Western Man

by Janet Dailey

  “Where are you going?” His calloused fingers made a rough band around her wrist to detain her.

  The warmth and strength of his hand seemed to flow into her veins. Sharon tried to react calmly to his hold, so that her pulse wouldn’t leap against his thumb.

  “I still haven’t made my bed or straightened the house,” she said. “And I need to find something to fix for your lunch.”

  “Stay here and keep me company,” Ridge urged with a persuasive gleam in his lazy blue eyes.

  When he was in this sexily cajoling mood, his male charm could be a potent thing. She felt its caressing tug on her emotions and shook her head in wary resistance.

  “I’m here to take care of you, Ridge, not to keep you entertained,” she countered smoothly, but his grip only tightened when she tried to pull her hand away.

  The glint in his eye became more challenging and seductive, a kind of dare in its mocking depths. “I promised to stay in bed and rest, but only if you promised to stay with me.” The pressure of his grip pulled her closer to the bed until she was awkwardly unbalanced, with her knees butting against the mattress while she leaned over it.

  “You did no such thing,” Sharon protested and tried to brace herself to keep from being pulled further by stretching her free hand on the mattress.

  Ridge caught it, too, and held both wrists captive. It was too soon after bathing him to be this close. She’d barely had time to calm her hotly disturbed senses. Now the fresh scent of soap clinging to his bare skin was igniting them all over again.

  “Sleeping alone is one thing,” Ridge drawled. “But I’m not used to lying alone in a bed during the daytime. It isn’t natural.”

  Needing leverage to combat the steady pull of his hands, Sharon put a knee on the mattress, but that left her with only one foot on the floor to act as an anchor. Before she could set herself to tug against his pulling hands, Ridge was dragging her across him.

  “Be careful,” she gasped, suddenly more worried about falling on his injured middle than she was about being hauled into the bed. “You’re going to get hurt again.”

  “Not if you pay attention,” he taunted and helped her climb over him to the wider side of the bed.

  As soon as she was clear of him, she tumbled in an ungainly sprawl onto the mattress beside him. For several seconds, she lay there, vaguely irritated because she knew she hadn’t struggled very hard to avoid this. It was no use pretending that she hadn’t fought harder because she was afraid of hurting him. That was just a handy excuse.

  The mattress moved under his shifting weight. Sharon turned her head to look at him warily, one wrist still shackled by his encircling grip. He had slid off the pillows and was now stretched alongside her, half turned, with his dark head supported by a bent arm. The glinting caress of his mocking blue eyes tightened her stomach.

  “This is ridiculous.” Her protest was hardly more than a husky murmur. “I have work to do.”

  “You’re here at Latigo to take care of me, not to make beds or clean house.” Ridge let go of her wrist, but she wasn’t free of his touch as his hand moved to the side of her neck. His fingers were gentle and caressing while his thumb lightly stroked the curve of her throat. “Taking care of me is a full-time job.”

  A sweet tightness of tormenting misery welled in her throat at his comment, choking off her voice. It was a full-time job she wanted desperately—all over again. She hadn’t learned a thing. Her adolescent crush had grown into love. It wasn’t that Ridge had the power to disturb her so completely. It was the love she felt for him that gave him that power.

  From experience, Sharon knew that Ridge didn’t love women. He made love to them, but there was never any emotional commitment behind it. Knowing that, she had to guard against ruining her life over him a second time.

  Bending his head he nuzzled her lips, reveling in their softness before settling firmly onto them. The slow and heady kiss dragged a response from inside her. She returned the slow, sensual movement of his mouth against hers. The sweet intensity of her pleasure bordered on pain, but she managed to suppress most of her longing.

  Momentarily satisfied with the response to his first intimate foray, Ridge drew back to study her through half-closed eyes. Sharon tried to show no reaction as his fingertips explored her features, spending a lot of time around her mouth.

  “Ridge, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Sharon attempted to reason with him. “You’re supposed to rest and take it easy.”

