by Diana Palmer
Of course, he’d been drinking. And he’d made sarcastic remarks afterward. When the drunk man had tried to come onto her and spilled the contents of the punch bowl over her, Dal had thrown back his head and roared with laughter. He hadn’t even been sympathetic as she stood there with punch dripping off her beautiful dress, humiliated beyond belief.
Her father, bless him, had taken her home. He’d had some harsh words to say about, and to, Dal Blake afterward. He told Meadow that the man was never going to be welcome in his home again, not after that.
Meadow had said that it didn’t matter. She lived far away and Dal was kind to her father, even if he wasn’t kind to her. Sometimes, she said philosophically, people just developed dislikes for other people. It wasn’t logical, but there it was. The plain fact was that Dal Blake didn’t like Meadow Dawson. Period.
Yes, he’d kissed her under the mistletoe, but he’d been drinking. Men under the influence often did strange things. A veteran law enforcement officer, Meadow knew that better than many people.
She’d had to cope with drunken husbands beating up wives, children, even pets during rampages while she was with the St. Louis police department. Sadly, her clumsiness had caused some issues there, long before she went with the FBI.
She was steady under fire. She never lost her calm, no matter how heated things got on the job. But she did have balance issues. She thought back to something Dal had said, about her many falls.
In fact, she’d wondered herself if there wasn’t a physical reason for her clumsiness. She thought that, after the new year, she might have a doctor do some tests, just to be sure. She’d had a very bad fall while she was in high school, thrown from a horse, and she’d hit her head. She’d been dazed. Her mother had taken her to the doctor, but no tests had been done. The kindly old man did a cursory examination and assured her and her mother that it was just a light bump, barely a concussion. Nothing to worry about.
But Meadow had read that even slight head injuries could produce problems later in life. She wanted to know if she had an issue that should trouble her. That was what she’d do. She’d see a doctor. Just in case.
Thinking about Dal’s comments brought back another memory, the incredible hunger in his mouth when he’d kissed her just outside her front door, when she’d come home from that first date with Jeff. She flushed involuntarily. He’d done that, and he hadn’t been drinking.
She forced her mind away from Dal Blake. Two kisses, years apart, didn’t make a relationship. Especially not with a rounder like Dal.
Chapter Eight
Jeff wore a navy blue suit to the dance, with a spotless white shirt and blue paisley tie. He looked very elegant, his blond hair shining like gold under the lights in the Raven Springs community center.
Beside him, Meadow looked unusually seductive. The dark-haired, dark-eyed man standing at the punch bowl found himself staring helplessly at her, drinking in the way she looked in that close-fitted red dress. He’d taunted her about the dresses because he couldn’t forget the way she tasted. That last Christmas dance she’d attended, when he’d kissed her, had colored his life since. Even Dana, with all her wiles, couldn’t erase the memory. Or the pleasure. The kiss they’d shared after her date with Jeff worked on his mind even more because it was fresher in his mind. He’d wanted her for a long time. Lately, it was getting worse.
And there she was, with Jeff, clinging to his arm, looking as if she belonged to him. He hated even the idea that she was sleeping with him. He wondered if she was. She looked . . . loved.
“Why are you glaring at Jeff’s new deputy?” Dana chided.
“She looks ridiculous in that dress,” he lied. “Like a prostitute looking for a street corner.”
Dana’s eyebrows arched. That was acrimonious, even for Dal. But she shrugged it off. Everybody knew that he couldn’t stand Meadow. His cat kept going to her house, as her dog kept going to his. Someone should do something about those animals.
“She needs to keep that dog on a chain,” Dana muttered.
“What dog?” he asked, his eyes still glued to Meadow.
“Her dog! That husky.”
“Oh. Snow lives inside.”
“Well, she gets out, doesn’t she?” Dana asked haughtily. “And every time, she runs straight to you.”
“She likes me.”
Dana pressed close to his side. “I like you, too.”
