Backlash

by Lisa Jackson

  “Where’s McLean?” he asked when Tessa entered.

  Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t lie. “He’s here,” she replied, keeping her voice low.

  “In the house?”

  “I think so.”

  Mitchell swore roundly, twisting so that he could see his sister.

  Hoping beyond hope that Mitchell wouldn’t notice her swollen lips or flushed cheeks, Tessa poured herself a cup of coffee with unsteady hands. “How’s Dad?”

  “How do you think he is? He told me what happened in the barn.” Mitchell’s green eyes darkened dangerously and deep lines grooved his forehead.

  “Dad shouldn’t drink so much,” Tessa said, taking the chair across from her brother. Placing her elbows on the table, she sipped from her cup, but didn’t taste the coffee.

  “Who’s gonna tell him? You?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why? You’ve tried before. Nothing changed.”

  “I know, but tonight was different. He dropped the bottle, the whiskey sprayed all over the floor. If he’d been smoking, God only knows what would’ve happened.”

  “Dad doesn’t smoke in the barn.”

  Tessa gritted her teeth. “What if he forgets? If he’s had one drink too many?”

  “When has that ever happened?”

  Tessa swallowed back the cold lump of betrayal that formed in her throat. “Maybe seven years ago.”

  Mitchell’s feet dropped to the floor. “No way.” His green eyes squinted indignantly as he scanned her face and his jaw became granite-hard. “Don’t tell me McLean’s got your thinking all turned around,” he whispered. Shoving a lock of wheat-blond hair off his forehead, he let out a long, low whistle and shook his head. “Well, I’ll be,” he murmured sadly. “You’re falling for him again, aren’t you?”

  “I am not.”

  “Oh, no?” His gaze dropped to her lips, so recently kissed, then traveled a knowing path to the scarlet creeping steadily up her neck. His jaw slackened. “Come on, Tessa, don’t do this. Not again. McLean’s no good. You and I both know it. I was there to pick up the pieces, remember?”

  Tessa would never forget how good Mitchell had been, how he’d helped her battle the numbing cold that had settled upon her when she’d finally accepted the fact that Denver had left her. “If Denver’s so bad,” she asked, her spine stiffening, “why all the friendly talk at the table tonight?”

  “He’s the boss,” Mitchell said simply. “I don’t like it, but there it is.”

  Sighing, she leaned against the wall. “You sound just like Dad.”

  “I’m just trying to get through the next few weeks, then I’m out of here,” he reminded her. “School starts the end of September. I may not like McLean, but I’m trying not to ruffle his feathers—which, by the way, was your advice.” His lips tightened and sadness stole into his gaze. “Besides, I’m just trying to get along with the bastard—you’re on the verge of having an affair with him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She wanted to slap him and shout that a love affair with Denver McLean was the last thing on her mind, but Mitchell had already guessed the truth. She cleared her throat. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “I saw enough of his kind in the Army. A different girl in every city.” She started to protest but he held up one hand, palm out. “Sure, you’re here and available. So he’s interested.”

  “I am not ‘available.’”

  Mitchell’s face grew taut, as if he could read something new in her gaze. “Oh, God, Tess, don’t tell me you’ve been saving yourself for him.”

  “I’m not telling you anything! What happens between Denver and me is between us.”

  Mitchell looked sick. “I just don’t want to see you make a fool of yourself again. Don’t you remember how much he hurt you? How he left without one word? How he and Colton accused Dad of murder? Murder!”

  “No one actually said—”

  “If it hadn’t been for John McLean, Dad would have been strung up by his heels. Colton and Denver would have seen to it.”

  “But it didn’t happen, did it? John gave Dad a chance.”

  “And now you’re giving Denver one.” Mitchell’s hands were actually shaking when he shoved his hair from his eyes. “I can’t tell you what to do, Tessa. I never could. But for God’s sake, be careful. I wouldn’t trust Denver McLean any more than I would a nest of rattlesnakes.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Mitchell scraped his chair back. “While you’re remembering, don’t forget that McLean’s been in L.A. a long time. You think he’s been without a woman all that time?”

