Diana Palmer Texan Lovers

“Abby—!” he bit off, shuddering.

“I love you,” she sobbed.

His mouth was over hers, and he began to remove her skirt with unsteady hands. It was going to happen. Here, now, she was going to know him in every way there was.

But in the middle of her feverish pleas, there was the sudden, unexpected pealing of the doorbell.

He paused, his body racked by shudders. “Oh, my God,” he said, choking.

“Don’t answer it,” she whispered tearfully.

He lifted his head, pushing back sweaty hair. He was gasping for breath, his body vibrating with frustrated need, driving urgency. He shuddered. “I can’t get up,” he whispered with a hollow laugh. He pushed away from her and lay on his stomach, groaning, his lean hands speared into the pillow, crushing it.

Abby didn’t know what to do. She knew better than to touch him. She lay there, not moving, sanity coming back slowly. She concentrated on trying to breathe while her heartbeat shook her.

The doorbell kept ringing. After a moment, Calhoun managed to sit up. He looked a little foggy as he got to his feet, but he was breathing almost normally.

“Are you all right?” she whispered shyly.

“I’m all right,” he said softly. “Are you?”

At least he wasn’t angry. “Yes,” she replied, her tone equally soft.

He took a steadying breath and got to the door. Unexpectedly he switched on the light and turned to look at her, his eyes narrow, full of possession and something violent, dark, hungry.

Her breasts were mauve and peach, exquisitely formed, taut with arousal. Where he’d pulled her skirt down, he could see the graceful curve of her hips below her small waist.

“God, I could die looking at you,” he said huskily. “I’ve never seen a woman so perfect.”

She flushed, but the intensity of his delight in her was overwhelming. She sat up slowly, watching his gaze move to the firm thrust of her breasts, and she felt herself go hot with pride and pleasure.

He looked up then, catching the light in her eyes. “You belong to me now,” he said. “As surely as if I hadn’t stopped. We’ll work out the details later, but there won’t be anyone else for me from this night on. I’ll never touch another woman until I die.” And with that quiet, terse statement, he turned and left the room.

Abby wasn’t sure she hadn’t dreamed the whole thing. She got into her clothes in a daze, shaking with pent-up emotion. She wanted to cry and scream and laugh and dance.

He was talking to someone. His voice was curt and almost angry. Frowning, Abby stepped out into the hall, her mouth swollen, her hair in tangles, her silk skirt hopelessly wrinkled. As she went into the living room, she recognized Calhoun’s guest. It was the blonde from the restaurant, the one he’d taken out the night Abby had gone to dinner with Justin.

“So that’s why you didn’t have time for me,” the older woman said when she saw Abby. “My God, she’s barely out of school!”

“Abby, go back into the bedroom,” Calhoun said.

“Yes, Abby, go and hide,” the blonde added viciously, although tears were visible in her big eyes.

But Abby didn’t. She went quietly to Calhoun and slid her hand trustingly into his.

“I love him with all my heart,” Abby told the other woman. “I guess you probably do, too, and I’m sorry. But I’d rather die than lose him.”

The blonde looked at her for a long moment, and then at Calhoun. “It would have served you right if she hated you, as many hearts as you’ve broken,” she cried, her lower lip trembling. “But that won’t ever happen, any more than you’ll ever love any one of us. Not even she can reach that stone you call a heart!” She turned to Abby. “You’ll never have all of him.” She laughed bitterly. “All he can give you is his body, and he’ll soon get tired of yours and go off to conquer new worlds. Men like him don’t settle down, honey, so if you’re looking for happy endings, you’d better run like hell.”

She gave Calhoun a final, bitter glance and was gone as quickly as she’d arrived.

Calhoun closed the door, his face hard, unyielding.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said quietly.

“So am I.” Abby searched his eyes sadly, wondering if the other woman was right about his lack of feeling. Perhaps she should run. But how could she, when she loved him?

His eyes narrowed as he saw the indecision and fear in hers. “You don’t trust me, do you?” he asked. “You think she might be right, that you can’t have a future with me.”

“You said yourself that you didn’t want to be tied,” she replied. “I understand.” She dropped her eyes. “Maybe I’m too young for marriage anyway. I’ve never been out on my own at all. I’ve hardly even dated. Maybe what I feel for you is just a crush and my first taste of desire.”

