Renegade

by Diana Palmer

  He whistled. 'That's a heavy load to put on a man."

  She nodded.

  He smiled slowly. "So, it's back to Dating 101."

  She laughed. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

  "We'll go slow," he said, noting Rory's sudden reappearance.

  "That took a while," he commented when the boy came back laughing. "He wanted to know about military school. Guess what? He was a soldier in Vietnam." Rory grimaced. "Sad, huh, that he'd end up like that."

  Gash's eyes were haunted as he studied the man, who lifted a hand and waved before he went back to his bagpiping. Cash waved back. "Too many veterans wind up like that," he commented quietly.

  "Not you," Rory said proudly.

  Cash smiled at him and ruffled his hair. "No. Not me. How about going to the Statue of Liberty? It's closed, so we can't go up in it, but we can see it. Are you game?"

  "Lead me to it!" Rory laughed.

  Cash took Tippy's slender hand and locked her fingers into his, noting their coldness and faint trembling. It was like electricity sparking between them. Tippy caught her breath audibly. She looked up with wide, fascinated eyes, feeling as if the ground had rocked under her feet. It was magic!

  He searched her eyes. "Lesson One, Page One, Hand-holding," he whispered as Rory paused to look in a store window. She laughed breathlessly. It sounded like silver bells.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE DAY SPENT SIGHTSEEING with Cash was, Tippy thought later, one of the best days of her

  entire life. He seemed to know New York like the back of his hand, and he enjoyed

  sharing little-known bits of history with Tippy and Rory.

  "How do you know so much about this place?" Rory wanted to know when they were back in Tippy's apartment that evening. "My best friend in basic training was from New York City," he confided. "He was a gold mine of information!" Tippy laughed. "I have a friend who's like that about Nassau," she said. "She's on a modeling trip now, to Russia, of all places."

  "What is she modeling?"

  Tippy gave him a mischievous look. "Swimsuits."

  "You're kidding!"

  "I'm not! The powers that be thought it would be sexy to have her pose with the Kremlin in the background, wearing fur boots and a fur coat."

  "She'll be pickled if she does that here, won't she?" he asked.

  "It's fake fur," she pointed out, laughing. "But it's very ex-pimsive fake fur, and it looks real."

  "How about a sandwich, Cash?" Rory called from the kitchen.

  "Not for me, thanks, Rory. I'm going back to my hotel to unwind," he added with a smile. "I had a great time today."

  "So did I, Cash," Rory said sincerely. "Are you coming back tomorrow?"

  "Are you?" Tippy echoed.

  He glanced from Rory's curious expression to Tippy's radiant one. "Why not?" he mused, smiling. "I can stand a tour of the museums if you can."

  "I love museums!" Rory enthused.

  "As long as I don't have to pose in one." Tippy sighed. "I have terrible emotional scars from posing with one leg up, leaning back, in front of a Rodin sculpture for four hours." "I wonder if it's the one I'm thinking of?" Cash drawled, chuckling when her

  cheeks went pink.

  "I'm sure it was one that contained totally clothed people," she lied.

  He shook his head. "You wish," he said. "What time do you people get up on a holiday week?"

  "Eight," Rory said.

  Tippy nodded. "We're not big on late nights around here. One of us is used to military routine, which begins at daylight, and the other one has to get up before daylight to work on films," she said, tongue in cheek.

  "Eight it is, then. I know where there's a bakery," he told them. "They have homemade cinnamon buns, bear claws, filled doughnuts..." "I can't have sweets," Rory replied sadly. He pointed at Tippy. "She has no willpower. If something sweet comes in the door, it will never leave." Tippy laughed delightedly. "He's right. I've spent most of my life fighting excess pounds. We have bacon and eggs for breakfast. Pure protein. No bread."

  "Shades of basic training." He sighed. "Okay. Can we have breakfast here? But you'd better make coffee," he added sternly. "I am not having breakfast without coffee, even if that means bringing it in a sippy cup."

  "A sippy cup?" Tippy teased.

  "I look sexy holding a sippy cup," he replied, and the smile on his lips was a genuine one. It had been a long time since he'd smiled at a woman and meant it. Well, except for Christabel Gaines. But she was married to his best friend now.

  "Well, I'm having a sandwich before I go to bed," Rory called. "Good night, Cash! See you tomorrow!"

  'That's a deal," Cash called back.

  He caught Tippy's soft hand in his and tugged her to the door with him. "I'll check and see if there's anything good at the opera or the ballet, if you'd like..."

  "I love either one," she exclaimed.

  "Symphony orchestras?" he asked, testing.

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  "I guess it won't kill me to wear a suit," he sighed.

  "You took Christabel Gaines to a ballet in Houston, I recall," she said, with just a hint of jealousy that she couldn't disguise.