  “I don’t really care.”

  One golden eyebrow arched as Mitchell said, “No? Well, think about it, Tessa. All of a sudden, he’s interested in you. So what happened to the past seven years? Why hasn’t he called, written or stopped by? All that time while his uncle was dying, he didn’t so much as write one goddamn note.”

  “He didn’t know about John.”

  “He wasn’t too interested, was he?”

  Tessa wanted to defend Denver but didn’t. What was the point? Mitchell’s mind was set. He couldn’t believe Denver capable of any kind of compassion or feelings. In Mitchell’s opinion, Denver had abandoned his uncle. But John had kept the secret of his heart condition to himself and a few close friends, all of whom were sworn not to tell Denver or Colton. Keeping that secret vow had been easy. Colton seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth, and Denver hadn’t been interested in anything or anyone on the ranch. So John had died alone. And Mitchell was condemning Denver.

  “As I said, I can deal with Denver.”

  “I hope so, Tess. I hope to God you can!” He found his hat and jammed it onto his head. Turning on his heel, he was through the back door before she had a chance to argue.

  * * *

  Denver twisted a pencil between his fingers. Through the open study window, he heard the back door slam shut and Mitchell’s boots stomping across the yard. A few seconds later an engine sputtered, caught and roared to life. Gears ground and gravel sprayed as Mitchell tore down the drive.

  Denver knew that Tessa and Mitch had been arguing, probably over him. Snatches of their conversation had filtered through the old house, and he could guess the rest. Mitchell didn’t trust him—didn’t like him involved with Tessa.

  Denver didn’t blame Mitch. Hell, he didn’t want to be involved with Tessa himself. But ever since setting eyes on her again in the barn that first night, he’d been compelled to be as near her as possible.

  Night after night, he had told himself to forget that she was only a short walk down the hall, that if he played his cards right, she would eventually make love to him and that, if he could control his emotions, he’d be able to satisfy himself with her and walk away again.

  His pencil snapped in two. Guilt tore a hole in his heart. He’d felt her respond, knew that it was only a matter of time before he could seduce her. And now, when he was certain of victory, he didn’t want it, couldn’t bear to see the hurt in her eyes when he left her again.

  The other evening at the creek had been telling. He could have made love to her and been done with it, except that he couldn’t hurt her. And now, he was looking forward to taking her back to Venice. For what? A day? A week? A lifetime? He didn’t know. But he was sure of one thing. Tessa hadn’t betrayed him all those years before—she couldn’t have. She wasn’t involved in her father’s scheme to ruin the McLeans. Or else she was one hell of an actress. Her indignation and pain seemed real enough, and he believed her.

  He wasn’t so sure about Mitch or Curtis. But Tessa, he felt, hadn’t been involved, even innocently, in the fire.

  So now he wanted her—more fiercely even than he had seven years ago. Desire was running at a fever pitch, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it in check.

  Clenching his jaw so hard it ached, he reached for a new pen and stared down at the figures on the profit and loss statement lyin
g open on the desk. But the typed pages couldn’t hold his attention, and he wondered how he’d get through another long night just three doors down the hall from the only woman who could stir his blood to a fever pitch.

  He heard her walking overhead, knew she was probably undressing for her bath. When the old pipes groaned loudly, he closed his eyes, envisioning her naked, her strawberry-blond hair spilling down her back, her skin pink from the hot water, her eyes glassy in relaxation. Her breasts would swell gently at the waterline, her nipples erect little buttons pointing proudly above the lapping water.

  He could imagine his tongue stroking those proud little peaks, the hot water touching his lips as he suckled. Her fingers would twine in his hair and with one hand slowly dipping through the waves of warm liquid, sliding past the silky skin covering her ribs and the tight muscles of her abdomen, he’d ravish her slowly. Touching that private nest of fine reddish hair at the apex of her legs, he’d tell her of the nights he’d lain awake wanting her, the years he’d wished she had warmed his bed.