She didn’t really mean what she’d just told him, but it gave him an out if he wanted one. He’d wanted her in the bedroom, and perhaps he’d said things he didn’t really mean. She didn’t want him to feel obligated just because they’d almost gone too far.

But Calhoun didn’t realize that she was trying to save him from himself. He took her words at face value and felt their impact as if they were bullets. She was telling him that she wasn’t sure she loved him, and at the worst possible moment. When she’d put her slender hand so trustingly in his, he’d known for the first time what he felt for her. His feelings went deeper than lust, and they wouldn’t fade. But now he was afraid to tell her, to put the emotion into words. She was admitting that she might have mistaken infatuation and desire for something lasting. She was young, all right, and inexperienced. He might be taking advantage of a natural step in her progression to womanhood. What if he risked his heart and she kicked it aside when she got through this phase? She was young, and she’d bounce back. But Calhoun had never loved before, and the thought of being rejected terrified him.

He stared down at her with bitter realization darkening his eyes to black. He’d fallen into the trap that he’d swore he’d never be taken by. Now here they were, almost lovers, and she was telling him that it was all a mistake. He felt as if she’d hit him in the chest with an ax.

“Would you take me home, please?” she asked without looking at him.

He straightened. “Of course.”

He turned toward the bedroom, and she sat on the sofa, reaching for the purse she’d tossed there when they’d first arrived. She sat twisting and turning it, listening to his quick, sharp movements in the bedroom while he dressed. Her eyes closed in mingled shame and embarrassment. It had only just occurred to her how many liberties she’d allowed him, how close they’d come to making love completely. She hadn’t had the presence of mind to think of stopping, and neither had he. If that woman hadn’t interrupted them—

Her face went hot. He’d been undressing her. He wouldn’t have stopped at all, he hadn’t had any intention of denying himself. And afterward, how would it have been? She’d have been eaten up by guilt and sorrow, and he’d have felt obligated to marry her because she’d been a virgin. He’d have been well and truly trapped.

She didn’t take seriously anything Calhoun had said in the semi-darkness of his bedroom, because men didn’t think when they were engulfed by passion. Even though she was innocent, she knew that much. He’d wanted her for a long time, and tonight had been his one chance to get her into bed. He’d almost taken her. He knew she loved him, and it didn’t even seem to bother him that he was taking advantage of something she couldn’t help.

Calhoun came into the living room minutes later, pale and strained but neatly dressed. He’d even combed his thick blond hair. After one quick glance, she didn’t look at him again. She stood up.

He opened the door for her, noticing her unnatural stiffness. “I don’t know what to say, Abby,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how she traced me here.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, looking only as high as his chin. “It would be unrealistic to expect that we’d never run across any of your discarded lovers.”

His dark eyes flashed fire. He reached beside her and slammed the door before she could get out, forcing her shocked eyes up to his angry ones.

“And that’s what you think you would have been if she hadn’t interrupted us?” he asked coldly.

She ground her teeth together to keep from breaking down. “You weren’t going to stop,” she said.

“I couldn’t stop,” he corrected. “Any more than you could. If you want to know, it was a first. I’ve always been able to pull back before.”

“Should I be flattered?” she asked on a trembling laugh. “Because I’m not. Bodies are cheap.”

“Yours isn’t,” he returned. “Yours is young and sweet and exquisitely formed. Innocent, when I’ve never had innocence in my life. I might have been half out of my head, but I’d have managed to make you want me back and I wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“And after you were through?” she probed, lifting her pained eyes.

He touched her swollen lips with a cool forefinger. “That would have taken all night,” he said softly. “And by then you wouldn’t have had any doubts left about where we stood with each other. I’d have made sure of it.”

She flushed. “I’d have been another conquest….”

He drew her against him, sighing heavily as he smoothed her long, dark hair and felt her body shake with soft sobs.

“It’s just frustration, sweetheart,” he whispered at the top of her head. “You wanted me and I wanted you, and neither of us had fulfillment, that’s all. It passes.”

Her curled fingers pressed against him while tears ran down her pale cheeks. “I hate you,” she cried.

He only smiled, because he understood. He kissed her hair gently. She was so very young. Too young, probably. He drew in a slow, sad breath and wondered how he was going to live without her.

