Diana Palmer Texan Lovers
She opened her mouth to protest, but his lips covered hers before she could speak. His kiss was warm and slow, and when his hands went to her hips and pulled them against his and he let her feel the blatant hunger of his body, she gave in.
“So soft,” he whispered as he brushed his lips over her mouth. “So sweet. I dream about kissing you. I dream about your body and the way you are with me when I make love to you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman in my life.”
“That’s…physical,” she protested.
“That’s all I can offer you,” he replied. His lips moved to her eyelids, closing them with kisses. “Now do you see, Abby? I’ve never loved anyone. I’ve never wanted that. All you can have of me is this.”
She swallowed. What a bitter, hopeless relationship that would be. She loved him with all her heart, and all he had to offer her was his body.
He tasted the tears before he saw them. His blond head lifted, and he winced at the sight of her drenched blue-gray eyes. “Oh, God, don’t,” he breathed, wiping the wetness away with his thumbs.
“Let me go, please,” she pleaded, pushing at his broad, hard chest.
“You want something I can’t give you.”
“I know that now,” she whispered. She bit on her lower lip to stop it from trembling, and stared at his tie. “I guess I was never cut out to be a mercenary blonde,” she said with an attempt at humor, feeling his body stiffen as she made the remark. She looked up then, with drenched eyes that couldn’t hide her hunger for his heart. “But I would have loved you so—”
“Abby,” he groaned. His mouth silenced her, ardently, roughly. He wrapped her up in his hard arms, kissing her with such force that her head bent back against his arms, and still he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He began to tremble faintly, the hunger a living thing in him, torturously sweet.
But Abby couldn’t bear the bitter mockery of a kiss that screamed of pity and desire. She twisted her mouth from under his and buried her face in his jacket, her hands gripping the fabric as she shook with frustrated need.
“I’m young,” she whispered after a minute. “I’ll get over you.”
“Will you?” His voice sounded odd. His big hands were in her hair, holding her head to him. They were just a little unsteady, and the chest under her forehead was shuddering with the force of his heartbeat.
“I’ll have to,” she said. She took a slow, soft breath. “It was enough that you and Justin have taken care of me all these years,” she murmured. “I can’t expect anything more from you. I shouldn’t have. It was…just proximity, and a huge crush, and…and curiosity, that’s all. I didn’t mean—”
“Stop it,” he said harshly. He pulled her closer, enfolding her in his big arms, holding her, rocking her. “My God, stop it. Am I laughing at you? Am I making fun of how you feel, or trying to shame you for it? I never should have said that to you at the feedlot that day about hating the way you looked at me. I didn’t mean it. I wanted you so badly all I could think about was getting you out of the car before I lost my head.” He laughed coldly. “And a hell of a lot of good it did. I lost it anyway, that morning in your room, and scared the hell out of you.”
“I didn’t understand what intimacy was until then,” she confessed quietly.
“And the way I was holding you made you all too aware of what I wanted,” he added with a faint laugh.
She flushed. “Yes.”
He smoothed her hair, noticing the way her body was resting against his, so trustingly, even though he was just as aroused now as he had been the morning he’d mentioned. “And now it doesn’t frighten you, does it?” he whispered, tilting her eyes up to his.
She searched his face softly. “No. Nothing about you frightens me or embarrasses me.”
He touched her cheek, her mouth, and his powerful legs trembled at the contact with hers. “Not even knowing how badly I want you?”
She shook her head. “Not even that. I—” She dropped her gaze.
“You—” He made her look at him. “Say it,” he whispered. “Say the words. I want it all.”
She should have denied how she felt. Or run. Something. “I love you,” she whispered with faint anguish in her tone.
His eyes caressed her face. “Such big eyes,” he breathed. “So soft. So full of secrets.” He bent and drew his mouth tenderly against hers. “You’re very special to me, Abby. Part of my life. I wish I could give you what you want. I wish I could give you back those words and offer you a future. But that would cheat us both ultimately. Marriage should be a joint commitment, with a foundation of shared love.” He sighed bitterly. “I…don’t know how to love. Justin and I were raised by our father, Abby. Our mother died when I was born. We never had a woman’s touch, and until your mother came along, Dad went from one woman to another like a bee to pollen.” He toyed with a strand of her hair. “I don’t understand commitment, because I never got a good look at it. The only thing I know about love is that it doesn’t last. Look at Justin. See what happened to him because it all went wrong.”
“At least he took the chance,” she said gently. “And it does last. Or didn’t you see how Justin and Shelby looked at each other while they were dancing?”
“Is that your idea of a perfect relationship?” he asked with a cold laugh. “A little love, followed by years of hating each other?”
