by Lisa Jackson
“Sweet Jesus,” he murmured just as his mouth closed over her breast, suckling gently, teasing with his teeth, leaving a wet brand against the patterned lace.
Tessa’s fingers dug into his shoulders, past his shirt, deep into the corded muscles hidden by rough cotton. “Denver, please—” she cried, trying to tame the desire running like a swollen river out of control. A small needle of pride pierced the rapturous splendor fogging her mind. Don’t let him hurt you again! This time you may never get over him.
“Please—what?”
She struggled with the words clogging her throat. “Please, stop,” she begged, her voice hoarse and rough. “For God’s sake, don’t do this to me!”
His head snapped up, and the hand at her back dropped so quickly that she landed on her rear near a puddle. His face was white and lined, his eyes smoldering hot and blue. “Don’t do this to you?” he choked out, wiping a shaking hand across his mouth as if her kiss revolted him. “Don’t do this to you? Oh, Tessa, if you only knew!”
Without another word, he vaulted the fence, landed on his feet on the other side and, hands thrust deep in his pockets, strode toward the house.
“Bastard,” she hissed, though the delicious salty taste of him lingered provocatively against her lips. A small part of her had hoped that he couldn’t stop, that he had been as caught in that roiling river of passion as she had been. But she’d been wrong. She was just a distraction for him. Whatever he’d felt for her had died long ago, and she had no recourse but to face it.
She buttoned her blouse, and her fingers grazed the tender skin of her breasts, still moist where he had so recently suckled. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she pushed them back. Standing, she dusted off her rump, squared her shoulders and shoved aside any trace of sadness. It won’t happen again, she told herself. She wouldn’t let Denver McLean tromp all over her pride again!
* * *
Denver shoved the back door open so hard that it banged against the wall.
“What in the world?” Milly asked, nearly jumping out of her skin. She was pulling a chocolate cake from the oven. “Mr. McLean, is everything all right?”
“Just fine,” he snapped, his black brows pulled together in a single line of frustration. “And call me Denver.”
“All right,” she said nervously. “Will you be eating with us in the dining room?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But you didn’t take time off for lunch,” she pointed out, her lips pursing.
“I had a big breakfast.”
“Did you, now?”
He didn’t bother to answer her. With long strides he headed straight for the den and closed the door behind him. The sooner he dug through the mounds of paperwork on this damned ranch, the sooner he could take off for Los Angeles and the sooner he would leave Tessa to rot here if she wanted to!
Furious with himself and his stupid impulse to kiss her, he shoved his hand through his rumpled hair and was disgusted to find that his fingers were trembling. So that’s how he reacted to her!
“Bah!” Grimacing, he dropped into the chair and stared at that damned, traitorous hand. He noticed the scars running across his skin, remnants from the fire.
“Damn it all to hell,” he swore, thinking of the bottle of Scotch in the desk. He reached for the handle of the second drawer and pulled hard. There it was—half full, amber liquid sloshing against the clear glass.
But he slammed the door shut again. Alcohol was no answer to what ailed him. He needed a woman. And not just any woman. His blood ran hot, desire burning feverishly for just one woman—Tessa.
No, Scotch would dull his mind, but it wouldn’t stop the burning ache that scorched through his brain and settled uncomfortably in his loins.
He shifted, painfully aware of the bulge straining against his jeans. His only relief would come from lying with Tessa again and making love to her. But he wouldn’t succumb. Making love to Tessa was the one pleasure he would deny himself, no matter what the cost!
Chapter Four
The next four days were torture. Tessa avoided Denver like the proverbial plague, and fortunately he left her alone. The kiss they’d shared beneath the oaks had charged the air between them—changed the complexion of their relationship, igniting old emotions that should have long ago smoldered into ash.
“You’re a coward,” she told herself, glancing into the rearview mirror as the old Ford bounced down the lane. She and Denver had studiously avoided crossing paths, even missing each other at dinner. Most of the time he was holed up in the study, and Tessa kept herself busy outside. At night, she found excuses to go into town, only to return late and wonder where Denver was.