  Smiling, Tessa would toss her head back, moaning softly, her hair floating around her as he gently parted her thighs, teasing that special little bud until she was writhing and wrapping her arms around his neck, dragging him into the water with her, begging him to make love to her and never stop.

  A quiet rap on the door startled him. He had to stretch his legs and shift on his buttocks to ease the swelling that pressed hard against his jeans. “What?” Damn, but his voice sounded unnatural and husky.

  Tessa pushed the door open and poked her head inside. Her fingers were wrapped around the edge of the wood, but she didn’t enter. Denver used every ounce of control he possessed not to fly out of the chair and tear that silky pink wrapper off her body. Seeing the wet strands of her hair, knowing how soft and yielding her flesh was beneath the quickly donned robe, he could think of nothing more than giving in to the sweet temptation she was so innocently offering.

  “I just wanted to warn you that we’re out of hot water—I’ll have the element on the tank checked in the morning.”

  “Thanks,” he said, hoping to appear busy as he leaned over the desk. Then, unable to resist, he flashed her a lazy smile as he glanced up at her. “I think if I take a shower tonight, it should be cold, don’t you?”

  “Whatever you want.” But she smiled.

  He propped both elbows on the desk and rotated his pen between his hands. “What I want has nothing to do with the temperature of the water around here.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lower lip and seemed about to leave when a mischievous light sparkled in her eyes. “Does this mean I should lock my door tonight?”

  “Don’t tease me, Tessa,” he warned with a wicked grin.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, chuckling, her lips curving softly.

  Denver’s throat tightened and the heat in his loins grew. What was she doing here, flirting so outrageously with him? “It’s a good thing I’m a gentleman,” he said gruffly, and she had the audacity and lack of common sense to laugh, a merry tinkling sound in the old, creaky house.

  “You? A gentleman? You couldn’t prove it by me,” she quipped before ducking back through the doorway.

  Denver couldn’t stop himself. Feeling as if he were seven years younger, he was on his feet in an instant. He fairly flew across the room, yanking open the door so hard it crashed against the wall and hearing Tessa’s laughter ring through the house, he saw just the hem of her wrapper as she hurried up the stairs.

  Knowing he was going to hate himself later, he took the steps two at a time and landed on the second floor just in time to hear a door close and a lock click soundly. So she thought she could tease him and get away with it, did she? he thought, smiling inwardly.

  At the door to his parents’ room, he knocked softly.

  “Go away,” Tessa said, but she couldn’t stop the giggles that erupted from her throat.

  “Open up.”

  “No way.” She backed across the room.

  “Do I have to break it down?”

  “Don’t be silly—”

  His foot crashed into the door and she laughed. “Denver, don’t—this is crazy. Be reasonable—”

  Bang! The door wobbled, and he gave it one last shot, the wood splintering away from the casing as his boot crashed against it. His eyes gleamed, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Reasonable?” he repeated. “The original, ‘insufferable, arrogant bastard’—wasn’t that what you called me?”

  “You deserved it.”

  “That and more, I suspect,” he admitted, still smiling. Surveying the damage to the door, he asked, “Did you really think you could lock me out?” His voice was low and seductive, but his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  Tessa swallowed hard. The backs of her calves met the mattress. “I—I didn’t think I’d have to.” He was teasing, she could see the amusement in his gaze. But, despite the playful glimmer in his eyes, his jaw was rock hard, the cords in his neck visible.

  He took a step into the room, his silhouette dark against the light in the hall. His gaze slid slowly from her face to her throat and the wet ringlets that coiled at her neck, then to the delicate circle of bones at the base of her throat, and lower still.

  Tessa’s nipples hardened, thrusting against the thin wrapper, visible in the half-light. The lighthearted playfulness seeped out of the room, replaced by an electricity that seemed to crackle between them.

  “What kind of game are you playing, Tessa?” he whispered hoarsely, moving slowly toward her.

  Tessa’s heart thundered, and she licked her lips nervously. “I’m not—”

  “Like hell.” He stopped mere inches in front of her. “Here we are alone, and you come down to tell me something stupid like we’re out of hot water—”

  “We are!”