  It surprised him. His dark eyes probed her light ones until she moved restlessly under the intensity of the gaze. "Christabel Dunn, these days. And, yes, I did. She'd never been to one in her life"

  "I thought she was a spoiled little princess," Tippy commented. "I was wrong all the way down the line. She's a very special woman. Judd's lucky."

  "Yes, he is," he had to agree. Christabel was still a sore spot with him. 'They dote on the twins." "Babies are nice," she said. "Rory was precious even at the age of four." She smiled wistfully. "Every day's an adventure with a child."

  "I wouldn't know."

  She looked up, surprised by the expression on his lean, hard face.

  He averted his eyes. "I've got to go. I'll see you in the morning."

  He let go of her hand and left her standing. She divined that something in his past had wounded him deeply, something to do with children. Judd had told her that he thought Cash had been married once, but no more than that. He was a puzzle. But he appealed to her in ways no other man ever had.

  CASH ARRIVED AT EIGHT SHARP the next morning, carrying a sil-vertone coffee holder in one

  hand and a paper sack in the other.

  "I made coffee," she said quickly.

  He lifted the holder. "Vanilla cappuccino," he said, waving it under her nose. "My

  only real weakness. Well, except for these," he waved the sack.

  "What's in there?" Tippy asked, following him to the breakfast table she'd already set,

  where Rory was waiting to start eating.

  "Cheese Danishes," he said. "Sorry. I can't give up sugar. I think it's one of the four

  major food groups, along with chocolate and ice cream and pizza."

  Rory burst out laughing. So did Tippy.

  "Amazing," she said, giving his powerful body a lingering

  scrutiny. "You don't look as if you've ever tasted fat or sugar in your life."

  "I work out every day," he confided. "I have to. Those uniforms are sewn on us,

  you know," he added deadpan, "to emphasize what nice muscles we have."

  Her eyes glanced off his biceps, very noticeable in the knit shirt he was wearing

  with dark slacks, as he swung his black leather jacket onto an easy chair on his way

  to the kitchen.

  "No comment?" he taunted.

  She sighed. "I was just noticing the muscles," she murmured dryly.

  Rory had excused himself to go to the bathroom. Cash caught Tippy's long skirt and

  pulled her close to his chair. "If you play your cards right, I just might take my shirt off for you one day," he purred.

  She didn't know whether to laugh or protest. He was so unpredictable.

  "Not right away, of course," he added. "I'm not that kind of man!"

  Now sh
e did laugh. Her eyes lit up, sparkling like emeralds. He grinned, too. "Here. Have a cheese Danish. I brought enough for all of us." She reached down into the bag, very aware of his dark eyes on her face. "Your skin is beautiful, even without makeup," he noted deeply. "It looks like silk."

  Her head turned. She met his eyes evenly and her heart jumped. He was very sexy.

  "What are you thinking?" he murmured.

  "I'll bet you know everything there is to know about women," she confessed huskily.

  His eyes narrowed. "And you know next to nothing about men."

  Her eyes misted. "I haven't wanted to," she said softly. Her gaze fell to his wide, chiseled mouth.

  "Careful," he said quietly. "I've kept to myself for a long time."

  "You wouldn't hurt me," she whispered daringly, meeting his searching gaze. "I wish...oh, I wish!"

  "You wish.. .what?" he prompted, his jaw clutching as the fragrance of her body drifted down into his nostrils. She was so close that he could see her heart beating at the neck of her blouse. He wanted to jerk her down into his arms and kiss her until her beautiful mouth began to swell.

  She was feeling the same hunger. She looked at his mouth and wondered how it would feel to kiss it intensely, the way she'd stage-kissed her fellow actor in the movie they'd made at the Dunn ranch. She could almost taste Cash's hard mouth. Her body felt swollen, achy. It was like a thirst that no water would ever be able to quench.

  Her breath caught noisily in her throat as her full lips parted. "I wish..."

  The sound of the toilet flushing broke them apart. She stood up, forgetting the Danish, and went to the sink to wash her hands because she needed something to still them.

  Rory came back, totally oblivious to what he'd interrupted, and helped himself to a Danish. After a minute, Tippy poured coffee for herself and orange juice for Rory, and sat down at the table as if nothing at all had happened.

  THEY WENT TO THE AMERICAN Museum of Natural History first, to see the renovated dinosaur exhibit on the fourth floor. There was a long line because of the special exhibits, one that included a film and a shop concerned only with Albert Einstein. They stood in line for over an hour before they were able to get their tickets.

  Rory went from one of the fossils to another, eagerly climbing a flight of stairs above the tallest skeleton so that he could look down on the massive shoulder blades and hip joints.

  "He loves dinosaurs," Tippy remarked, sauntering along beside Cash in her long green velvet skirt with boots and a white silk blouse under her black leather coat. Her hair was around her shoulders, and she was drawing attention from men as well as women, despite the very light touch of cosmetics she'd used.

  Beside her Cash felt a surge of pride in her company. She really was beautiful, he thought, and it had so little to do with surface appearance. She was pure gold inside, where it counted.