Not that she cared, she told herself as she parked the truck near the barn and switched off the ignition. She glanced at the house and sighed. Sooner or later, she’d have to face Denver again. If only he’d just pack up and leave, she thought angrily as she climbed out of the cab and glanced at the hazy sky. Tattered clouds floated high above the valley, and insects thrummed in the lazy afternoon. Overhead, swallows cried and vied for positions under the eaves of the barn.
Tonight, Tessa decided as she yanked open the barn door, she would talk to Denver and make a formal offer on the ranch.
She snapped on the lights then marched to the oat bin. Running her fingers through the grain, she didn’t hear the door open again.
“Looks like the rats are havin’ themselves a feast,” her father said. He surveyed the bin with a practiced eye. “Maybe we should get another cat. Marsha doesn’t seem to be doin’ her job.”
“Marsha’s busy with four kittens,” Tessa replied. The old calico had delivered her litter three weeks before. Hidden beneath the floorboards of the barn, the little kittens mewed softly. Even now, Tessa could hear their worried cries.
“Still—a good mouser is a good mouser.”
“Tell Marsha that the next time you see her.”
“Don’t think I won’t.” He sat heavily down on an overturned barrel. “Denver cornered me today.”
“Did he?” Tessa didn’t look up. As if she had no interest in Denver whatsoever, she fixed her gaze on the dusty seeds running through her fingers. “What did he want?”
“The same old thing. I swear that man’s a broken record.” He shook out a cigarette and thumped it on the barrelhead. “He seems to think there’s some reason this place has lost money—something more than what we’ve told him or what he can see in plain black and white.”
“Meaning?” Tessa asked. Her hand stopped moving restlessly through the grain.
“He suspects me of mismanagement.” Curtis’s lips twisted cynically in the gloomy interior.
“He’ll find out differently,” she said.
“I doubt it. It really doesn’t matter how hard we talk or what the figures say on paper, the man has it in his mind. It’s that simple.”
“So he’s already convicted us.” A heavy weight settled upon her shoulders.
“That’s about the size of it. I guess we should be glad that he’s only talking mismanagement rather than embezzling.”
“Embezzling!”
“He claims some of the figures don’t add up.”
“Hogwash,” she snapped, furious again. Ever since Denver had returned, her emotions had been riding a rollercoaster that was climbing steep hills and plunging down deep valleys, running completely out of control. “He’s wrong.”
“He’s also the boss.”
Damn Denver! Embezzling? That was the craziest notion he’d come up with yet!
“Calm down. Like I said, he hasn’t really accused anyone yet—”
“He wouldn’t!” Tessa cried. “He—he couldn’t! No one’s taken a dime.”
Curtis’s old eyes warmed fondly at his spirited daughter. “Just remember, Tessa, that man’s got a chip on his shoulder—a chip that’s grown to the size of a California redwood in the past seven years.” He straightened slowly, his old muscles tight from sitting too long in one posi
tion. “Stay away from him,” Curtis advised.
“I have.”
“Smart girl.”
I wish, she thought ruefully, not wanting to count how many sleepless hours she’d spent thinking about that one, earth-shattering kiss she’d shared with Denver.
Curtis clicked his lighter over the tip of his cigarette as he left the barn. Tessa heard him shuffle down the ramp leading to the main field. A few minutes later an engine caught, and through the open door she saw his old yellow truck rumble down the drive.
She had no excuse to leave the ranch, no errand to run, no friend’s home where she could escape. Tonight she was stuck at the house. With Denver. And later, once she’d thought through exactly what she was going to say, he was going to get a piece of her mind!
Determined not to make the same mistake as she had under the oak trees, she walked into the tack room and took down a bridle. The leather was soft in her hands and the bit jangled as she hurried to the paddock where Brigadier, his nostrils flared, glared at her from the far corner.
“Come on, boy,” she whispered, digging in the pocket of her jeans for the small apple hidden there.