  “For God’s sake, you could have worn something more than this!” He flipped two fingers under the lapel of her wrapper, his skin grazing hers. She sucked in her breath. The fun-loving light in his eyes had fled, but his hands didn’t move. The seductive warmth of his fingertips pressed lightly against her skin. “Don’t you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he rasped.

  “Probably about the same as you’re doing to me.”

  His fingers wound around her lapel. “Don’t tease me, Tessa,” he repeated.

  “I’m not,” she vowed.

  His hand slid along the lapel, between her breasts to rest at the belt cinched around her waist. She melted inside. Liquid heat swirled deep at her center as his fingers rested feather light against her abdomen. “You want me?” he asked.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned against him. “Yes.”

  A muscle throbbed in his forehead, but his fingers worked against the knot.

  “I—I—only wish I didn’t,” she admitted as the robe parted. His gaze wandered recklessly down the gap.

  “Why?” His hand caressed her abdomen.

  “Because it complicates things—ooh!”

  He slid his hand around her waist, pulling her against him as he lowered his head and his lips slanted over hers. His tongue slid easily between her teeth, touching lightly, exploring and plundering sweetly as she wound her arms around his neck.

  “Sometimes the best things in life are complicated,” he whispered, his breath as ragged as her own as he pushed against her. Tessa lost her balance and together they tumbled onto the bed. “Oh, Tessa,” he murmured, kissing her lightly from her forehead to her lips, “why couldn’t I forget you? Why the hell couldn’t I forget you?”

  Tears of happiness filled her eyes. “I—I don’t know,” she murmured.

  His hands tangled in her hair and his lips brushed slowly against her throat, softly stroking her sensitive skin. Aching inside, she quivered beneath him as he pushed the robe from her shoulders and stared for a minute at her breasts, straining upward, inviting him with their rosy-crested peaks.

  He stroked one gently. It puckered, and he groaned, moving his hand
in sensual circles, staring down at her in fascination.

  “Touch me,” he whispered, shaping her mouth with his again.

  She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and quickly shoved the soft cotton down his arms to bunch at his wrists. He flung the unwanted garment across the room and lay over her, his bare chest rigid.

  Swallowing against a desert-dry throat, she reached upward. Her fingers moved gently along the length of his ribs, tracing a path so slowly through his swirling black hair that he groaned and closed his eyes.

  She hesitated at the waistband of his jeans, and he pulled her to him, slashing his mouth over hers, his hands splaying against her bare back as she fumbled with the zipper. Once the zipper was down, he kicked off his jeans and, naked at last, rubbed gently against her. He kissed her face, her cheeks, her throat, moving slowly downward, his lips teasing as he played with her nipple.

  Her blood pumped furiously in her veins, and she writhed against him as he took one breast into his mouth, laving it with his tongue.

  Heat roiled deep inside her. She kissed his shoulders and chest, tasted the salt from the sheen of perspiration coating his body. He kissed her again and again, whispering her name as his tongue touched and stroked.

  I love you, she thought, aching with want.

  He groaned and moved over her. “Is it safe?” he whispered into her ear.

  “S-safe?” she murmured, not understanding.

  “You know—safe.” He took in a deep shuddering breath and levered himself up on one elbow. “Protected?”

  “Protected?” she rasped. “As in against pregnancy?”

  A muscle throbbed near his temple.

  Tears filled her eyes. Hot little drops of shame. How could he think she’d been with other men? “There’s never been anyone but you.”

  “No one?” His blue eyes stared down at her in disbelief.

  Dying inside, crumbling apart bit by bit, she choked out, “And especially not John.” Mortified, she tried to roll away from him, but he pressed her firmly back onto the mattress. His hands clamped over her wrists, holding her close.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he vowed.

  “Of course it does, Denver,” she cried. “It matters a lot. To you. To me. Ever since you got here, you’ve been insinuating I slept with your uncle, for God’s sake. Your uncle! How could you think, even for a second, that I’d—I’d—” She shuddered.