“What’s your idea of perfection, Calhoun?” she replied. “A succession of one-night stands and a lonely old age at the end of the road, with no family, no one to love you, nothing to leave behind?”
He scowled down at her. “At least I won’t die of a broken heart,” he said.
“No,” she replied. “You won’t.” She pushed at his chest, but he wouldn’t move. “Let me go, please.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got a lot of work to get through.”
“And a date with Tyler,” he added mockingly.
She glanced up. “Tyler is solid, capable, very masculine and a good marriage risk. He isn’t afraid of commitment. He’ll make a good husband.”
“You aren’t marrying Tyler,” he said shortly.
“Not unless he asks me,” she agreed.
“You aren’t marrying him even if he does.”
“How do you plan to stop me?” she asked curiously.
“Guess.”
She cocked her head, staring up at his stubborn face. “Why bother? You don’t want me, except in bed. I want someone who can love me.”
He shifted restlessly. “Maybe love can be taught,” he said uncomfortably. He stared down at her hands on his chest. “Maybe you could teach me how.”
She didn’t feel as if her feet were touching the floor anymore. Could she possibly have heard him say that?
“I’m only twenty,” she reminded him, “and your ward, and you don’t want commitment—”
His mouth covered hers in midsentence, tenderly probing, pushing at it, savoring it. “Kiss me, Abby,” he whispered into her mouth.
“I don’t want—” she tried to protest.
“Love me, baby,” he breathed.
Her arms slid under his jacket and around him. She pressed close, holding him, giving him her mouth with all the wonder and generosity of her love for him. She felt his lips smile against hers, heard his soft breathing, and then he increased the pressure of his mouth and his arms and she went under in a maze of stars.
A long time later, he groaned and his mouth slid to her throat, his arms contracting as he tried to breathe. “That,” he whispered roughly, “was a mistake.”
She could hardly get her own breath, and she knew it was much harder for him. She smoothed his cool, thick hair, gently soothing him, comforting him as he fought for control.
Her lips pressed light, undemanding kisses to his cheek, his temple, his closed eyelids. He stood very still, giving her that freedom with a sense of wonder at how it felt to be caressed so tenderly.
His eyes opened when she stopped. “That was a nice touch,” he whispered, cupping her face in his warm hands. “Have you been talking to Misty again, or did you just think it might calm me down?”
“I read it in a book,” she confessed, lowering her flushed face.
“Reading about it and doing it are pretty different, aren’t they?” he asked gently.
“Yes.” She was still trying to breathe properly. Her fingers toyed with a button on his patterned shirt. He was warm, and she loved the feel and smell and closeness of his body towering over her.
“I’ve never made love to a virgin,” he whispered. His mouth touched her forehead with breathless tenderness. “I’d have to hurt you a little, maybe, at first.”
She felt waves of embarrassment wash over her at the vivid pictures in her mind. His big, nude body over hers in bed, covering her, his hands holding her…
“Does it always hurt?” she asked shyly.
“Not for a man,” he whispered, lifting his eyes to hers. “Not for you, either, if I could keep my head long enough to arouse you properly.”
Her heart was going like a trip hammer. “H…how…would you?”
He kissed the very tip of her nose. “Go out with me and I’ll show you.”
“On a date?” she whispered.
“Um hmm.” He nuzzled his cheek against hers. “Tomorrow night. I’ll take you to Houston. We’ll wipe out the bad memory of that last time there. We’ll dance and walk.” He brushed his mouth over her ear. “Remember, I have an apartment there,” he said slowly.
She closed her eyes. “No. I won’t go to your apartment.”
“It isn’t the last century,” he whispered. “We could be alone. We could make love.”
Her face flamed. “No,” she repeated.
“Abby…”
She pulled away from him, hating her own inhibitions and his attitude, as well. If he’d loved her, it might have been different. But he didn’t. He wanted her. And after that first time, she’d be just like every other woman he’d slept with. She’d be just another one of Calhoun Ballenger’s conquests, an ache that he’d satisfied and forgotten. A used toy.
“I have work to do,” she said, and tried to smile. “And…I don’t think I’ll go to Houston with you, thanks all the same.”
He realized only then what she thought. He’d made it sound as if he was going to round off the evening with a night in bed. He’d made it sound cheap, and that hadn’t been his intention at all. He’d meant that he’d make love to her, very light love, and then he’d take her home. He hadn’t meant—!
“Abby, no!” he burst out. “I didn’t mean what you think!”
She opened the door. “I have to go.” She went out, and he followed her, intent on having things out. But as he reached for her, Justin came in with two businessmen. Abby escaped into the bathroom, shaking, broken inside by hopelessness and rejection. Calhoun not only didn’t love her. Now he didn’t even respect her.
