by Francis Ray
His calm words shocked her. “Then why bring me here?”
“Because you said you liked riding, and I wanted to give you something you enjoyed,” he explained easily.
Warmth at his words curved her lips upward. She could think of few instances where a man had offered her pleasure that wasn’t to be shared or didn’t ultimately benefit him in some way—fewer men still who openly admitted that a woman possessed a skill they lacked.
Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her lips across his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Lacing her hand with his, he led her to the saddled gelding. “I can’t say I missed the experience until now.”
Dominique swung gracefully into the saddle. Gathering the reins handed to her by Johnny, she stared down at Trent.
“What are you waiting for?”
“I wish you could go.”
His hand rested on her thigh. “So do I.” He stepped back. “I’ll be here.”
Nodding, she spoke to Johnny standing several feet away. “Can Ghost take the fence?”
“Like a cat,” came the proud answer.
“Now, Dom—” Trent began, but Dominique had wheeled the animal and was racing toward a white, wooden fence twenty yards away. He wanted to call her back, but prayed instead. Her unbound black hair streamed behind her back as she leaned low over the animal’s neck and aimed straight for the five-foot fence.
He knew a moment of fear and helplessness as the horse started over the obstacle. For a nerve-shattering moment animal and rider seemed suspended in midair. Then they were over, and racing hell-bent for the next fence.
Fear turned to amazement and pride as Dominique and the gelding took the next fence as easily as they had taken the first. He heard her shout in triumph and watched them disappear over a hill.
“Damn, that lady can ride.”
“You can say that again.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Trent wasn’t so sure about Dominique’s riding ability. He hadn’t moved very far from the spot where he had watched her disappear. Seventeen minutes after she had ridden away, he went inside the stable in search of Johnny. He found him cleaning out the hoof of a cinnamon-colored horse.
“Shouldn’t she be back by now?”
“Hard to say. The ranch has thirty acres.” Johnny never glanced up from his task.
Trent went back outside, only to come back three minutes later. “Saddle me a horse.”
Johnny’s shaggy eyebrows bunched. Releasing the horse’s hoof, he came out of the stall. “Didn’t I hear you say you don’t ride?”
“I don’t see where it would be all that difficult once you got on,” Trent said, hoping he was right.
“You’re sure?” To his credit, the young man didn’t laugh. “We aren’t liable for injuries.”
“I take full responsibility for my actions.”
Johnny turned and walked toward the back of the stable. “I’ll get Bitsy.”
Trent hoped Bitsy was as small and biddable as her name sounded. When Johnny led the small roan mare outside the stable, Trent breathed a little easier.
“If you’re worried about Ms. Everette, I’ll go look for her,” Johnny offered. “But like I said, she rides well.”
“I know, but even the best riders can fall,” he said, the thought making his stomach knot.
“Not this time.” Johnny nodded toward the hill. “Here she comes.”
She came slower this time, almost at a lope, her hair bouncing around her erect shoulders. The sun was behind her, silhouetting her. She and the blaze-faced horse were a magnificent pair. Even as a nonrider, Trent could tell she rode well. The closer she came, the more he had the insane notion he’d like to be on the horse with her.
She rode straight to him. This time Trent took the bridle instead of stepping away. “You were gone a long time.”
“I’ve been known to stay out for a couple of hours or more.”
“What brought you back sooner?”
Throwing her long legs over the saddle, she slid down. “I kept thinking about a man who gives without asking for anything in return. I decided it didn’t make much sense to think about him when I could be with him.”
His hand gently touched her cheek. “I missed you, too.”
She glanced at the saddled horse Johnny was leading back into the stables. “You were sending Johnny after me?”
“I was coming myself,” he confessed. “I needed to know you were safe.”
Her hands palmed his cheeks. “Except for the men in my family or close to us, I’ve met few men like you.”
One hand closed over hers, his thumb caressing the back of her hand. “Is that good or bad?”
“Both,” she admitted softly.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.
He smiled slowly and tenderly. “Because this time you ran to me instead of away.”
Realization widened her eyes. Reflexively she tried to draw back, but found herself firmly anchored against him, one of his arms securely around her waist. He had moved extremely fast and knew her too well.
“Don’t get scared on me.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” she answered honestly.
“I know.” Trent studied her face intently. “Just give us a chance.”
She thought of her friends’ failed marriages, her parents’ rocky relationship until recently, and then she thought of Daniel and her promise to Higgins. Mostly she thought of the man holding her with equal amounts of strength and tenderness, and relaxed in his embrace. “I believe that’s what I’m doing.”
“You won’t ever be sorry.” One arm around her waist, he led the horse inside and handed the reins to Johnny. After thanking the young man and bidding him good-bye, they walked slowly to the truck.
* * *
Trent knew his jaw was slack, but he couldn’t help it. He was human and Dominique was the quintessential woman, sensuous, alluring and provocative, and she was walking toward him in a bikini designed to bring a man to his knees.
The little white nothing had three scraps of material covering strategic areas and none of them wider than his hand. Worse, the bottom was high on the sides and scooped in front to show that incredible, sexy navel of hers.