  His mouth came back to make another claim on her lips, while her pulse skyrocketed at his seductive insinuation. Her hands moved tentatively to the top of his chest and the hard bones of his shoulder. Their contact with his flesh was limited by his injuries, as Sharon subconsciously avoided aggravating his soreness. His strongly stimulating kiss was skillfully drawing out her responsiveness, not letting her contain it.

  The roaming caress of his hand had moved down to the back of her hip, gently applying pressure to urge her closer. In absent compliance, Sharon shifted nearer until she came up against the barrier of his long legs. She became conscious of a new assault as the solid outline of his muscular thighs became imprinted on her legs and the heat of his body burned through her clothes.

  As his mouth followed a slow, wandering trail across her cheek to her ear, her self-control became undermined by the eroding force of her desire. His warm breath was a sexual stimulus to the sensitive opening of her ear, sending excited quivers over her skin. Sharon sunk her teeth into the soft inside of her lower lip, biting back the moan that rose in her throat.

  His fingers pushed the collar of her blouse away from her neck as his warm lips moistly nuzzled the pulsing cord. She struggled to surface from this whirlpool of raw sensation when his hand continued down her blouse collar until it encountered the first button. She felt his fingers working to loosen it and brought her hand down on his wrist.

  “You are really into children’s games this morning, aren’t you?” The pitch of her voice was husky and disturbed as she challenged him.

  “Why?” He was distracted from his nuzzling study of her throat long enough to look at her, most of his interest centering on her lips.

  “Isn’t this a version of ‘Button, button, who’s got the button’?” she accused on a breathless note, her hand tightening on his wrist even as the first button was slipped free of its buttonhole.

  His Up corners were tugged upward. “Ah, but it’s the adult version,” Ridge informed her with dryly mocking amusement, and bent his head again to her neck. His fingers were already moving on to the next button in line.

  Sharon let go of his wrist and tried to get in the way of his hand. “Will you stop unbuttoning my blouse?” There was a tinge of desperation in the exasperated tone of her protest.

  “I’d be happy to,” he murmured against the throbbing pulse in her neck, “if you’ll tell me some other way to get the thing off.”

  Her breathing became agitated and deep as she tried to interfere with his deftly working fingers. Suddenly, something in their actions reminded her of the handslap game she’d played as a child. The situation struck her funny and laughter bubbled in her throat, venting some of the sexual tension that had brought her nerves to a state of panic.

  The laughter tumbled helplessly from her, turning her weak. Confused, Ridge lifted his head to gaze at her, the blue of his eyes reflecting some of the amusement that had her in its throes.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “Doesn’t this remind you of two kids playing that handslap game?” Suppressed and breathless laughter was in her voice as she sought to share her humor with him.

  Giving in to the laughter had been a grave mistake, a fact Sharon discovered when she felt the warm sensation of his hand gliding under the material of her blouse and onto her ribcage below the underswell of her breast. While she was laughing, he had finished unbuttoning her blouse. There was nothing funny about the situation anymore. It was purely erotic, made even more so by the lus
ting desire in his lazy eyes.

  “Damn you, Ridge Halliday.” Her voice trembled in disturbed reaction. “You don’t play fair.”

  “How the hell do you think I win all the time?” he taunted softly and leaned to bury her lips with the hard pressure of his kiss while his hand cupped itself to the taut underside of her breast.

  She was lost in a mindless blur of sensation that swept her deeper and deeper into his embrace. The smell of his skin and the hot taste of his tongue were aphrodisiacs to her senses. Her restless hands were fascinated with the hard sinew and bone of his naked shoulders, his flesh warm and vital to her touch, the elasticized band around his ribs always reminding her of his injuries.

  Caught between conflicting needs, Sharon felt hopelessly torn. The instinct of self-preservation insisted she must stop this before it went any further, but his warm lips were already nuzzling the valley between her breasts, then mounting a slope to encircle its pointed peak. With deliberate thoroughness, Ridge was conquering her body one area at a time. The part of her that loved him was willing to concede the battle.