Chapter Nine
Abby was grateful that business kept Calhoun occupied for the next two days. She could hardly bear the thought of seeing him when he knew so well how she felt about him. And now that he’d reduced their relationship to a strictly physical one, some of the joy had gone out of life for her. She hadn’t expected that he’d actually proposition her. But if inviting her to his apartment wasn’t a proposition, what was it?
She managed to avoid him when he was in the office that Thursday and Friday, since things stayed hectic. Abby was training a new secretary, and Calhoun seemed reluctant to discuss their private lives around the other woman. She was a year older than Abby, bright and quick-witted. And, unfortunately, already stuck on Calhoun. She had a habit of sighing and batting her long eyelashes every time he passed her desk. Abby was glad Friday was her last day. Having to watch Calhoun with a potential new conquest—the girl was blond and very pretty—was just unbearable.
There was a small farewell party for Abby late Friday afternoon. Justin and Mr. Ayker and the women who worked in the office had taken up a collection to buy her a beautiful cardigan in a pale yellow shade. There was a cake, too, and Justin made a brief speech about how valuable she’d been to them and how they hated losing her. Calhoun wasn’t there. Abby left with mingled relief and disappointment. Apparently she wasn’t even going to get to say goodbye to him. Well, that suited her. She didn’t care if he was glad to be rid of her. Not one bit.
She cried all the way to Mrs. Simpson’s house because she didn’t care.
Tyler was right on time to take her to dinner. He looked good dressed up. He was wearing a navy blazer with tan slacks, a white shirt and a natty blue striped tie. He looked elegant and very masculine. His green eyes danced as Abby came downstairs in a gray crepe dress with a full skirt and a low, crosscut bodice with fabric buttons. Her hair was neatly styled, and she looked elegant and sexy.
“You look pretty,” he commented with a slow smile.
She curtsied. “So do you. Good night, Mrs. Simpson,” she called out. “I’ll be in by midnight!”
Mrs. Simpson came to the doorway, grinning. “Mind that no good-looking woman tries to take Ty away from you,” she teased.
“No chance of that,” he replied carelessly, smiling down at Abby. “This dishy lady is enough for me. Good night, Mrs. Simpson.”
“Good night,” the older woman replied. “Have fun.”
Tyler walked her out to his white Ford, opening the door for her. “I like your landlady. Her husband used to work for Dad. Did you know that?”
“She mentioned something about it,” Abby told him. “She’s a nice landlady.”
He got in, started the car and pulled out onto the road. “Do you miss the big house?”
“I miss the brothers,” she said quietly, fingering her small purse. “It’s hard getting used to my own company. There was always something going on at home.”
“Can I ask why you moved out?” he persisted, glancing in her direction.
She smiled at him. “No.”
His eyebrows arched wickedly. “Don’t tell me. Calhoun wrestled you down on the desk and tried to ravish you.”
Her face turned scarlet. She cleared her throat. “Don’t be absurd.”
He chuckled. “It isn’t absurd, considering the way he was watching you dance with me that night at the bar.”
“He was too busy dancing with Shelby to notice,” she murmured. “Justin went home and got drunk afterward,” she added, neglecting to mention her own participation.
“Shelby cried all night.” He sighed. “Hell of a thing, isn’t it, Abby, the way they still care about each other. Six years, and they’re as far apart now as they were then.”
“And both of them dying inside,” she added. She thought about herself and Calhoun and hoped that she wasn’t going to end up like Shelby, grieving for a man she could never have. She forced a bright smile. “Where are we going?”
“To that new Greek restaurant,” he told her. “They say the food is really good. Have you ever had Greek food?”
“No. I’m looking forward to trying it,” she said, and the conversation was back on safe territory again and away from the disturbing subject of Calhoun.
* * *
Meanwhile, Calhoun was pacing in Justin’s study at the house, his dark eyes black, his hands linked behind his back, scowling.
“Will you stop?” Justin muttered as he tried to add figures and ignore the distraction of his restless brother. “Abby’s not our responsibility anymore. She’s a grown woman.”
“I can’t help it. Tyler’s been around. He’s no boy.”
“So long as Abby isn’t interested in him, none of that will matter.”
Calhoun stopped pacing and glared at him. “And what if she is? What if she’s throwing herself at him on the rebound?”
Justin laid down his pencil. “Rebound from whom?” he asked, lighting a cigarette.
Calhoun rammed his hands into his pockets and stared out the dark window. “From me. She loves me,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Justin replied, and for once his tone was sympathetic.
Calhoun hadn’t realized how much Justin knew. He turned, his dark eyes curious, wary. “Did she tell you?”
Justin nodded. He took a draw from the cigarette, watching it instead of his brother. “She’s young, but that could be an advantage. She isn’t cynical or world-weary or promiscuous like most of your women. And she hasn’t got a mercenary bone in her body.”
