by Diana Palmer
That fact finally registered in Shelby’s dazed mind. She looked up then and saw his face, and her breath fluttered. He was flour-white, only his eyes alive and glittering blackly in that set, haunted face. He looked down at her, his arms convulsively dragging her against his chest.
“You little fool…!” he choked.
As long as she lived, she knew she’d never forget the horror she saw in his eyes. She reached up to hold him, her only thought to remove that look from his eyes.
“It’s all right, Justin,” she murmured softly. His reaction fascinated her. She’d never seen him shaken before. It made her feel protective, that tiny chink in his cool armor.
“I’m fine, Justin,” she whispered. Her eyes searched his, amazed at the vulnerability there. She touched his mouth, her soft fingers caressing as they slid up into his thick, dark hair. “Darling, I’m all right, really I am!” She pulled his mouth down and put hers softly against it, loving the way he let her kiss him, even if it was only out of shock—which, in fact, it was. For several seconds she savored the newness of it, then something stirred in her slender body, and her mouth pushed upward, hungry for a harder, deeper contact than this. It had been years since they’d kissed, since they’d really kissed. She moaned softly and he seemed to come out of his trance. His arm contracted, and his hard mouth opened hungrily against hers on a wild, shattered groan.
His mouth hurt as it dragged against hers while he muttered something violent and unintelligible against her soft lips. He pulled back with evident reluctance as the truck driver came running down the highway toward them.
“Is she all right?” the man asked, panting from the long run he’d had. “My God, I was sure I’d hit her…!”
“She’s all right,” Justin answered tersely. “But that damned car won’t be when I can lay my hands on my rifle.”
The truck driver sighed with pure relief. “Damn, lady, you can sure handle yourself,” he said with admiration. “If you’d lost your nerve and thrown up your hands, you’d be dead and I’d be a mental patient.”
“I’m sorry.” Shelby wept, her nerve broken from the combination of the near miss and the exquisite ardor of Justin’s hard mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you coming!”
The truck driver, a young man with red hair, just shook his head, barely able to get his breath. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a trembling smile. “Thank you for stopping. It wasn’t your fault.”
“That wouldn’t have made me feel any better,” she was told. “Well, if you’re sure, I’ll be on my way.” He looked at Justin, and almost offered to help, but the glitter in those black eyes wasn’t encouraging.
“As my wife said, thanks for stopping,” Justin said.
The younger man nodded, smiled and walked away with patent relief, wondering why a woman that pretty would marry such a desperado. He was glad she wasn’t hurt. He wouldn’t have relished having to face that wild-eyed husband unarmed.
Justin didn’t say another word. He turned, carrying Shelby to the Thunderbird. He balanced her on his knee, opened the passenger door and put her inside very gently.
“What about my car?” she asked.
His black eyes met hers. “Damn your car,” he said huskily. He slammed the door and went around to get in under the wheel. But he didn’t start the car. He sat with his hands, white-knuckled, gripping the steering wheel for a long moment while Shelby waited for the explosion that she knew was about to come. Justin had been badly shaken and somebody was going to pay for it. Now that he was sure she was all right, she could imagine that he was loading both verbal barrels.
“Go ahead, give me hell,” she said tearfully, searching in the glove compartment for a tissue. “I was driving too fast, and I wasn’t watching. I deserve every lecture I get.” She blew her nose. “How did you get here so fast?”
He still didn’t speak. After a minute, he sat back in the bucket seat and fumbled a cigarette out of his pocket. He lit it with still-trembling hands, staring straight ahead.
“I followed you,” he said curtly. “When I heard you gun the car out of the driveway, I was afraid you might try to take out your temper on the highway, so I tagged along.” His head turned and his black eyes flashed at her. “My God, I paid for sins I haven’t even committed when I saw you spin out.”
She could imagine how it had been for him, having to watch. Even though he didn’t love her, it would have been terrible.
“I’m sorry,” she said inadequately, folding her arms across her breasts shakily.
His chest rose and fell with a huge, angry breath. “Are you, really?” he said. He was back in control now, and the cool smile on his face infuriated her. “Well, you can say goodbye to that damned sports car. Tomorrow, I’ll go downtown with you and steer you toward something safe.”
“What did you have in mind, a Sherman tank?” she asked with ice in her tone.
“A bicycle, if you keep this up,” he corrected angrily. “I told you once before, Shelby, your reckless days are over.”
“You’re not going to order me around!” she shot at him through trembling lips and clenched teeth. “I’m not your ward!”
“No,” he agreed with a mocking smile. “You’re my wife, aren’t you? My saintly, untouched wife who can bear anyone’s hands except mine.”
It was too much. She burst into tears again, turning her face to the window, burying her eyes in the soggy tissue.
“Don’t,” he groaned. “For God’s sake, stop it. I can’t stand tears!”
“Then don’t look, damn you,” she whispered, stomping her foot.
He swore roughly, digging into his pocket for his freshly laundered linen handkerchief. He thrust it into her trembling hands, feeling as if someone had kicked him.