  Slowly he began to backtrack to her throat and neck, his body shifting slightly away from her. At first, Sharon didn’t understand his intention until her stomach muscles contracted under the touch of his hand as it moved to the waistband of her jeans. There was a wild fluttering in the pit of her stomach, raw longing rushing intensely through her.

  “Ridge—” The sane half of her that wanted to protect her from future hurt attempted a protest.

  “You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?” His teeth gently tugged at the lobe of her ear.

  “Yes,” she admitted with groaning reluctance.

  “We can fool around like this all day,” he murmured with suggestive promise.

  It was a poor choice of words, but she was ultimately glad he’d used them, because they swayed her out of her indecision. She rolled away from him, taking advantage of the soreness that didn’t permit him to move swiftly, and swung off the bed. Sharon heard his muffled grunt of pain when he tried to follow her, but she didn’t turn around as she hurriedly, though shakily, rebut-toned her blouse.

  “What are you doing?” Ridge finally asked after he’d gotten his breath back from that shafting pain.

  “I told you I have work to do,” she stiffly reminded him.

  He didn’t accept that explanation. “Come back here and tell me what happened.” The invitation was lazily offered.

  “No.” She could feel his eyes on her.

  “Why?” he countered smoothly.

  Swiveling at her hips, Sharon half-turned to meet his steady gaze. Hard determination burned cold in her hazel eyes, able to look at him impassively.

  “Maybe I don’t want to be the one who winds up being the fool when you’re through fooling around,” she stated in a hard, flat voice.

  She saw the brief, upward flick of his eyebrow and the subsequent narrowing of his eyes as he reassessed her. At the moment she didn’t care what lay behind those solid features or his silence. She left the room while she had the chance.

  Chapter Eight

  It seemed she was going in and out of his room all day long. Everytime she turned around, Ridge was impatiently calling for her. Sometimes it was for something as trivial as emptying his ashtray, sometimes he wanted a cup of coffee or to complain that the radio was still too loud and keeping him from taking a nap. Naturally, an hour later he wanted the radio turned up.

  Late in the afternoon, he relented and took a pain pill. Sharon was able to fix supper without any interruption from him. When she carried the tray into his room she caught him out of bed. Although Sharon couldn’t say that she had gotten used to seeing him lying half-naked in the bed, partially covered with a sheet, it was certainly more unnerving to see his long, lean body out of the bed, clad only in a thin pair of soft cotton jockey shorts. Anger seemed the best way to cover up the effect he was having on her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded as she watched him moving gingerly across the room to the bed. “I thought I told you to stay in bed. What are you doing out of it?”

  “I had to use the bathroom. Somehow, I just didn’t think you’d want to lend your assistance in that department,” he shot back in faintly taunting sarcasm.

  Sharon flushed darkly and continued into the room, averting her gaze while he managed to climb into bed on his own. “I could have helped you to the door and back,” she insisted stiffly.

  He had noticed the high points of color in her cheeks and smiled in satisfaction. “Your poise is slipping, nurse,” he mocked. “Remember, you have a brother, so a man’s anatomy isn’t likely to embarrass you.”

  There was no response for that, but she tried. “Maybe I was more embarrassed by my imagination than by your body?” Sharon suggested coolly and set the tray on his lap. “Eat your supper.”

  When she started to turn away from the bed, his hand lightly touched her arm. “Sharon, I’m sorry.” It was a low, rough apology, offered reluctantly, as usual. Ridge sighed heavily. “Hell, I’m bored and miserable—and I’m just taking it out on you because you happen to be on the spot.” She could understand that even if it wasn’t an adequate excuse. “Will you bring your food in here and eat with me?”

  His drawling appeal for her company was very tempting. Against her better judgement, Sharon found herself agreeing.