He was trying not to remember thinking the first time he saw her how much he liked chocolate swirl, how much he liked licking it from top to bottom, but goodness, he was only a man. And Dominique was very much a woman.
“I take it you approve of my swimsuit selection,” she said, her arms going around his neck.
His trembling hands braced themselves on her trim waist to keep her from coming any closer. “Like I once said, I’ll apologize early.”
She smiled, a siren’s smile. “Good. Then I’m glad I bought it yesterday.”
“Yesterday,” he echoed.
“The frame shop in Arlington was next door to a swim shop.”
“So you decided to punish me for my rudeness the first time we met by getting a suit to give me a coronary, huh?” he teased.
Her regard grew serious. “I did buy it with you in mind, but not as punishment.”
The significance of her statement sunk into Trent. “You wanted to please me.”
“Yes.”
The answer was so simple yet carried such a wealth of meaning behind it that Trent felt humbled and proud and scared all at once. Gently he enfolded her in his arms. “You’re one special lady. I’ll never abuse your trust.”
“I think I realized that even before I bought the suit.” Her cheek nuzzled his wide, bare chest that was sprinkled with black hair. “Janice was right. You are something in swim trunks.”
“Stop that.” He set her away, then grabbed her by the hand and started toward the pool. “We’re going swimming.”
Her laugh was sultry and bold. “Why, Trent, I do believe you’re afraid of me sometimes.”
He stopped so fast she almost bumped into him
. “No I’m not,” he said and dove into the pool. Emerging several feet away he said, “It’s all the time.”
A wide grin on her face, she dove in the pool after him.
They spent the afternoon playing in the pool and lounging, and when hunger and the encroaching shadows of darkness drove them inside they went to Janice’s well-stocked kitchen. While Trent slowly chopped and diced his way through making a mixed green salad, Dominique prepared boneless chicken breasts to grill.
“You want me to do anything else?” Trent asked, dumping everything to a clear glass bowl.
Dominique glanced at the haphazard way he had thrown things together and smiled. It would taste the same. “No. I’ll do the rest.”
Trent walked over to the stove watching her every movement. “Your mother teach you how to cook?”
Dominique laughed before she could help herself. “Until recently, my mother couldn’t cook an egg.”
Frowning, Trent folded his arms across his shirted chest. “Then who did the cooking?”
Hearing the wonderment in his voice, she glanced up, ready to tell him about the cook. Then she remembered that Dominique Falcon had a cook, but Dominique Everette did not. Her gaze went back to the broccoli. “We managed.”
Trent’s arms went around her waist. “Every woman can’t cook. From what I’ve heard, sounds like you and your parents are close. That’s what counts.”
He was comforting her. His thoughtfulness never ceased to touch her. She wanted so much to not have any secrets between them, but she didn’t want to take a chance of disturbing the delicate balance of their relationship. Then, too, she liked being liked for herself and not the Falcon name.
“Yes. That’s what counts.” She turned in his arms. “I’m going to take a shower.”
He made a face. “I don’t suppose it would do me any more good to ask to wash your back than it did when I asked you when we got back earlier.”
Dominique regarded his disgruntled expression with a smile. “No.”
“Thought not.” He kissed her on the cheek. “One of these days you’re going to say yes.”
She quivered inside. “There is that distinct possibility.”
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Grinning, he went to the kitchen door. “If you change your mind I’m only a phone call away.”
“Be back to eat in ten minutes. I don’t want to reheat the food.”
“I’ll be back in six, and maybe we can use the other four minutes to heat each other up.” The door closed behind him.
Dominique didn’t waste time. Quickly sliding the meat under the grill she checked the broccoli and rice, then headed for the shower. She wanted Trent so much she was trembling inside and she was tired of fighting it. Somehow she’d make him understand later the reason for not disclosing her identity.
Tossing off her cover-up, she hooked her thumbs in her spandex bikini bottoms. Maybe if they were lucky they’d have five minutes.
* * *
Trent made it back in five minutes, but Janice and Paul had returned in four from their date. The only reason Trent managed to greet them cordially was the look of disappointment on Dominique’s face when she met him at the back door wearing an off the shoulder, hot pink, knit top and skintight black jeans. Somehow he knew she had purchased the top at the same time she purchased the swimsuit.
He let his gaze speak his approval. She flushed, but didn’t look away.
“Dominique may rival you as the best cook in Texas, Janice,” he said easily.
“According to Dominique you haven’t eaten,” Janice said from her seat at the round oak table.
Trent stared down at Dominique’s. “A man doesn’t always have to taste something to know it’s going to be good.”
“Trent,” Dominique admonished, but she was smiling. “For that you have to serve yourself.”
“Don’t mind at all,” he said, his eyes conveying a wealth of meaning.
Blushing, she turned away and asked Janice about the mutual friends she and Paul had gone to visit that afternoon. All the time Dominique was aware of Trent, and wished they could be alone.
It was not to be.
Janice and Paul sat with them while they ate, then remained as Trent and Dominique cleaned up the kitchen. Long before then, Dominique and Trent had begun giving each other covert looks.
