don’t like bridles,” he said shortly. “I don’t like the thought of ropes around me, or a ring through my nose. I hate the thought of marriage.” He grimaced, but his eyes held hers. “But you’re in my blood,” he breathed. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
“I won’t sleep with you,” she said with quiet pride. “And yes, I want to.” She laughed bitterly. “More than I want to breathe.”
“Yes. I knew that when I left.” He touched her hair, smoothing it, tracing its length down to her shoulder with a possessive touch that made her tremble. “I know all too well how you feel about me. I suspected it the night you went to that bar with Misty and you whispered that you wished you were blond….” His dark eyes lanced up to her shocked ones. “And the night of the square dance cinched it. I did a lot of thinking while I was away. I managed to put two and two together at last.”
She felt as if he’d cut the ground from under her feet. Stark naked. She’d thought her secret was safe, and now it wasn’t.
“You don’t need to deny it,” he added when he saw her expression. “There’s no reason to. I’m not going to make fun of you or try to embarrass you. But I told you the night I left how I felt. I’m twelve years older than you. I’m a rounder, and I haven’t ever tried abstinence. You’re even my ward. If I had any sense I’d let you go and wave you off, laughing. You’re a complication I don’t want or need.”
“Thanks,” she said shortly. Her face was flaming. It was embarrassing to have him see right through her, when she hadn’t realized how transparent she must be to an experienced man.
“That’s what my mind is telling me,” he added, laughing with faint mockery as he moved closer. “Now let me show you what my body says—”
She opened her mouth to protest, but his lips covered hers before she could speak. His kiss was warm and slow, and when his hands went to her hips and pulled them against his and he let her feel the blatant hunger of his body, she gave in.
“So soft,” he whispered as he brushed his lips over her mouth. “So sweet. I dream about kissing you. I dream about your body and the way you are with me when I make love to you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman in my life.”
“That’s…physical,” she protested.
“That’s all I can offer you,” he replied. His lips moved to her eyelids, closing them with kisses. “Now do you see, Abby? I’ve never loved anyone. I’ve never wanted that. All you can have of me is this.”
She swallowed. What a bitter, hopeless relationship that would be. She loved him with all her heart, and all he had to offer her was his body.
He tasted the tears before he saw them. His blond head lifted, and he winced at the sight of her drenched blue-gray eyes. “Oh, God, don’t,” he breathed, wiping the wetness away with his thumbs.
“Let me go, please,” she pleaded, pushing at his broad, hard chest.
“You want something I can’t give you.”
“I know that now,” she whispered. She bit on her lower lip to stop it from trembling, and stared at his tie. “I guess I was never cut out to be a mercenary blonde,” she said with an attempt at humor, feeling his body stiffen as she made the remark. She looked up then, with drenched eyes that couldn’t hide her hunger for his heart. “But I would have loved you so—”
“Abby,” he groaned. His mouth silenced her, ardently, roughly. He wrapped her up in his hard arms, kissing her with such force that her head bent back against his arms, and still he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He began to tremble faintly, the hunger a living thing in him, torturously sweet.
But Abby couldn’t bear the bitter mockery of a kiss that screamed of pity and desire. She twisted her mouth from under his and buried her face in his jacket, her hands gripping the fabric as she shook with frustrated need.
“I’m young,” she whispered after a minute. “I’ll get over you.”
“Will you?” His voice sounded odd. His big hands were in her hair, holding her head to him. They were just a little unsteady, and the chest under her forehead was shuddering with the force of his heartbeat.
“I’ll have to,” she said. She took a slow, soft breath. “It was enough that you and Justin have taken care of me all these years,” she murmured. “I can’t expect anything more from you. I shouldn’t have. It was…just proximity, and a huge crush, and…and curiosity, that’s all. I didn’t mean—”
“Stop it,” he said harshly. He pulled her closer, enfolding her in his big arms, holding her, rocking her. “My God, stop it. Am I laughing at you? Am I making fun of how you feel, or trying to shame you for it? I never should have said that to you at the feedlot that day about hating the way you looked at me. I didn’t mean it. I wanted you so badly all I could think about was getting you out of the car before I lost my head.” He laughed coldly. “And a hell of a lot of good it did. I lost it anyway, that morning in your room, and scared the hell out of you.”