The chestnut snorted, his eyes rolling suspiciously as she approached. He pawed the dusty ground, but couldn’t resist the tantalizing morsel she held in her palm. As he reached for the tidbit, Tessa slipped the bridle over his ears.
“Serves you right for being such a pig,” she teased as he tossed his head and stomped, one hoof barely missing the toe of her boot. “Careful,” she said, laughing as she climbed onto his broad back and swung her leg over his rump just as he sidestepped. “Come on.” Leaning forward, she pressed her heels into his ribs.
He stopped at the gate and waited nervously as she leaned over and pushed it open. Then, just as she caught her balance again, Brigadier bolted.
He took the bit in his teeth and raced across the dry earth, his hooves pounding, dust clouding in his wake. Wind screamed past Tessa’s face, tangling her hair and tearing the breath from her lungs. Her fingers clutched the reins and wrapped in his silky mane as they tore across the fields.
She rode as she had as a girl, bareback and carefree. She didn’t think about the ranch, about the unpaid taxes, the low supply of feed or the painful fact that she might have to sell this magnificent creature running so wild and free beneath her. Tessa hadn’t felt this rush of joy in years. Seven years.
Denver had forced her to grow up before she was ready.
“And you were more than willing to,” she muttered angrily as Brigadier slowed near the creek—or what had been the creek. Now just a winding ditch with a bare trickle of water threading through smooth, dusty stones, the stream cut through the fields on its path to the Sage River.
Near an old apple tree, she slid off Brigadier’s back, tethered him and stretched out on the dry ground. The sun was just setting over the hills in the west. Fiery streaks of magenta and amber blazed across the wide Montana sky.
Leaning her head against the tree’s rough bark, Tessa studied the shadows lengthening across the valley floor. Insects buzzed near the water, and somewhere in the distance a night bird cried plaintively.
The bird’s call echoed the loneliness in her heart—loneliness she’d denied until she’d seen Denver standing in the barn door, the sheeting rain his backdrop.
Her heart squeezed at the memory.
Clouds gathered over the hills, clinging in wisps to the highest peaks. She heard hoof beats and dragged her gaze away from the dusky sky.
Denver was riding toward her. Astride a rangy gray gelding, his hair tossed back from the wind, he reminded her of the last time she’d seen him upon a horse, the afternoon of the fire. Tessa’s insides tightened and her heart did a stupid little flip. Though she’d wanted to avoid him, she couldn’t stop the rush of adrenaline that flowed eagerly through her veins.
The gray slid to a stop at the edge of the creek. Denver swung his leg over the gelding’s back and landed on the ground not ten feet in front of Tessa.
“What’re you doing here?” she demanded, trying to ignore the sensual way his jeans stretched over his buttocks as he slid from the gray.
“Looking for you.”
Her stomach knotted and her pulse jumped crazily. “Why? So you can accuse me of mismanagement and embezzlement?”
He grinned, that cynical slash of white she found so disarming. “You’ve talked to your father.”
“Why don’t you just leave him alone, Denver?”
“I will—soon.” He stretched out beneath a tree opposite her, his legs so long, they nearly brushed her boots. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
She shrugged. “I thought it was better this way.”
He considered that. “Maybe,” he allowed, his gaze drifting to the shadowy hills as he took a handful of dust and let it drift to the ground. “But I can’t very well accomplish everything I need to without your help.”
He needed her? Her heart constricted, but she ignored her leaping pulse. Wanting her help on the business end of running the ranch didn’t mean he needed her. “What do you want?”
“Just some cooperation. Your father isn’t too helpful.”
“Do you blame him?” she asked.
“Maybe I did come on a little strong.”
“The way I hear it, you practically accused him of embezzling.”
“It didn’t go that far.”
“Didn’t it?” she snapped. “Since the minute you set foot on this place, you’ve been insinuating that Dad’s the sole cause for the cash flow problems here.”
“I’m not blaming your father, Tessa.”
“Sure. Just like you don’t blame him for the fire!”
His lips tightened. “I thought we’d settled that.”