He shrugged. “I did suggest that she nail the dog door shut at night.”
“Did she do it?”
“I guess,” Dal replied. “Snow hasn’t come calling anymore.”
She noticed that he’d already filled a second glass with whiskey and soda. “You don’t usually drink so much,” she pointed out.
“Don’t nag,” he said shortly.
She drew in a breath. “Jeff looks very nice,” she said aloud, sketching him with her eyes.
“So do you.”
She laughed, surprised by the comment. She looked up at him. She knew the little black cocktail dress outlined her full figure in the nicest way. But it was good to hear the compliment, just the same. Dal wasn’t known for flattery. Not that he hadn’t flattered her more than usual since Meadow had returned to Raven Springs.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I’m starved,” he commented. “Let’s see what we can find on the buffet table.”
“Great idea!”
* * *
Gil showed up minutes later, in a dark gray suit with a flashy red tie. He grinned at Meadow as he joined her and his boss in the crowd.
“There are a lot of people here,” the deputy commented, his black eyes flashing with humor. “I almost didn’t find a parking space.”
“They’d like to enlarge the parking lot, but the land they’d need belongs to Ned Turner, and he’d never sell an inch,” Jeff said with a sigh. “He doesn’t even like the idea of the community center itself. He says the noise every weekend drives him nuts.” He threw up his hands. “If he hates it so much, why doesn’t he just move farther into the national forest?”
“I expect he’d need a lot of legal paperwork done to get permission,” Meadow added. “But the Forest Service does sometimes trade parcels of land. If there’s some they like, they’ll trade land for it. Somebody with land they want might sell it to them in return for ownership of the tract next to the community center.”
“That’s resourceful thinking,” Jeff said, smiling as he locked Meadow’s cool fingers into his.
She smiled back. “Thanks.”
“Hello, Jeff,” Dana Conyers said with an amused smile as she joined them with a whiskey highball in one hand. She was wearing a black lacy cocktail dress, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She looked very pretty, something Jeff picked up on at once.
“Hi, Dana,” he replied. “You look pretty.”
“Thanks. You don’t look bad yourself.” She looked around. “I can’t find Dal anywhere. He’s always wandering off to talk cattle with other ranchers.” She grimaced. She looked up at Jeff with sultry eyes, ignoring Meadow entirely. “Care to dance?” she asked.
Jeff let go of Meadow’s hand with an apologetic glance, set his glass on the table, and led Dana onto the dance floor. Meadow, who had no real romantic feelings for Jeff, nevertheless felt bad for him as she watched him shuffle around the dance floor with Dana in his arms. She knew how he felt about the other woman. Poor man. She was just toying with him, probably to make Dal jealous. She hoped Jeff knew. Men were so blind about women and their motives . . .
“Well, well, you found another red dress,” Dal Blake drawled from behind her.
She steeled herself not to show any emotion. She turned and looked up at him. “I had a few spare minutes, so I took down the curtains and made them into a party dress,” she said sarcastically.
His dark eyes slid over her like caressing hands, making her pulse run wild and her breathing erratic. Those were signs he was too experienced to miss. She was still stuck on him. He hated
it. He hated her. She was a woman who had white picket fence written all over her, and he never wanted to settle down.
“Cute,” he remarked. He took a long sip of his drink. “I hope you’ve got your men looking out for pregnant heifers. You can’t afford to lose livestock.”
“They know what to do,” she replied. “I just let them do it.” She glanced toward the dance floor. Jeff had Dana close in his arms, and she seemed to be eating it up.
“Faithless,” Dal muttered, following her gaze. “Women never devote themselves to one man anymore. They play the field.”
She shrugged. “It’s a new world.”
He looked down at her with dark, irritated eyes. “Yes. A new world.” His eyes ran over her again. “Are you making a statement, with that dress?”
She flushed. She’d worn it deliberately, to taunt him. He probably knew it already. She hated how transparent she was to him.
