by Diana Palmer
“That makes two of us.”
He drew her up on her tiptoes and parted her soft lips expertly with his, his hard arms going around her to hold her gently against him. It was a strange kind of kiss, searching and hungry and exploring all at once. There was nothing of passion in it this time. He bruised her mouth as if it held all the treasure in the world for him.
His mouth skimmed along her cheek to the soft lobe of her ear, and his teeth nipped it lightly, sending chills down her arms.
Her arms clung to him when he moved away, and he disengaged them gently but firmly, holding her hands together against his chest as he studied her in the soft porch light.
“Bed, Shelby,” he said gently. “I’m getting too old for platonic relationships.”
She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. “Are you old?”
He looked down his straight nose at her. “I feel about sixteen right now,” he murmured solemnly. “But I’m thirty-two, Shelby.”
“I know.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Goodnight, baby.”
“King…” she said softly.
He shook his head and tugged gently at a strand of her silky hair. “Go on.”
She smiled before she turned and went into the house. It was the longest walk to her room that she ever remembered making.
Shelby went downstairs the next morning with excitement sparkling from her dark eyes, dressed in a neat pair of tailored jeans and a white tank top that set off her darkness. She felt a wild kind of anticipation as she went down the hall toward the dining room, as eager to see King as she was dreading it. What if last night had been a dream, and the reality was going to be that cold darkness in his eyes again?
She opened the door and went into the elegant dining room and found King at the head of the table. But not alone. A long-haired brunette turned her head and gave Shelby a cool, venomous look from watery blue eyes.
“Well, now, who’s this?” the woman asked with a mocking little smile. “Danny’s latest?”
“Shelby Kane,” King introduced her, leaning back in his chair to spear a lightning appraisal down her slender figure. “Shelby, this is Janice Edson.”
“King’s latest,” the woman added with an adoring glance at King. “I’ve been out of town or I’d have come over to meet you sooner than this, Shelby. How long are you going to be visiting us?”
It was like having all her dreams go nightmarish, but she didn’t let any of the emotions she was feeling show on her elfin face.
“Just a little while,” she replied, still standing beside the door. She wasn’t going one more step into that room, not now.
“Shelby’s mother died earlier this week,” King said quietly. “She’s staying with us a few days.”
“Mother?” Janice stared at her for several seconds. “Kane? Maria Kane was your mother, wasn’t she? Well, well, a movie star’s daughter in our midst! I read all the Hollywood gossip columns, you know, it’s a hobby of mine. I enjoy movies. Do you?”
Shelby swallowed uneasily. The woman was years older than she was, and cat-like in her cruelty. She couldn’t stay and be torn to pieces by those red-painted claws.
She didn’t know that she looked suddenly like a hunted fawn, but King saw that expression on her flushed young face, and something violent flashed in his eyes.
“I’m taking Shelby out for a ride this morning,” he said, rising from the table. “Too bad you didn’t call before you came, baby,” he told Janice. “I’ll be tied up all morning.”
“But I just got home…” she pouted prettily.
“Come over for supper,” he said, making the invitation with a carelessness that was lost on the older woman.
Janice brightened all of a sudden. “I’d love to!”
“About six,” he added.
“I’ll be here!” she replied with a vicious glance in Shelby’s direction.
King took Shelby by the arm and marched her out the door onto the porch, closing the door behind them.
“I’m…I’m not dressed for riding,” she stammered.
He tilted her chin up to his eyes. “Don’t go cold on me,” he said softly.
The smile melted on her, eased the hurt. “I…I could go alone,” she offered softly. “You don’t have to feel obliged to entertain me.”
“I’m not sure exactly what I do feel, Shelby,” he said solemnly. “But it damned sure isn’t obligation. Come on.”
“Can you really spare the time?” she asked as they rode out across the wide, gently rolling fields on a dirt trail made by years of horseback riding.
He smiled musingly. “No.” He glanced at her from under the brim of his Stetson. “Any more questions?”
