Rebel Waltz

by Kay Hooper

  Incredibly, impossibly, the Cid's front hooves touched the bank and dug in. He stumbled as his speed caused him to lurch forward, but Banner's quick hands on the reins held his head up until his hind legs were under him and he was balanced again. It was the last thing she was able to do before her own slipping balance and the horse's second lurch forward unseated her.

  Deliberately disobeying the first rule of riding, she dropped the reins, then let herself fall. Like an expert tumbler, she rolled as she touched the ground, cushioned by the thick meadow grass, unhurt. And she sat up instantly, her heart in her throat for a second time as she remembered the pounding hooves only strides behind.

  Shadow was little more than his name as he hurtled over the fence; the moonlight that had etched the Cid's black form only turned the gray horse indistinct and eerily unreal. But however dissimilar they were in color, the blood they shared, told that night. Rory's mount took wing just as Banner's had, stretching in midair and then clawing for that vital bank. And he made it.

  Rory was slowing the gray and sliding off in the same motion, leaving the horse to go wherever it would as he hurried to Banner's side. He dropped to his knees, filled with anxiety, his hands finding her shoulders.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded roughly.

  “Yes. Yes. I'm fine.” Her voice was shaking, and she wasn't surprised by that; the rest of her was shaking too.

  He eased back on his heels, but didn't release her. “Just an easy middle-of-the-night ride, huh?” he asked wryly.

  “Seemed like the thing to do,” she managed to say. “At the time.”

  Rory glanced over at the jump they'd both just taken, then went very still. Obviously, he'd had no time to realize what had happened. In an extremely careful voice, he said, “Is that what we just jumped?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He turned his gaze back to her, gray eyes glittering in the moonlight. Then he shook her. Hard.

  “What possessed you,” he gritted out, furious, “to risk a jump like that? Bareback, the dead of night, after a three-mile race at a gallop—you could have been killed!”

  This last roar caused Banner to wince, but she wasn't at all resentful of his rage. She could hear fear for her as well as anger in his voice, and wondered amusedly when he'd realize that he had taken the same jump and the same risks— even more so, since he hadn't been familiar with them, as she had.

  A bit breathlessly, she managed to answer, “Better ask what possessed the Cid; he was running wild.”

  “That brute's going to get you killed!”

  “It was the first time he ever disobeyed me—”

  “Once is all it takes, Banner.”

  She sighed. “It was my own fault. I encouraged him to run flat-out.”

  “Why?” Rory demanded wrathfully. “And why didn't you answer when I called out to you?”

  Banner gave herself a moment to think as she glanced toward the horses, noting that they were grazing calmly only a few yards away. “I don't know,” she said finally, looking back at him. “I guess… I went a little crazy, like the Cid. I wanted to—to run.”

  “From what?” His voice was suddenly quiet.

  “Do you have to ask?”

  “I asked you to trust me,” he reminded.

  “I know you did.”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “I saw the painting.”

  Banner said nothing.

  His hands tightened on her shoulders. “It's beautiful—perfect. But it isn't good-bye, Banner.”

  For the first time, she pushed his hands away from her. Getting to her feet, she walked over to her horse and patted his damp neck before unbuckling and removing his bridle. “Grass instead of your stable tonight, boy,” she murmured. “You've earned it.” To Rory she said only, “We ran in a circle. Ironic, huh?”

  “Banner—”

  “We can leave them here in the meadow for the night; Scottie'll see them in the morning, since the stables are just over there. I'm… going back to the cottage for a while.” She didn't wait for him, but tossed the bridle over her shoulder and struck out across the meadow toward the woods.

  He caught up with her quickly, carrying his own bridle. “Banner, we have to talk.”

  She kept walking, silently passing through the gate he opened, then following the path leading toward the cottage. She said nothing until lighted windows came into view, then spoke softly without looking at him.

  “What's there to talk about, Rory? That's what I faced tonight, what I was trying to run from.”