“You’ve got to see Maria about your birthday party,” he said after a few minutes. “She’s going to hire a caterer. And you’ll have to provide a guest list for us. I can have one of the women at the office send out the invitations.”

She drew back, sniffing, and he pulled out a handkerchief and mopped her face. “You don’t have to do that,” she mumbled.

“We want to.” He touched the handkerchief to her red eyes. “I won’t come near you until then, Abby,” he added to her surprise. His dark gaze was quiet and unblinking, and it did wild things to her pulse. “I won’t call you, or take you out, or see you until then.”

“Because of tonight?” she asked with what dignity she still possessed.

“In a way.” He put the handkerchief away and searched her face. “You’re afraid of giving in to me, aren’t you?”

She moved restlessly.

“Aren’t you?” he persisted.

She bit her lower lip. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I won’t have you forced into a marriage you don’t want,” she said warily. “Calhoun, you aren’t a marrying man. You even told me so.”

He brushed his mouth against hers, and he nuzzled her nose with his, teasing her lips, playing with her mouth.

“Abby, I told you not so long ago that my playboy days were over, and I meant it,” he said softly. “I haven’t lived like a recluse, but in the past few years, I’ve settled down. And if you want the truth,” he added, resting his forehead on hers, “I haven’t thought of any other woman since the night I found you bare-breasted on your bed, little one. You’ve been in my bed every night since then, a vision that haunts me from dawn to dusk.”

Her heart jumped straight up. He’d never lied to her. He wasn’t doing it now, she knew.

“Me?” she whispered.

He smiled gently. “You.” He brushed her mouth lazily with his. “And if you’d given yourself to me in my bedroom a few minutes ago,” he whispered, “we’d have been on our way to get a marriage license by morning.”

“Because of your conscience?” she asked.

He chuckled softly. “Because of my body,” he breathed. “Lovemaking is addictive. The way I want you, little Abby, I’d have you pregnant by the end of the first week.”

She flushed wildly and hid her face from him, feeling his chest shake with laughter.

“Did you hear what I said,” he whispered, “when you warned me about the risk?”

Her heart ran wild. “Yes.”

His mouth bit at hers. “Didn’t it seem an odd response for a philandering playboy to make?”

“You wanted me—”

“God, I still do!” he breathed. “But a man interested in nothing but a good time is sure as hell not interested in making babies, Abby.”

“Stop that!” she whispered.

He smiled against her mouth, delighting in her innocence, in her reaction. He wasn’t worried anymore. Now, at last, he knew why she’d said what she had in front of his visitor. She’d been offering him a way out. But he didn’t want one. He wanted Abby. He wanted a future.

“I’ll take you home now,” he said gently. “And you can have until your birthday to think about me and miss me and want me. And then, if you can’t stand it anymore, I’ll give you a birthday present you’ll never forget.”

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

He covered her open mouth with his own. “Me,” he breathed into it.

Chapter Eleven

Abby pondered that odd remark for the next few lonely weeks. What had Calhoun meant, that they were going to become lovers? Or had he meant something quite different?

He’d taken her home after that last, passionate kiss, and he hadn’t made another single personal remark to her. He’d talked about the feedlot, about things at the house, even about the weather. And he’d left her at Mrs. Simpson’s with a warm, secretive smile, contenting himself with a chaste but breathlessly tender kiss on her forehead.

As he’d promised, he hadn’t called or come visiting. She hadn’t seen him or heard from him since that night. It had been hard going, too. She’d stopped by Misty’s a time or two, pretending to be happy so that her friend wouldn’t ask too many questions. Tyler had asked Abby out again, but she’d refused without really understanding why. She wanted only the memory of Calhoun. If it was all she could ever have of him, it would be more than a lot of lonely women had.

She enjoyed her work at the insurance office, and her bosses were good to her. She settled in without any problem, but she went home to a lonely room, and as the days went by she was almost frantic with the need to see Calhoun.

She’d gone to the Ballenger house to talk to Maria about the party, and she’d left a list of guests for Justin, but to her disappointment both the brothers had been away at the time. She’d managed to get nothing out of Maria, either, except for a careless remark that everything was fine at home and the brothers seemed to be very happy. Which did nothing for Abby’s self-esteem, especially since she missed Maria’s wicked, conspiratorial smile.