“It’s the only really good party dress I own,” she lied.
“That’s right. Mustn’t wear anything feminine.” The smile he gave her was sharper than a razor.
She flushed. “It’s hard to run down criminals in a dress and high heels,” she said shortly.
He took another sip of his drink. His dark eyes slid down to her mouth and lingered there so long that it was like an imprint. She moved restlessly.
He took a step closer, so that there were only a few inches of space between them. She steeled herself not to feel anything.
“I don’t like your hair like that,” he commented softly. “I like it long, and soft, curving around your shoulders.”
Her heart jumped. “That’s why Dana wears hers long, I imagine. For you,” she added pointedly.
His head bent. She could smell his minty breath, feel the heat of his hard body so close to her own. She wanted to run, but that would give away far too much.
“Long hair is sexy,” he commented. His eyes were still on her mouth. He stared at it until her lips parted under the force of her quickened breath.
“Is . . . it?” she stammered.
He moved another step closer. Now he was right up against her. She could feel his warm strength, wrapping around her. “Your heart is running like an over-wound watch,” he whispered. “You still want me.”
She felt her cheeks burn. “I do not,” she said, enunciating every word.
“Liar,” he whispered.
She tried to move back, but one steely hand caught her small waist and brought her right against him. It didn’t take an experienced woman to know that he was aroused. She’d never felt a man like that, not so close. It made her uncomfortable.
“You need to . . . let me go,” she managed.
“Why?” The hand at her waist moved softly against her rib cage, edging closer to the underside of one small, pert breast.
“People . . . can see us,” she began.
He took her glass and put it on the table, along with his. He caught her arm and moved her through the crowd, right out the side door and under the awning. It was freezing cold and she had no coat.
He pulled her roughly into his arms, inside his unbuttoned suit jacket, against the warmth of his body. “You go to my head,” he ground out as his head bent. “I hate what you do to me!”
Before he finished the sentence, his hard, warm mouth was grinding into hers, demanding and insistent. There was such raw passion in the kiss that she had no defense against it. She moaned harshly against his devouring mouth.
He heard the pitiful little sound and reacted immediately. One big hand slid down her back to her hips. He pushed them hard into the thrust of his body and held them there, despite her weak protests.
“Stand still,” he bit off against her mouth. “Don’t make it worse.”
She didn’t understand what he was saying. She didn’t care. He was kissing her as if the world was ending and it was the very last chance he’d ever have to get her so close. She gave in to his ardor without even a struggle, loving the feel of his aroused body and knowing that she was responsible for it. Her short nails bit into the white shirt under his suit jacket as she pressed closer, her arms going under his, her starving body shivering . . .
He groaned in anguish. He wanted to push her up against the nearby wall, pull up her dress, and make love to her so hungrily that she’d never be able to look at another man as long as she lived. He wanted her. God, he wanted her!
He’d had just enough to drink that he was near the edge of his control. He found the zipper that held the dress in place and started to move it down.
That was when Meadow came to her senses. As much as she loved what he was doing to her, she couldn’t let this go on. There were people just inside the door, for God’s sake!
“Dal, we can’t,” she moaned against his mouth.
He drew in what he hoped was a sobering breath, but he was looking at her soft, warm, sweet mouth. He bent again, forsaking the zipper, but his big hands came around and blatantly moved over her breasts, feeling the hard tips, loving her headlong response to him.
“You’re sweet to kiss,” he whispered, nipping her lower lip. “Come home with me,” he added roughly.
She was trying to keep her senses intact. It wasn’t easy. Her head was spinning, as if she’d had too much to drink. In fact, she’d only had a sip of something alcoholic. He was like whiskey. He was sweet to kiss, too, but before she could say it, his mouth was against hers again. She felt his hands moving on her, seducing her. He was experienced, and it showed. No rushing his fences here. He teased and tempted until she was aching for anything he wanted to do to her.