  He waited until they were inside the cottage, watched while she hung both bridles on pegs by the closed door, before he said, “That's it, then? There's nothing else to say?”

  Banner felt tension steal through her at his flat, strained tone. Not looking at him, she went over to stand before the easels. “Nothing.”

  “Can't you trust me not to hurt you?” Rory wanted to tell her that she'd be able to keep her home, but since art was something no one could be certain of—public acceptance being a fickle beast—he wasn't about to get her hopes up. And his inability to ease her mind tortured him. “Banner, I love you. Believe that.”

  Banner turned slowly to face him. Vaguely, she was aware that the night's wild, dangerous ride had left tendrils of recklessness in her, but she didn't care right then. “It doesn't change anything. I told you that.” A part of her, an ancient, feline part of her, watched intently, waiting. “There's no use pretending anymore, Rory.”

  “I haven't been pretending,” he gritted out.

  “I have.” She stared at him. “Just like in your favorite book; I keep pretending I'll think about it tomorrow.”

  He stepped toward her, face taut. “Banner—”

  “But tomorrow's here.” She gestured jerkily over her shoulder at the image of Jasmine Hall behind her. “Tomorrow's that painting.”

  One long stride brought him to her, and his hands went to her waist, hauling her against him. “I won't let you throw us away,” he muttered against her lips. Then he was kissing her hungrily, all the pent-up frustration of two weeks driving him.

  Banner didn't even bother to hide her exultation. Her arms lifted to slide round his neck and she rose on her toes to fit herself more fully against him; recklessness held her as firmly as he did, recklessness and a desire she wasn't about to fight—or let him fight. She wanted no reminders about her Tara. She didn't want to wait for some vaguely promised tomorrow when everything would be all right. She wanted him, and saw no reason to pretend about that.

  He tore his mouth from hers. “Banner—”

  “I love you,” she whispered, pulling his head back down, kissing him fiercely.

  A groan rumbled from deep in his chest as Rory's mouth slanted across hers, deepening the kiss until it was a literal act of possession. Smoldering desire flared to new life, fed by her fiery response, until there was no possibility of restraint.

  He lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the bedroom, where a shaft of light from the studio illuminated the bed and left all else in shadow. Setting her gently on her feet beside the bed, he framed her face in his hands for a long moment, gazing down at her. Raggedly, he accused, “Dammit, you planned this.”

  “A gentleman wouldn't notice that,” she murmured huskily, her own hands lifting to cope with the buttons of his shirt.

  Rory's laugh was half groan, but his fingers were no less eager than hers when they trailed down the V neckline of her summer blouse. “You're no lady, milady,” he teased, his lips feathering along her jawline and down to her throat.

  “Right now, I don't want to be a lady,” she breathed.

  Shirt and blouse dropped to the floor, shoes and jeans were kicked aside, unimportant and forgotten. Underthings were smoothed away by eager, impatient hands, until they stood with no barriers between them.

  She looked at him in wonder, sudden heat blooming somewhere deep inside of her and spreading rapidly all through her body. He was so beautiful it made her
throat ache, and the emotion in his eyes as he gazed at her own body made her feel more beautiful than she knew herself to be.

  He caught his breath harshly, drawing her fully against him for a tantalizing moment before bending to strip back the covers of the bed, then lifting her onto it.

  Banner stretched out her arms to him as he came down on the bed with her, her breathing quick and shallow, her body trembling. Her fingers tangled in his hair when his lips lowered to hers, and the touch of him fueled her hunger until she was dizzy with it.

  Rory held her restless body still as he lay half over her. He kissed her closed eyes, her brow, her cheeks, pressed long, drugging kisses to her trembling lips. Though his own body was taut and fever-hot, he seemed determined to torment them both. Slowly, lazily, as if they had all the time in the world, he learned her body. Hands molded and shaped quivering flesh, lips explored with tender, sensitive hunger.