The night of the party, Abby drove herself to the Ballenger house. She felt starved for the sight of Calhoun. All her memories and all her fantasies only made it worse.

She was wearing a long electric-blue gown that enhanced her blue-gray eyes and emphasized her exquisite figure. It had soft fabric straps and a crisscross bodice, a fitted waist and a long, narrow skirt. She wore her hair up in a braided coiffure with wispy little curls hanging beside her ears and curling on her forehead. She looked mature and sophisticated. She might not be beautiful, but she felt it tonight, and her face radiated with a glow that only the anticipation of seeing Calhoun could give her.

Maria opened the door and hugged her impulsively. “So lovely,” the older woman sighed. “Everything has worked out so nicely, even the band was on time. Your guests have started arriving. The Jacobses are in the living room with Justin.”

Abby winced, but Maria shook her head.

“No, it is all right,” she said quickly. “Señor Justin and Señor Tyler have been talking cattle, and Señorita Shelby—” Maria smiled sadly. “Her soft eyes feed on Señor Justin like dry flowers welcoming rainfall. It breaks my heart.”

“And mine,” Abby said gently. “I’ll go and keep her company.”

She walked into the living room and smiled at Shelby, who was wearing a long green velvet skirt with a simple chemise top in white silk. She looked exquisitely lovely. Justin and Tyler, in dark suits, rose as she entered the room, both pairs of masculine eyes gazing appreciatively at her dress.

“Happy birthday, honey,” Justin said gently, and went forward to brush his hard mouth against her cheek. “And at least a hundred more.”

“I’ll second that,” Tyler grinned, his green eyes dancing as he bent and kissed her softly on the mouth. “You look delicious.”

“Thank you both,” she replied.

“I remember my own twenty-first birthday,” Shelby sighed after she’d hugged Abby and congratulated her. “It was very special.” Her eyes went helplessly to Justin, who stood very still and looked at her, his dark eyes full of emotion.

Abby could have cried. She hadn’t understood before, but now she knew how devastating it could be to want someone that much. She looked around the room. There were several other people there, friends from school, who waved and lifted their glasses in her direction. She smiled back, but her heart was getting heavier by the second.

“Justin, where’s Calhoun?” she asked finally.

Justin took a draw from his cigarette and dragged his gaze away from Shelby. Abby had asked the question he’d dreaded ever since she’d walked in the door. “I don’t know if he’s going to make it, honey,” he hedged, because he didn’t know where in hell Calhoun was either. She looked devastated, so he improvised. “He said to tell you happy birthday and—Abby!”

She couldn’t help it. She burst into tears, shaking with the disappointment. “I’m sorry…” she sobbed.

“Shelby, take her into the study, please,” Justin said.

“Of course.” Shelby put a gentle arm around her. “Abby, please don’t cry. I know Calhoun would have been here if he could have.”

“I’ll be all right in a minute,” Abby told Justin as they passed him and a quietly curious Tyler. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long week,” she added with a faint smile.

“I’ll knock him through a wall for this,” Justin said coldly. “I swear to God I will.”

“No, you won’t,” Abby sniffed. “As Shelby said, I’m sure he had a good reason.” She laughed coldly. “Probably a blond one…” Tears fell hotly again, and Shelby quickly got her out of the room, across the hall and into the study.

“Now sit down.” Shelby helped her to the burgundy leather sofa. “I’ll get you a brandy. Is that all right?”

“I hate him,” Abby said, burying her face in her hands. “I hate him so much!”

“Yes, I know.” Shelby smiled wryly and poured brandy into a snifter. She gave the glass to Abby, and watched her take a sip and grimace at the harsh taste.

Her blue-gray eyes lifted to Shelby’s green ones. “I haven’t even seen him in weeks,” she said brokenly. “He hasn’t called or come to see me. I didn’t know why then, but now I do. He was letting me down easy. He knows how I feel, and he doesn’t want to hurt me….”

“If it means anything, I know how you feel, too,” Shelby said gently, her eyes soft and sad.

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” Abby touched the older woman’s hand. “Justin never looks at anyone else. Calhoun said once that he supposed Justin would die loving you.”

“And hating me, all at once,” Shelby sighed. “Justin thinks I slept with someone else. He believed my father and a crony of his, and I’ve never been able to make him listen. As if I could have let any other man touch me, ever!”