“I didn’t understand what intimacy was until then,” she confessed quietly.
“And the way I was holding you made you all too aware of what I wanted,” he added with a faint laugh.
She flushed. “Yes.”
He smoothed her hair, noticing the way her body was resting against his, so trustingly, even though he was just as aroused now as he had been the morning he’d mentioned. “And now it doesn’t frighten you, does it?” he whispered, tilting her eyes up to his.
She searched his face softly. “No. Nothing about you frightens me or embarrasses me.”
He touched her cheek, her mouth, and his powerful legs trembled at the contact with hers. “Not even knowing how badly I want you?”
She shook her head. “Not even that. I—” She dropped her gaze.
“You—” He made her look at him. “Say it,” he whispered. “Say the words. I want it all.”
She should have denied how she felt. Or run. Something. “I love you,” she whispered with faint anguish in her tone.
His eyes caressed her face. “Such big eyes,” he breathed. “So soft. So full of secrets.” He bent and drew his mouth tenderly against hers. “You’re very special to me, Abby. Part of my life. I wish I could give you what you want. I wish I could give you back those words and offer you a future. But that would cheat us both ultimately. Marriage should be a joint commitment, with a foundation of shared love.” He sighed bitterly. “I…don’t know how to love. Justin and I were raised by our father, Abby. Our mother died when I was born. We never had a woman’s touch, and until your mother came along, Dad went from one woman to another like a bee to pollen.” He toyed with a strand of her hair. “I don’t understand commitment, because I never got a good look at it. The only thing I know about love is that it doesn’t last. Look at Justin. See what happened to him because it all went wrong.”
“At least he took the chance,” she said gently. “And it does last. Or didn’t you see how Justin and Shelby looked at each other while they were dancing?”
“Is that your idea of a perfect relationship?” he asked with a cold laugh. “A little love, followed by years of hating each other?”
“What’s your idea of perfection, Calhoun?” she replied. “A succession of one-night stands and a lonely old age at the end of the road, with no family, no one to love you, nothing to leave behind?”
He scowled down at her. “At least I won’t die of a broken heart,” he said.
“No,” she replied. “You won’t.” She pushed at his chest, but he wouldn’t move. “Let me go, please.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got a lot of work to get through.”
“And a date with Tyler,” he added mockingly.
<
br /> She glanced up. “Tyler is solid, capable, very masculine and a good marriage risk. He isn’t afraid of commitment. He’ll make a good husband.”
“You aren’t marrying Tyler,” he said shortly.
“Not unless he asks me,” she agreed.
“You aren’t marrying him even if he does.”
“How do you plan to stop me?” she asked curiously.
“Guess.”
She cocked her head, staring up at his stubborn face. “Why bother? You don’t want me, except in bed. I want someone who can love me.”
He shifted restlessly. “Maybe love can be taught,” he said uncomfortably. He stared down at her hands on his chest. “Maybe you could teach me how.”
She didn’t feel as if her feet were touching the floor anymore. Could she possibly have heard him say that?
“I’m only twenty,” she reminded him, “and your ward, and you don’t want commitment—”
His mouth covered hers in midsentence, tenderly probing, pushing at it, savoring it. “Kiss me, Abby,” he whispered into her mouth.
“I don’t want—” she tried to protest.
“Love me, baby,” he breathed.
Her arms slid under his jacket and around him. She pressed close, holding him, giving him her mouth with all the wonder and generosity of her love for him. She felt his lips smile against hers, heard his soft breathing, and then he increased the pressure of his mouth and his arms and she went under in a maze of stars.
A long time later, he groaned and his mouth slid to her throat, his arms contracting as he tried to breathe. “That,” he whispered roughly, “was a mistake.”
She could hardly get her own breath, and she knew it was much harder for him. She smoothed his cool, thick hair, gently soothing him, comforting him as he fought for control.
Her lips pressed light, undemanding kisses to his cheek, his temple, his closed eyelids. He stood very still, giving her that freedom with a sense of wonder at how it felt to be caressed so tenderly.
His eyes opened when she stopped. “That was a nice touch,” he whispered, cupping her face in his warm hands. “Have you been talking to Misty again, or did you just think it might calm me down?”