  Desire coiled tighter and tighter within Banner, becoming a consuming need that ran molten fire through her veins. A hollow agony grew in her middle, expanded, filled her whole being. Heat suffused her skin, and her hands gripped his shoulders with white- knuckled tension. His seeking touch probed erotically and tore a moan from the depths of her throat as she moved with restless impatience.

  “Rory…”

  “God, I need you,” he groaned hoarsely, moving over her, gazing down on her with hot, liquid eyes. He kissed her deeply, tenderly, then raised his head to look at her taut, seeking face. “And I love you,” he whispered, moving with gentle care.

  Banner caught her breath, surprise and wonder widening her eyes. Her arms tightened around his neck in instinctive possessiveness. A part of her was suddenly unleashed and out of control, a wild, primal cave- woman exultant in the certainty of being loved by her man. She caught him within her fiercely, trapping them both in a fiery union that threatened to consume them.

  Smooth rhythm quickened, desperately hurried by need. Breathing caught and jerked convulsively as feverish bodies drove themselves on a reckless flight toward satisfaction. Hearts pounded frantically within their living cages, and two voices were barely human as they cried out words of love …

  Banner refused to let him leave her, murmuring a soft plea before he could do more than begin to shift his weight.

  “I'm too heavy,” he whispered against her throat.

  “No.” Languidly, her fingers explored the sharply defined muscles of his damp back and shoulders. She watched the light from the main room glimmer on his bronze flesh, and not even the faintest tinge of regret disturbed her contentment.

  Rory sighed, his breath warm on her. “You're so tiny, milady. I'm afraid I'll hurt you.”

  “No.” She touched his cheek as he lifted his head, smiling into his arresting gray eyes. “No, you won't hurt me.”

  He knew what she was saying, and he had to swallow before he could manage a light tone. “If I'd known what'd change your mind, I wouldn't have been so damned patient all this time.”

  She was still smiling, a curiously mysterious, feline smile. “I changed my mind before we ever got back here to the studio,” she murmured.

  “What did make you change?”

  “Seeing you take that jump.” Her smile faded, replaced by remembered anxiety. “I could have lost you, you know. I've seen horses go down on easier jumps. When Shadow landed safely I… I just knew I had to take the chance.”

  “You trust me,” he said, his voice and expression full of wonder.

  She pulled his head down to kiss him lovingly. “Of course I trust you, idiot,” she murmured against his lips.

  Rory lifted his head suddenly, a martial light growing in his eyes. “Wait a minute, now. If you felt that way before we came back here…”

  “Mmmm?” Banner decided that she most definitely liked the taste of his skin.

  “Then what the hell was the meaning of all that malarkey?”

  “Malarkey?” She was mildly offended. “That was no malarkey. I meant every single word I said.”

  Frowning, Rory concentrated for a moment, then realized that everything she'd said could have been taken in a way other than he'd taken it. “Well, the way you said it was malarkey,” he accused sternly.

  “Oh, no, it wasn't.” She brushed a lock of thick blond hair away from his brow and smiled gently. “And you half-guessed that yourself. It was a very careful, if spur-of-the- moment, plan.”

  “You little witch!” he said blankly.

  Banner took that as a compliment. “Well, you were so busy being noble all over the place that I had to do something. And it worked nicely, don't you think?”

  “It worked.” He stared down at her with a mock frown. “Although I'm not too sure I care for being manipulated.”

  “Better get used to it,” she warned serenely. “Southern ladies are famous—or should I say infamous?—for it. Remember your favorite heroine?”

  “What've I let myself in for?”

  She let her nails move slowly across his back and murmured, “I really couldn't say.”

  Rory shuddered, and his voice had hoarsened when he spoke. “I'm not so sure myself. But I think—I know—I'm going to enjoy every minute of it.” And his mouth hungrily found her smiling lips.

  EIGHT

  “ONE OF US,” Rory murmured sometime later, “should go and turn off that light.”

  “You're elected.”

  They were lying close together, with only a sheet covering them, and the light from the main room bathed the bed in brightness.