“Come home with me,” he repeated against her mouth.
If she did, her life was over. She did at least know that. “You brought . . . Dana,” she protested weakly.
“Dana.” He lifted his head. It was spinning. She was heady. He hated her. Why was he trying to seduce her right outside a building full of people?
He drew back. His hand went to his head and he scowled down at her.
“I know,” she said, holding up a hand of her own. “You had too much to drink and you mistook me for your date.”
“Not much hope of that. Unlike you, she dresses like a lady,” he said, angry at his own weakness. “You look like a call girl!”
She hit him. It was an impulse that she almost regretted. She turned and went back inside, heading straight to the restroom to repair the damage he’d done to her makeup and put cold water on her lips to reduce the swelling. Now if only Dana didn’t show up in there!
She didn’t. Meadow fixed her makeup, restored her hair with the small brush she kept in her evening bag, and put cold water on her lips with a wet paper towel. After a minute or two, she felt normal enough to return to the dance floor.
She went out the door with her head high. She hoped Dal had to explain that red handprint on his hard cheek to his date. It would make her feel better about her response to him. It was an elegant dress she was wearing, even if it was red! And she didn’t look like a hooker!
Jeff was standing by the punch bowl, looking morose.
“What’s wrong?” Meadow asked gently.
He glanced down at her and forced a smile. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Care to dance?”
She was thinking of ways to refuse him when Gil joined them.
“Who can do a wild cha-cha?” he asked his coworkers. “Please say no,” he added to Jeff, who was still looking glum. “I’d hate dancing with your left feet, boss.”
That brought a laugh from Jeff. “No, I can’t do a cha-cha.”
Gil raised his eyebrows at Meadow.
“You bet I can,” she said, and slung her little purse back over her shoulder. “You’re on!”
Gil led her onto the dance floor, where the Latin beat was pulsating like a heartbeat.
Meadow could dance. Her mother had sent her for lessons, to make sure she had the social graces. It had devastated her that Meadow wanted to be a policewoman instead of a debutante. Her mother had even picked o
ut a nice rich man for her. Meadow had dodged the introduction and gone back to work.
“You’re good!” Gil exclaimed with a laugh.
She grinned. “So are you.”
They moved around the dance floor, oblivious to the angry, dark-eyed man who glared at them from the sidelines.
“Well, she can dance,” Dana murmured reluctantly.
“She looks like a call girl in that damned dress,” he said shortly. “She should have worn something sedate.”
“Why?” Dana asked curiously.
He glanced down at her. He was aware that he wasn’t acting rationally. He was still vibrating from the long, sweet session with Meadow outside the building, in the freezing cold. Neither of them had even noticed it, they were so wrapped up in each other. Not in her finest hour could Dana have ever competed with Meadow, not that way. He was fond of the woman at his side, he enjoyed her company. He even enjoyed kissing her, although he’d gone no further than kisses—bad business to make a local businesswoman into his mistress and flaunt it. But kissing Meadow Dawson was like walking into fire. In his experience, and there was plenty of it, he’d never come across a woman who went to his head the way she did.
But she still had white picket fence written all over her, and he wasn’t a settling man.
“What happened to your cheek?” Dana asked, frowning as she noticed it.
“The call girl and I had what you might think was a confrontation,” he murmured, and sipped some more of his drink. “She took offense at what I said.”
“If you called her that, no wonder,” Dana said, driven to defend a fellow member of her sex against such an unwarranted attack. “Dal, that’s an expensive dress. There’s nothing about it that would provoke any man to say such a thing. I know you dislike her, but that’s just going too far.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he flashed at her.
“Well, I am. Of course, I am,” she replied. “But she has a reputation that most women would envy. Even me,” she had to confess. She knew people talked about her, speculated about her, since she’d been dating Dal, who everyone locally knew was a rounder.
“What sort of reputation?” he drawled.