  It turned out to be a very companionable meal without a lot of conversation. Ridge seemed to be on his best behavior, not needling her with any of his bold remarks. It was as if they were back on a friendly footing, although Sharon knew it would take only one misstep for everything to go haywire.

  While she was washing the dishes, her parents came by to see how Ridge was doing and whether there was anything Sharon needed. She had written out a short grocery list of soft foods to fix for Ridge, which she went over with her mother.

  “While you’re in town, would you buy him a pair of pajamas and a robe?” Sharon added. “He doesn’t own any.”

  “His lack of proper attire is slightly indecent—or so your father thought,” her mother laughed softly. “Of course, he thought that only because you’re here taking care of Ridge.”

  “Sharon!!” Her name was shouted from the bedroom, the voice unmistakably belonging to Ridge.

  “What?!!” she hollered back, then said to her mother in an aside, “I’ve learned to shout first. That way I don’t have to walk back to get whatever it is that he wants.”

  “We need some coffee!!” came the answer.

  “Coming!!” She reached for the coffeepot and glanced wryly at her mother. “I haven’t decided whether he simply enjoys having me at his beck and call or if he’s only trying to get back at me because I made him stay in bed all day.”

  “It’s probably a combination,” her mother replied wisely.

  It was late in the evening before her parents left. Her father stayed in the bedroom and talked ranching with Ridge while Sharon and her mother sat in the kitchen. Naturally, she found herself hopping up about every fifteen minutes to fetch something for Ridge.

  When she said goodbye to her parents at the door and watched them walk to their pickup truck, it left her with an odd feeling. It was as if this house was her home—where she lived with Ridge on a permanent basis. She closed the door and looked slowly around at the walls and ceilings with a sense of belonging.

  “Stop dreaming, girl,” she mentally gave herself a hard shake. She paused at Ridge’s door long enough to tell him goodnight and then went on to bed.

  As she lay awake in the melancholy darkness of her room, Sharon wished Ridge had been made differently. He was one of the Western breed, not exactly a rare type of man, because she’d met a few others who shared his characteristics. Cowboying and ranching were their life, and there wasn’t any room for a wife and family. They enjoyed women and a wild time, but that was about the only role a female played in their lives.

  Rolling over, she shut her eyes tightly and wondered wh
y she had to fall in love with a man with lazy blue eyes who wouldn’t settle down. It wasn’t fair, not when she’d come so close to getting over him.

  The second day was practically a repetition of the day before, except that Sharon suggested that Ridge do his own bathing and there wasn’t any tussle in bed. Other than that, she insisted that he spend most of the day in bed, and Ridge found a hundred reasons to call her into the room, fetching and doing things for him. Her mother stopped by in the afternoon with the groceries Sharon had wanted, plus the pajamas and robe. Sharon delayed giving the latter two to Ridge until the next morning.

  When Sharon carried in his breakfast tray, Ridge was ready to do battle. There was a hard gleam in his eye as she approached the bed. She was reminded of a range stallion, penned for the first time in his life.

  “I’m not staying in bed today,” he announced. “If I don’t start moving around, I’ll be so stove up I won’t be able to move.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” she said, taking him by surprise when she didn’t argue with him.

  While he was eating breakfast, Sharon went into her room and got the package containing the new pajamas and robe. She carried it into his bedroom and laid it on the sheet beside him.

  “What’s that?” Ridge glanced at her suspiciously.

  “It’s kind of a get-well present,” she shrugged.

  There was a smile in her hazel eyes as she watched him open it. The pajamas were on top, a deep blue cotton trimmed in a lighter, sky-blue shade. He held them up, chuckling in his throat, and slid her a sparkling blue glance.

  “No doubt I’m expected to model these,” he said, lifting out the matching robe.

  “Indeed you are.” She smiled back. “But that can wait until after you finish your breakfast.”

  “Tomorrow morning it’s back to bacon and eggs,” Ridge decreed as he looked at the bowl of cream of wheat with distaste.

  “We’ll see,” was the only comment Sharon made before leaving him to eat the rest of his breakfast.