Abby stared at her, momentarily distracted. “Oh, Shelby,” she whispered.

Shelby grimaced. “Stubborn, proud, hardheaded man.” Her eyes lifted. “I’d die for him.”

“I hope it works out someday.”

The older woman sighed. “Miracles still happen occasionally.” She searched Abby’s eyes. “Will you be all right now?”

Abby finished the brandy. “Of course I will. I don’t care if Calhoun misses my party. I can have a perfectly good time without him. After all, I was only his ward and now I’m not anymore. He’s just another man.” She got up, smoothing her hair. “I’d better fix my makeup.”

She went to the mirror and repaired her lipstick and powder, but there was very little she could do about her red eyes. Then she followed Shelby out the door.

The band was good. They played a succession of dreamy waltzes and country-and-western songs, which their lead singer belted out in a smooth baritone. Abby danced every dance, some with Justin, some with Tyler, and a lot with old school friends. But still Calhoun didn’t make an appearance. Abby grew more vivacious by the minute to cover up her misery.

She was dancing much too close to Tyler in a lazy two-step, when she felt eyes on her back. Without looking, she knew Calhoun had arrived. He’d spoiled her party by not showing up until it was almost over, and she hated him. Having settled that in her mind, she kept her eyes closed and kept dancing.

“Calhoun’s here,” Tyler murmured into her hair.

“So what?” she said icily.

His eyebrows arched. He glanced at Calhoun, who was thunderously angry, and then at Justin, who was heading toward his younger brother with an expression that would have made a lesser man than Calhoun back off.

“Abby, Justin’s going toward Calhoun with blood in his eye.”

“Good,” she muttered. “I hope he kills him.”

“Abby!”

She bit her lower lip. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t care like hell,” Tyler replied curtly. He stopped dancing and held her by the arms. “Stop it. If you want him, for God’s sake, show him that you do. Don’t pout and hem and haw until you lose him.”

“You don’t understand,” she began.

“Abby, look at Shelby and Justin,” he said quietly. “Is that how you want to end up?’

She searched Tyler’s face and then looked over to the doorway, where Justin and Calhoun were talking in terse monosyllables. “All right,” she said wearily.

He smiled. “Good girl. Go on.”

She hesitated, but then she walked away. Tyler watched her go, a faint sadness in his own eyes. That was quickly erased when Misty Davies wandered over in a frothy gold party dress and asked him to dance.

Justin stopped talking when Abby came near. He glared at Calhoun. “Tell it to Abby,” he said shortly. “She’s been having a hell of a good time, though, all by herself.”

Justin smiled faintly at them and wandered off to talk to another of the guests, leaving a cold-eyed Calhoun and a fuming Abby staring at one another.

“Thank you for coming,” she said with faint hauteur. “I’m having a lovely time.”

“How could you think I’d willingly treat you like that?” he asked quietly. “Turn my back on you, deliberately arrive late, embarrass you with your guests…Oh, God, don’t you know me better than that?”

He disconcerted her. She looked up at him helplessly. “What happened?”

“I ran the Jaguar into a ditch and damned near wrecked it,” he said with a mocking smile. “I was going too fast, and I took a curve where there’d been an oil spill that I didn’t know about.”

Her face went white. She saw a graphic mental picture of him lying in a ditch, dead. It erased all her stupid suspicions and left her shaking.

Without a word, she pressed hard against him. She held him, trembling, oblivious to her surroundings, to everything but Calhoun.

“You’re trembling,” he said, faintly surprised. His big hands went to her back, where it was bare over the deep plunge of her dress. “I’m all right, honey.”

She held him tighter, fighting tears. The trembling grew worse, and she couldn’t seem to stop.

“For God’s sake…!”

He drew her out of the room, one big arm supporting her, and into the study. He locked the door behind them, shutting out the music and muffled conversation and other party sounds. His dark eyes looked down into her wild, pale ones.

“I wouldn’t have missed your party on purpose, little one,” he said gently.

That was the old Calhoun, she thought wildly. Her guardian. Her protector. The kind, caring older man who looked after her and kept her safe. But he didn’t look or sound like a lover, and she supposed that he’d used those weeks to good advantage, getting her out of his system. She felt sick and shaken, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and cry herself to sleep.