  “I,” he responded politely, “couldn't move if the place were on fire.”

  She giggled. “Likewise, I'm sure.”

  “I don't suppose it'd hurt anything to leave it on?”

  “I doubt it.” She was silent for a moment, then asked curiously, “What brought you out here tonight?”

  “I… couldn't sleep.”

  Hearing the faint note of discomfort in his voice, Banner raised herself on her elbow and stared at him. “Rory?”

  He avoided her eyes for a moment, then sighed ruefully. “Well, hell. They're your ghosts, after all.”

  She blinked. “Ghosts brought you out here?”

  “Literally.” He managed to keep his voice light as he told her about why he'd left his room in the middle of the night, finishing with, “When I saw the painting, then heard a horse and went out to see you tearing across the field—well, I didn't stop to think.” He touched her cheek gently. “I suppose they … thought you needed me.”

  “They were right. I did.” She gazed at him gravely. “When I saw what I'd painted, I thought—it's over… and I ran.”

  “And now?” he asked softly.

  “You tell me.”

  He frowned just a little. “Could you… live here with me? No matter who owned the Hall?”

  “Yes.” Then, honestly, she added, “But I think I'd always feel that I let the family down somehow. Oh, it isn't logical, I know. But I can't help believing that I should be able to save the Hall myself. I can't help feeling that, Rory. I want to be able to say it doesn't matter, but I can't.”

  Quietly, he replied, “You said you trusted me not to hurt you.”

  “And I meant that.”

  “But I'll hurt you if I take the Hall.”

  Banner tried to work it through in her own mind, then realized abruptly why that was impossible. Because the question was no longer a matter of thinking… it was a matter of feeling. Every instinct she possessed told her that though Rory now held the power to hurt her in many ways, taking the Hall from her was no longer one of them.

  She didn't know why. Perhaps because she believed he loved the Hall almost as much as he loved her. And that was really all that mattered.

  “No, you won't.” Banner smiled at him. “Not if we live here together. Not if we work together to preserve the Hall. And not as long as you know that you're more important to me than it is.”

  Rory caught his breath, then pulled her head down and kissed her fiercely.
“I didn't hope for that,” he murmured against her lips. “The Hall's in your blood.”

  “So are you,” she whispered achingly. “So are you.”

  The light in the main room went out just then, leaving only the moon's glow to brighten the bedroom.

  “Power failure?” Rory ventured cautiously.

  Banner rested her cheek against his chest, smiling. “Somehow… I don't think so.”

  “Well,” he said after a moment, philosophically, “at least the ghosts of Jasmine Hall are helpful spirits.”

  Giggling, Banner relaxed completely in his arms and allowed sleep to float her away.

  She woke to the appetizing aroma of bacon and coffee, and lay there with her eyes closed for a moment, frowning. She couldn't, she thought uneasily, be smelling bacon if she were in the cottage, because there was no kitchen.

  Had she dreamed last night?

  Then warm hands surrounded her face, and she looked up into smiling gray eyes. “Good morning, milady,” he murmured, kissing her gently.

  “ ‘Morning.” She was immensely relieved, but confused as she took a good look at him. “You're dressed.”

  “Only because I had to go get breakfast,” he explained, bending down as he sat on the edge of the bed, and retrieving a huge, heavily loaded tray from the floor.

  Banner sat up with a laugh, tucking the sheet underneath her arms. “You got enough to feed an army. I know you didn't fix all this yourself!”

  “I sweet-talked the cook,” he said disarmingly.

  “And then met Jake in the small dining room on my way out.”

  “Oh, great. I'll never hear the end of it.”

  “Nonsense. He was a perfect gentleman about the situation.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. He said he was going to go find his shotgun.”

  She chuckled in spite of herself. “To which you replied—?”

  “I pleaded moonlight and a Southern hussy as extenuating circumstances.”

  “I'm sure he appreciated that.”

  “Completely. He said blood would tell. He meant yours, I gather.”