A lot, and all about Janice, but she didn’t ask them. She turned her attention to the red-coated Santa Gertrudis grazing peacefully in the pastures that seemed to stretch to the sky.
“Jealous, Shelby?” he asked suddenly, reining in long enough to light a cigarette.
She schooled her emotions, keeping them on a short rope. “Of you?” she asked quietly. “I don’t have any claims on your time, King.”
His jaw tautened. “What kind of answer is that?”
She glanced at him through her lashes. “The only kind you’re going to get.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “You little imp,” he murmured. “Remind me to beat you.”
“Not yet,” she protested. “You haven’t shown me the rest of the ranch.”
He let the cigarette spiral its smoke into the air, his eyes brooding as they studied her. “Are you really interested in it?”
The question startled her, but she answered it honestly. “Yes, I am.”
“That night…you were looking at a book on Western history,” he said absently.
“I grew up loving it,” she told him. “I used to read every Western novel I could lay my hands on, especially when I had to go back to Georgia. I took my modeling courses in San Antonio because there was so much history there—the Alamo and all.”
“And ranching?” he asked.
“I cut my teeth reading about Uncle John Chisum and the Jinglebob spread,” she grinned. “Did you know that Branntville is located right in the middle of the Chisolm trail?” she began excitedly.
He took a vicious drag from his cigarette and threw the remains down into the dust. “Hell, let’s get going,” he muttered, suddenly irritable and impatient. “I’ve got a lot of bookwork to do when we finish the grand tour.”
She followed along curiously, her eyes watchful on his quiet profile as he showed her his purebred stock and the immaculate, air-conditioned quarters where they were kept. He was proud of his accomplishments on the ranch, and he pointed out improvements in feeding and breeding as they rode.
“Let’s rest a bit,” he said finally, as they neared the river. “The sun’s getting too high for riding.”
She followed him to the shade of several towering oaks at the water’s edge, dismounted, and sat down beside him. She put aside the ill-fitting straw hat he’d grabbed out of the tackroom for her.
“It doesn’t fit,” she murmured.
“Don’t tell me your troubles,” he said pleasantly. “You know better than to try riding without a hat around me.”
“I’ve never had sunstroke,” she reminded him.
“And I’ve seen too many cases of it not to believe in prevention.” He leaned back against the tree, his long legs crossed in front of him, his hat pulled low over his eyes. He glanced at her. “You invite disaster, do you know it? You little daredevil.”
She looked down at the faded denims on his powerful legs. “A little excitement never hurt anyone.”
“Shooting the rapids in a canoe isn’t my idea of a ‘little’ excitement,” he observed. “Do you need that touch of danger to feel alive, Shelby? Does it substitute for what you could have with a man?”
She looked away. “I don’t believe in self-analysis,” she said softly.
“Maybe you should, honey.” S
he was quiet for a long time, and he reached out and pinched her roughly. “Don’t brood,” he murmured when she jumped.
“I wasn’t, really.” Her eyes went to the river, gurgling as it ran over rocks on its way through the trees. “This river reminds me of the Chattahoochee River in Georgia. The name came from a Cherokee word that meant ‘Flowering Rock.’”
“What was your aunt like—the one who raised you?” he asked suddenly.
She smiled. “Mean as a teased rattler,” she told him. “She hated three things in life—men and pollution and her sister.”
“Your mother?” he guessed.
She nodded. “Mother and Aunt Jane were as different as spring and autumn, in every way.” Her hands toyed with a crispy brown leaf on the ground. “Jane loved the outdoors. She taught me how to garden and swim and even hunt. She could handle a 30.06 rifle with the best of them.”
“Could you?” he asked curiously.
“I was afraid to try and shoot it,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “It had a kick like a mule and made a noise like the end of the world. I’m still a little afraid of guns.”