Janice, usually talkative and smiling, sat grim-faced and silent. Paul, who had been charming and a bit of a tease at his restaurant, had retreated behind a troubled expression. He sat arrow straight in his chair, sneaking glances at Janice which she steadfastly refused to acknowledge.
Finally, Dominique had had enough. “Janice, there’s a button off the suit I plan to wear tomorrow. Do you have a needle and thread?”
If Dominique had any doubt about there being a problem it vanished when Janice almost jumped up from the chair. “I’ll get it for you.”
Once in Janice’s bedroom, Dominique asked, “What’s the matter? Did he make a move on you?”
Janice’s lower lip began to tremble.
Dominique saw red, and whirled toward the bedroom door.
Janice’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Please wait.”
“No man is going to treat you badly again,” Dominique said fiercely.
Janice shook her head. “You don’t understand. It isn’t that he kissed me. It’s that … that he called me Lilly. Lilly is the wife he lost fifteen years ago.”
“Oh, Janice,” Dominique said, pulling the other woman into her arms. She came easily.
“I just can’t seem to get it right. First Wayne dumped me for someone younger, then Paul uses me for a stand-in for his dead wife.” She sniffed. “I guess that says a lot about me.”
Dominique set Janice away from her. “It says you’re a good-hearted, loving woman. It’s not your fault Wayne was trying to hang on to his youth, and Paul his past. If they didn’t value you for the woman you are, it’s their loss.”
Janice stared at Dominique, her tears abating. “You’ve finally let go of the past.”
“You can’t look to the future without letting go,” Dominique answered firmly. “I’m just beginning to see that.”
“Trent helped, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad.” She touched Dominique’s cheek. “Do you mind saying goodnight to Paul and Trent for me?”
“No. Can I bring you anything?” she said, her own eyes starting to tear. She’d never seen Janice look so desolate, so lost.
“Nothing. I’ll say goodnight to you, too.”
Squeezing her hands, Dominique closed the bedroom door and went back to the kitchen. She was ready to flay Paul alive until she saw the anxiety in his face as he came to his feet, his gaze going beyond her to an empty room.
“Where’s Janice?”
She didn’t remember his voice being that shaky. “She asked me to say goodnight to you.”
For a moment he stared at Dominique as if he didn’t understand what she had said, then he plopped back down in his seat. “I messed up.”
The utter desolation in his words so closely echoed those in Janice’s that Dominique felt tears sting her eyes again, but this time there was also anger. “You should have thought about that before you called her your dead wife’s name.”
“What?” His graying head came up sharply.
“You don’t kiss a woman and call her by your dead wife’s name,” she repeated.
“I didn’t,” he defended, surging to his feet.
“You called her Lilly,” Dominique said, her anger mounting when he shut his eyes.
“I think you’d better go,” Trent said, his voice cold as he came to stand by Dominique.
Slowly Paul’s eyes came open. “Lilly was my wife’s first name, but I called her by her middle name—Ann.”
“That’s worse,” Dominique riled. “At least she could understand why you called her by your wife’s name. Please leave.”
Paul didn’t move. His shaky hand ran ov
er his head. “Please, can I speak with her? She misunderstood me.”
Dominique crossed her arms and glared at the man. “A likely story.”
“When I called her Lily, I didn’t mean the name, I meant the flower. Janice has an innocent, pure quality like the flower. The Song of Solomon is my favorite book of the Bible. She is like a lily to me, with all its fragility and its uncompromising strength,” he said passionately. “I called her my lily. My deceased wife was a wonderful woman, the mother of my children. I mourned her. But there is no way I’d confuse her with Janice.”
Dominique’s arms slowly uncrossed. She didn’t know what to say.
“First door on the right,” Trent told him.
“Thank you,” Paul said.
Dominique placed her hand on Paul’s jacketed arm as he started past her. “I hope for her sake you’re telling the truth. You’d better hope for yours that you are.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “I am.” Dominique’s fingers slid from the fine gray wool. He continued out of the room.
She was still watching Paul when Trent’s arms curved around her waist from behind, bringing her body against his. He placed his chin on top of her head. “I believe him, Dominique.”
Her arms circled his. She leaned back against him. She couldn’t see Janice’s bedroom door, but she heard Paul’s knock. “Why does caring for someone have to hurt?”
“It doesn’t always.”
“Tell that to Janice,” Dominique said. “Or to me.”
He turned her in his arms and stared down into her troubled eyes. “One of my foster parents’ grandmother lived on a farm. We went there one summer to pick blueberries. Grandma Hawkins always said the sweetest berries were always deeper into the briar, and it stung like the dickens getting them, but one taste of the blueberry cobbler and you’d forget all the hurt you had to go through.”
“Dominique. Trent.”
They pivoted at the sound of Janice’s soft voice. She was standing by Paul, his arm around her waist.
Janice’s lipstick was smeared. Paul wore a smile. “I—” she began.
“I was just going over to Trent’s,” Dominique interrupted. “He was telling me about blueberry cobbler, and I want some.”
Trent grabbed Dominique by the arm and headed for the back door. “Makes me hungry just thinking about it. I’ll make sure she gets back safely. Goodnight Janice, Paul.”