“Far from it, Denver. Even though we’re supposed to forget about the fire, none of us can because you never bothered to come back until you had to. We can try to ignore the fire, but it happened, Denver.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“Of course you do, but you don’t have to wear your scars like war wounds, for crying out loud!”
He moved quickly. With the speed of a lightning flash, he rolled forward and caught her shoulders in his hands. She tried to scoot backward, but the apple tree wouldn’t budge. Rough bark dug through the thin fabric of her blouse and into her skin.
“If you want to know the truth, Tessa,” he growled, “I wish I could erase that ungodly night from my mind forever.”
“Do you?” Lifting her chin, she met the fire in his eyes with her own blazing gaze. “I don’t believe you. I think you’ve been waiting to come back, savoring the day when you could point your finger at all of us. All the stories that you heard, all the lies, have built up in your mind. And now you, in all your self-righteous fury, have the power to destroy everyone!”
His eyes glittered fiercely. “Is that what you think?”
When she didn’t answer, his fingers curled over her shoulders, pressing deep into her muscles. “Maybe you’re wrong.”
“No, Denver. I heard the rumors, the gossip. It ran like wildfire through town. Dad was to blame—your parents were dead and you were nearly killed because of his carelessness.” She blinked hard, battling wretched tears of shame. “The fact that you wouldn’t talk to me, to any of us, only made it worse. And you—you believed Colton’s lies! You wouldn’t even talk to me—hear what really happened!”
“My parents were dead!” he retorted.
“It was an accident!”
As their furious gazes locked Tessa felt his anger. Raw and wild, it surged through his muscles until the grip of his scarred fingers hurt her shoulder. “You tried and convicted my family without a trial,” she insisted, still not backing down. “That’s why Mitchell left for the Army—to get away. Dad tried to get me to leave too, to go away to college.”
His eyes searched her face, his fingers relaxed a little. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because someone had to stay! I love this
place, Denver, and Dad couldn’t face all the gossip, the speculation, the interrogation from the insurance company and the sheriff’s department by himself.”
“Noble of you,” he mocked.
She felt as if she’d been kicked. Struggling against the lump in her throat, she whispered, “John believed in us.”
“Good old Uncle John.”
“That’s right!” she shot back, tears drizzling from her eyes. “He was good!”
Denver saw her anguish. Guilt pricked his conscience, but his doubts, fueled by her tears over his uncle, tore at him. “How good?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
Gasping, she reacted—slapping him across his stubble-dark cheek. The sound of skin meeting flesh clapped loudly, startling birds overhead.
He sucked in his breath, then moved with lightning speed. Shoving her shoulders to the ground, he pinned her against the dry grass. His blue eyes flamed jealously as he straddled her. “How good?” he repeated. “Tell me about your relationship with John.”
“Get off me, Denver,” she said through clenched teeth, ignoring the warmth charging through her veins—the dizziness in her head. She couldn’t feel like this, with him, not now. He’d insulted her so horridly, and yet a coiling desire deep within warned her that all too soon she’d lose her will and body to him again. All he had to do was kiss her—show her some trace of tenderness.
“I asked a question.”
Was it her imagination, or was he rubbing suggestively against her, his taut jeans shifting slowly over her abdomen? He was on his knees, his weight evenly distributed so that he didn’t rest on her, and yet she couldn’t move. He placed the flat of one hand between her breasts, on the V of flesh exposed by the open collar of her blouse. His fingers spread lazily over her skin, grazing her bra. She began to ache inside and wanted to move with him. But she couldn’t let him win, not this way.
Closing her eyes, she wounded him the only way she could. “John was the best.”
Denver froze. He tried to tell himself that she was baiting him, but his fists balled and he saw red. Looking down at her, he shuddered. He wanted her as violently as ever, more with each passing day. He’d followed her to the creek with the express purpose of laying his cards on the table, telling her that he couldn’t get her out of his mind, admitting that each and every moment without her had been torture. Just the night before he had opened the door to her room, had seen the moonlight playing on her rumpled hair, turning the blond streaks to silver, had watched in fascination as she’d groaned and turned over, her face innocent and unwary.