“I’ll teach you to shoot a .22 rifle,” he said. “It’s lighter and there’s hardly any recoil. We’ll go rabbit hunting this fall.”
“Shoot Thumper?” she exclaimed.
He made a disgusted face. “My God, that’s a fairy tale.”
“No, it isn’t,” she protested. “Poor little soft, fuzzy bunny….”
“Which tastes delicious,” he said maliciously. “Roasted, over an open campfire. Once you get a taste of soft, fuzzy bunny, you’ll drool every time you look at one.”
“Cannibal!” she accused.
He lifted the hat from his head and tossed it to one side. A lean, strong hand shot out and caught her wrist like a vice, pulling her down against his warm, strong body. His arm came up and pinned her to his chest.
“Now, what was that?” he asked pleasantly.
“Now, King…” she protested, laughing.
He tangled his hand in her straight, silky hair and jerked her head back against his shoulder. “Now, King, what?” he murmured, his eyes dropping to the soft curve of her mouth.
“I…I don’t think you’re a cannibal,” she agreed.
“It’s too late now, honey,” he said. “We all have to pay for our transgressions.”
Her breath sighed against his lips in short, erratic whispers as she watched the hard, masculine curve of his mouth coming closer to hers. Her hand touched his chest lightly through the thin cotton shirt, hesitantly, as if it were fire and she was afraid of a burn.
“I like for you to touch me,” he whispered roughly. “You don’t have to go about it so cautiously.”
“A man who likes to eat soft, fuzzy little bunny rabbits is capable of anything,” she teased in a pale whisper.
“I’d rather taste you right now,” he bit off against her mouth.
She relaxed in his hard embrace, letting his hungry mouth take what it wanted of hers. Her fingers traced patterns on the soft fabric of his shirt until he lazily unbuttoned it and led her hands to the damp warmth of the curling dark mat of hair.
He looked down at her hands against his body, and his eyes were dark and sensuous.
“God, you learn fast,” he whispered huskily.
Her hands slid up and around his neck. She reached up and pressed her lips against his softly, warmly. “I like kissing you,” she whispered, admitting it at last.
“I like it too, honey,” he murmured against her parting lips. “Had enough?”
“No,” she breathed.
“That’s just as well,” he whispered unsteadily, “because neither have I. Come here.”
She felt the weight of him with a sense of wonder, her eyes open and staring up into the thick, dark patches of leaves on the oak tree as his lips explored her ears, her chin, the softness of her throat. If the world ended, it wouldn’t matter now, she thought contentedly, because she had everything she wanted in her arms right now.
He looked down into yielded, brown eyes that openly worshipped him, and drew a hard, heavy breath. “Shelby,” he whispered softly.
Her fingers traced the slow curve of his mouth. “Thank you for letting me come here,” she whispered. “Thank you for coming after me.”
His lips brushed her fingers. “I’ll never forget the way you looked that night,” he said gently. “Why didn’t you call me when it happened?”
“I…I wasn’t on your list of favorite people,” she recalled.
He sighed roughly. “No, you weren’t. When I thought you were going to marry Danny…” His eyes met hers levelly. “But that wouldn’t have stopped me from coming to help you, didn’t you know that?”
She only shook her head, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “I was so glad to see you,” she said.
“I noticed,” he murmured. His eyes searched hers. “You slept in my arms.”
A blush flamed on her face, but she didn’t lower her eyes. “All night,” she whispered.
He leaned down. “And I didn’t want to sleep,” he whispered back. His mouth found hers, cherishing it softly, slowly, exploring it with a thoroughness that drew a moan from her.
“King…” she whispered.
All of a sudden, he rolled away from her and sat up, reaching for his hat. “Get up, brat, and let’s go.”
She blinked. “Where?” she asked as he jerked her to her feet, barely giving her time to get her own hat on.
“To teach you how to shoot a gun.”
“But I thought you had work to do.”
He glanced at her wryly. “If we don’t find something to keep us busy, little girl, you’re going to wish I had work to do,” he said bluntly.