“You’ll make yourself sick. Stop it. You’re all right. A miss is as good as a mile, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice softer now, deeper. He touched her hair hesitantly. It was all coming back into focus, little by little. He frowned, because now he remembered something that panic had knocked out of his mind. She’d touched his face and whispered something, and she’d put her mouth against his to comfort him. What had she said…?
“You called me darling,” he said aloud.
She moved jerkily. “Did I? I must have been out of my mind, mustn’t I?” She sniffed and mopped herself up. “Can we go home, Justin? I need something to drink.”
“I could use a neat whiskey myself,” he said heavily. His eyes searched over her wan, sad little face. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m tough,” she murmured.
“Tough,” he agreed. “And reckless, stupid, impulsive—”
“You stop that!” she protested. Her pale green eyes glared at him, red-rimmed.
“You kissed me.”
She went from white to rose red and averted her eyes. “You were upset.”
“I’ve been upset before, but you never kissed me, Shelby.” His dark eyes narrowed as he reached for the ignition switch. “Come to think of it, in all the years we’ve known each other, that’s the very first move toward me you’ve ever made.”
She leaned back against the seat, her arms folded. “Justin, my purse is still in the car,” she murmured evasively.
He reached down to the floor, picked it up and put it in her lap. “You grabbed it before I lifted you clear,” he said. “It came along for the ride.”
“You aren’t really going to shoot Abby’s old car, are you?”
He reversed the car and then pulled in a perfect circle back the way he’d come. “It might get that gentle a treatment if it’s lucky,” he muttered.
“Justin! It wasn’t the car’s fault!”
“Sit back and relax now, Shelby. I’ll have you home in a minute.”
“Pardon?”
“Pot! The one that calls the kettle black! You’re doing sixty!”
“It’s a big car.”
“What has that got to do with it?”
“Never mind.” He smoked his cigarette, frowning thoughtfully. Things had been pretty clear in his mind until ten minutes ago. Now he began to wonder if he hadn’t got things twisted. He’d assumed that Shelby found him repulsive all those years ago, that she still did. But her soft lips had been warm and eager, and for those few seconds she’d been absolutely ardent. Of course, she was frightened, he had to admit, and reaction did funny things to people. But if she was that concerned when he was upset, there had to be a little caring left in her.
He pulled up in front of the house and, despite her protests, carried her up to the door where he balanced her long enough to open it.
“No need to worry Maria…” he began, but no sooner had he got the words out than Maria came running down the hall. When she saw Shelby’s white face, a stream of Spanish broke from her.
“I’m all right,” Shelby told her. “The car went into the ditch, that’s all.”
Maria looked at Justin. That wasn’t all, but she knew better than to make a fuss. “What do you want me to do, Señor Justin?” Maria asked.
“I’ll get her upstairs. How about pouring me a neat whiskey and bringing up a brandy for Shelby?”
“Si, señor.”
“Why can’t I have a neat whiskey?” Shelby asked.
Justin’s dark eyes searched hers and he pulled her just a little closer as he went easily up the staircase with his soft burden cradled against his chest. “You’re just a baby.”
“I’m twenty-seven,” she reminded him.
He smiled gently. “I’m thirty-seven,” he reminded her. “And that’s a pretty formidable ten-year jump I’ve got on you, honey.”
The careless endearment made her flush. She lowered her eyes to his shirt. He’d changed earlier, before they ate. This one was Western cut and blue plaid. It suited him. It smelled of detergent and starch, smoke and cologne. She loved being in his arms. If only she could tell him that, and explain why she was afraid of him. But she couldn’t.
He carried her into her room and put her on the bed, his eyes going hungrily over the way that damned red and white dress clung in all the right places. It wasn’t low-cut, but it displayed her high breasts in the best possible way, and looking at them made him ache.
Shelby frowned at the expression on his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, fatigue in her soft voice.
He straightened. “Nothing. I’ll have Maria bring up the brandy. You’d better have a hot bath and then I’ll take you to the doctor. I want you examined, to make sure you haven’t done any damage.”
She sat up, her eyes like saucers. “Justin, I’m all right!”
“You’re not a doctor and neither am I. You took a hell of a jolt and you were damned near in shock when I pulled you out of that car.” His jaw set stubbornly. “You’re going. Hurry up and get changed. Wear something—” he hesitated “—less sexy.”
Her eyebrows arched. “I beg your pardon?”
He turned toward the door. “I’ll phone the doctor while you take a bath.”
She stared after him blankly. “I don’t want to go to the doctor.”
He just closed the door, ignoring what she did or didn’t want. Taking control, as usual, she fumed. She wanted to throw things. She was all right, couldn’t he see that? She burst into tears of frustrated temper and went into the bathroom. She felt as if her knees had been knocked out from under her.