  "I like dinosaurs myself," he commented. "I was here several years ago, but I missed the dinosaurs because this exhibit was being reworked. They're impressive."

  She leaned closer to a sign to read it.

  "You aren't wearing your glasses," he remarked.

  She laughed self-consciously. "I'm a walking disaster when I have them on," she said dryly. "I clean them with whatever's handy. The lenses stay scratched, and I've already had them replaced twice."

  "They have new lenses that don't scratch easily," he pointed out.

  "Yes, that's the kind I got. Sadly, they aren't foolproof." She lifted a beautiful shoulder. "I wish I could wear contacts, but my eyes don't like them. I get infections."

  He reached out a big, lean hand and caught a strand of her hair in it, testing its softness and bringing her close up against him in the process. "Your hair is alive," he said quietly. "I've never seen this color look so natural."

  "It is natural," she replied, feeling her knees go shaky at the unexpected proximity. He smelled of cologne and soap—clean, attractive smells. Her hands rested on his shirt, feeling the warm muscle and the faint cushiony sensation of hair under her hands. She wanted to pull the shirt up and touch him there with a fervor that made her breath catch. She'd never felt desire so torrid in her life.

  "And nothing about you is artificial?" he probed.

  "Nothing physical," she agreed.

  His dark eyes searched her green ones for longer than he meant to. His face seemed to clench. She knew he could probably feel her heart racing. She couldn't help it. He was a particularly masculine man. Everything feminine inside her reacted to his touch. "I don't trust women."

  "You were married," she recalled.

  He nodded. His fingers curled around the strand of hair he was holding. His eyes were haunted. "I loved her. I thought she loved me." He laughed coldly. "She certainly loved what I could buy her."

  She felt cold chills run down her spine. "There's so much in your past that you don't talk about," she said softly. "You're very mysterious, in your way." 'Trust comes hard to me," he told her. "If people can get close to you, they can wound you."

  "And the answer is to keep everyone at arm's length?" she replied.

  "Don't you?" he shot back. "Except for Rory, and briefly Judd Dunn, I don't recall ever seeing you keeping company with anyone. Especially a man."

  She swallowed hard. "I have horrible memories of men. Except for Cullen, and there was no physical contact there. He liked women as friends, but found them physically repulsive."

  "Did you love him?"

  "In my way, I did," she said, surprising him. "He was one of two people in my entire

  life who were good to me without expecting anything in return." Her smile was

  cynical. "You can't imagine how many times you get propositioned in my line of

  work. It took years to perfect a line that worked."

  "You can't blame men for trying, Tippy," he said curtly. "You look like every man's dream of perfection." Her heart jumped. "Even yours?" she asked in a teasing tone. Except she wasn't teasing. She wanted him to want her. She'd never wanted anything so much. He let go of her hair. "I gave up women years ago."

  "Aren't you lonely?" she wanted to know.

  "Are you?" he retorted.

  She sighed, studying his strong features with a vague hunger. "I've got cold feet,"

  she said huskily. "Once or twice over the years I took a chance on someone who seemed nice. But nobody wanted to talk to me, to get to know me. They only wanted me in bed."

  His eyes narrowed. "Can you...?"

  Her gaze fell to his chest, where the muscles were outlined by the close fit of his knit shirt. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "I haven't...tried."

  "Do you want to?"

  She bit her lower lip and frowned, staring at the dinosaur without really seeing it. "I'm twenty-six years old. I don't risk my heart, and I'm happy enough. I have Rory and a career. I suppose I've got all I need."

  "It's a half life."

  "So is yours," she accused, looking up at him.

  "I have an even better reason than yours," he said coldly.

  "But you won't share it," she guessed. "You don't trust me enough."

  He rammed his hands into his slacks pockets and glared down at her. "I was married once, years ago. I was in love for the first time in my life and crazy to share everything with my wife. She'd just told me she was pregnant. I was over the moon. I wanted to tell her all about my life before I married her." His eyes grew cold. "So I did. She sat and listened. She was very calm. She didn't say a word. She just listened, as if she understood. She was a little pale, but that wasn't surprising. I did horrible things in my line of work. Really terrible." He turned away from her. "I had to go out of town on business for a few days. She saw me off very naturally, no fuss. I came back with little presents for her and something for the baby, even though she was only a few weeks along. She met me at the door with her suitcases."

  He leaned forward against the banister. He didn't look at her while he spoke. "She told me that she'd gone to a clinic while I
was away. She'd seen a lawyer, too. Just before she walked out the door, she told me that she wasn't bringing the child of a cold-blooded killer into the world."

  Tippy had thought there was something traumatic in his past, besides his work. Now she understood what it was. The hunger he displayed for Judd and Christabel's twins made sense now. She could almost feel his pain, as if it were her own. She was deeply flattered that he trusted her with something so intimate.