She laughed, the sound of it echoing through the trees musically, and she thought she’d never been so happy. She felt like dancing, singing.
He caught her by the waist, reacting to that brightness in her roughly, his mouth grinding against hers for an instant before he lifted her into the saddle.
“I’ll race you,” she challenged.
“I’ll beat you,” he replied, swinging gracefully into the saddle. And he did.
The .22 rifle was easy to handle, and Shelby found she had a natural aptitude for it. She laughed when she hit the bulls-eye of the target King had set up for her in the woods just behind the ranch house.
“I did it!” she grinned, shaking her head in disbelief as she stared at the yellow center. “Annie Oakley, hang on to your laurels!”
“Don’t get heady with success yet,” he cautioned. “It was beginner’s luck. You weren’t even aiming properly.”
“I was so. I had it in the crosshairs!”
“Like hell you did.”
“I did!” she protested.
He came up behind her and reached around her on both sides, forcing her to hold the telescopic sight level with her eye.
“Like this,” he murmured, close and warm and strong behind her. “Aim down the barrel, see?”
“I see,” she replied breathlessly. She wasn’t as aware of the sight as she was of his lean, hard body, the warmth of it touching her all the way up and down. He smelled of cologne, and the feel of his rough cheek pressed against hers made her weak at the knees.
“Your mind isn’t on what you’re doing, Shelby,” he whispered.
Her eyes closed. “I know.”
“Neither is mine,” he admitted in a soft, deep tone. “I want to turn you around and taste every sweet curve of your mouth. I want to feel you against me all the way up and down…” He tore away from her, his face hardening, his jaw like steel. He lit a cigarette, turning to scowl down on her young, flushed face intently. The only sounds were the cries of birds and the creaking sway of young pine trees around them.
“Can’t you see what’s happening, Shelby?” he asked tightly. “We’re spending too damned much time together.”
“I…didn’t ask to come this time,” she reminded him.
&
nbsp; “Hell, I know that!” He took a long draw from the cigarette. “I’m going to send you home.”
Eight
She heard the words through a haze, and at first they didn’t register. Then, with startling clarity, they did.
“Send me…home?” she echoed weakly.
He sighed impatiently. “I want you until I can’t sleep for thinking about it, is that clear enough?” he growled harshly. “I love my freedom, Shelby. I don’t intend giving it up for a delicate little butterfly who’d have her wings torn off the first month she spent here.”
She let her eyes trace his hard face down to the open neck of his shirt. “I haven’t asked for anything,” she whispered.
“You haven’t,” he agreed. “But if you stay here another week, I’m going to. Every time I touch you…” He took a deep breath. “It’s been amusing, Shelby. You were something to fill in the time with while Janice was away. But she’s back now, and I don’t need the diversion anymore,” he added with deliberate cruelty.
She felt the world caving in on top of her. She could barely get the words past her lips. “I…I’ll leave in the morning,” she said in a ghostly voice.
He nodded. “I’ll drive you to the station,” he said quietly. “Or the airport, if you’d prefer. I’ll even buy you a meal before you go.”
I’ll buy you…It was the story of her life. Her mother had tried so long to buy her affection with expensive presents. Now King was offering to buy her broken heart.
She closed her eyes as she turned away, feeling suddenly sick. “You don’t have to bribe me,” she whispered shakily.
“No,” he said in a strange voice. “I don’t.”
She walked back toward the house, leaving him alone in the dark forest, watching, quietly, every step she took until she was out of sight.
Janice was a knockout in an amber-colored cocktail dress, and King reacted to her as if she was the most important thing in his life. He made sure that she had place of honor beside him at the table, and, ignoring the puzzled looks he was getting from his parents, he made up to the striking brunette all evening.
Shelby tried to ignore them later, in the living room, with Janice standing so close to King that she seemed a part of him, but it was impossible. She felt as if she were being stabbed, it hurt so.