After her bath, she dried her hair and put on a neat white blouse and gray skirt and brightened it with a gray and red scarf at her throat. She wondered why he wanted her to wear something less sexy, and then felt her heart skip at the realization that he must have found the red and white dress sexy. She smiled demurely. That was the first time since their marriage that he’d admitted to finding her attractive. If only she could be sure that he wouldn’t lose control, it might have given her enough courage to do more than just kiss him.
She picked up the brandy snifter Maria had left with a teaspoon of brandy in it and sipped it quietly. She had kissed him, all right. He was going to worry that to death. But he’d been upset and she’d wanted so desperately to comfort him that her usual inhibitions hadn’t built a wall between them. And the kiss had been delicious. Her mouth still tingled from the rough sweetness of his. And then she remembered why it had been so sweet. He’d let her make all the moves. He hadn’t taken control away from her. She frowned.
A knock on the door interrupted her brooding. She opened it. Justin was already looking impatient.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I’m sore…” she began.
“The doctor’s waiting. Let’s go.” He took the brandy snifter from her, put it on her dresser and escorted her out of the room.
The doctor he’d found was at the hospital emergency room. Shelby felt nervous and edgy, because she’d hardly been near a hospital since her wreck in Switzerland, except to Dr. Sims for her premarital examination. But this wasn’t Dr. Sims. This was a nice young doctor named Hays, very personable and kindhearted, and obviously a little amused by Justin’s irritated concern.
“You’ll be stiff for a couple of days, but I’m sure your husband will be relieved to know that you’ve done no lasting damage,” Dr. Hays said after he’d finished his examination and she’d answered the necessary questions. “Just one more thing—there’s no possibility that you might be pregnant?” he asked quietly, made more curious by her blush and Justin’s averted face. “An experience like this could be risky…”
“I’m not pregnant,” she said huskily.
“Then you’ll be fine. I’m going to give you some muscle relaxants in case you need them. You can take a non-aspirin analgesic for pain, and a little extra rest tomorrow might be beneficial. Of course, if you have any further problems, let me know.”
Shelby thanked him and Justin muttered something before he escorted her out of the examination room and down the hall to pay the bill. By the time they were through and on their way back to the house, it was almost eight o’clock and dark outside.
Justin was quiet all the way home. Shelby knew why. It was the doctor’s very natural question about pregnancy. It had embarrassed Justin and probably enraged him as well, because intimacy was such a bone of contention between them.
“You should have told him that we could get you in the Guinness Book of World Records if you got pregnant,” he said through his teeth as he parked the car in the driveway and cut off the engine.
She turned her purse in her lap. Now that the tension was lifting, she only felt tired and sore. “What did you do with my car? It wasn’t on the highway when we came past the intersection.”
His black eyes shifted toward her and then away. “You don’t want to talk about it, do you?”
“I’m frigid,” she said dully. “Let’s just leave it at that, unless you want a divorce.”
“I want a wife,” he said harshly. “I want kids.” His jaw tautened as he lifted his cigarette to his mouth. “Oh, God, I want kids, Shelby,” he said in a faintly vulnerable tone.
That was something they’d never talked about, except in the very early days of their association. She leaned her head back against her seat, nibbling her lower lip and stared down at her lap. “You probably won’t believe it, but so do I, Justin.”
He turned in his seat to look at her downcast face, his eyes dark and quiet. “How did you plan to get any without help?”
Her hands contracted on her purse. “I’m afraid,” she said softly, because for once she was too
tired to lie, to find excuses.
There was a long pause. “Well, childbirth isn’t really the terror it used to be, from all I’ve heard,” he said, getting the wrong end of the stick. “And there are drugs they can give you for pain.”
She looked up at him, shocked. “What?”
It was incredible that he believed she was afraid to have a child. She just stared at him without moving.
“It doesn’t have to be right away, either,” he said doggedly, averting his gaze out the window, as if the subject embarrassed him. It probably did. Shelby remembered that he’d always found it difficult to talk about things like pregnancy and that he never did discuss intimate matters in mixed company. In his own way, he was as reticent as she was. It was one of the things she’d always loved about him.
She was trying to understand what he meant when he took another draw from the cigarette and put it out. There was a dull flush across his cheekbones and he wouldn’t look at her.
“You could talk to the doctor about something to take,” he said tersely. “Or I could use something. You don’t have to get pregnant if you don’t want to. I won’t force you to have a child.”
She went beet red and stared out her window, her hands trembling and cold as the intimacy of what he was saying finally got through to her. She cleared her throat. “I…could we go inside now?” she whispered. “I’m tired and I ache all over.”
“It’s hard for me to talk about it, too,” he said quietly. “But I wanted you to know. To think it over. If that’s why you won’t let me touch you…”
“Oh, don’t!” She buried her face in her hands.
He sighed roughly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He got out and came around the car to help her out. “Did he give you any muscle relaxants or do I need to go to the drugstore for you?” he asked.
“He gave me some samples,” she said. She walked alongside him up the steps, ashamed of the way she’d changed the subject and shied away from the discussion. She wanted to tell him what was wrong. But talking to Justin that way was so embarrassing.