“She’d want marriage,” Calhoun replied tautly. “Happily ever after. I don’t know if I could adjust to being married.”
Justin looked up. “How are you going to take to a life without Abby in it?”
For an instant, Calhoun looked hunted. He stared at the carpet.
“And what if it doesn’t last?” he replied harshly. “What if it all falls apart?”
Justin blew out a cloud of smoke. “Love lasts. And if you’re worried about being faithful to her,” he added with a pointed stare, “you may find that fidelity isn’t all that difficult.”
Calhoun’s dark eyes snapped. “Oh, sure. Look at you. Happily ever after. Your perfect relationship fell apart,” he said, hurting and striking out because of it. “And how many women have you consoled yourself with in the past six years?”
Justin stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrow and glittering. He smiled then, faintly. “None.”
Calhoun didn’t move. He hadn’t expected that answer, despite Justin’s clamlike attitude toward his private life.
“I had an old-fashioned idea that sex came after marriage with a woman like Shelby,” Justin said quietly. “So I held back. After she broke it off, I found that I wasn’t capable of wanting anyone else.” He turned away, oblivious to Calhoun’s shocked expression. “These days I find my consolation in work, Calhoun. I’ve never wanted anyone but Shelby since the day I met her. God help me, I still don’t.”
The younger man felt as if he’d been hit by a two-ton weight. His heart ran wild. Justin’s words echoed in his mind. He couldn’t even feel desire for the ravishing blonde Abby had seen him with in Houston. He hadn’t felt it with anyone since that night he’d brought Abby home from the bar and seen her naked to the waist. Was that what he had to look forward to? Would he end up like Justin, imprisoned in desire for the one woman he couldn’t have, alone for the rest of his life because he was incapable of wanting another woman?
“I didn’t realize,” Calhoun said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Justin shrugged. “One of those things,” he said philosophically. He sat down behind his desk. “You may not believe in marriage, but you may find that a relationship can tie you up properly without a ring or a legal paper. And I’ll throw your own question right back at you,” he added, cocking his head at his brother. “How many women have you had since you noticed Abby?”
Calhoun’s face grew hard and remote. He glared at Justin, then turned and left the room.
Justin lifted an eyebrow and chuckled softly to himself as he bent over his figures again.
* * *
Abby had a nice supper with Tyler, and the moussaka she sampled was delicious, like the elegant baklava they had for dessert and the faintly resinous wine they drank with their meal. But while she was listening to Ty talk about his new job, she was thinking about the empty future, about living without Calhoun. She’d gotten used to listening for his step in the hall late at night as he went to his room, to seeing him across the table, to watching television with him, to being near him at work. Life was so empty now, so cold. She felt as if she’d never know warmth again.
“The only bad part of it is that I’m going to get loaned out,” Tyler was telling her resignedly as he drank a demitasse of Greek coffee after dessert. “Old man Regan has a daughter in Arizona who’s coping with a dude ranch and two of her nephews for the summer. I’m going to be sent out there to get the place in shape, I gather, while my assistant looks after things here.” He grimaced. “I hate dude ranches. And I don’t much care for the woman trying to run this one. Apparently she thought she could and talked Regan into it, but she seems to be losing her shirt.”
Abby glanced at him. “What’s she like, do you know?”
“I don’t have a clue. She’s probably one of those feminists who think men should have the children and women should earn the living. I’ll be damned if she’ll tell me how to do my job.”
Abby could see the fireworks already, and she smiled behind her cup at the mental image. Tyler was so much like Justin and Calhoun, a reactionary, a holdover from the old West. It would be fascinating to see how he coped with a modern woman.
He took her home minutes later, bending to kiss her cheek at the door of Mrs. Simpson’s house. “Thanks for keeping me company,” he grinned. “I enjoyed it.”
“So did I.” She smiled up at him. “You’re a nice man. Someday you’ll make some lucky girl a nice husband.”
“Marriage is for—”
“The birds,” she finished for him, sighing. “You and Calhoun ought to do an act together. You’ve got the chorus down pat.”
“No man wants to get married,” he told her. “Men get corralled.”
“Oh, sure they do,” she agreed. “By greedy, grasping, mercenary women.”
“I’d marry you in a minute, Abby,” he said. He was smiling, but he didn’t sound as if he were joking. “So if Calhoun slips the noose, you just throw it my way. I won’t even duck.”
“You doll.” She reached up and kissed his firm jaw. “I’ll remember that. Good night, Ty.”
“Good night. I’ll give you a call next week, okay?”
“Okay.”
She waved at him and then used her key and went inside. She climbed the stairs lazily, relaxed from the resinated wine and worn out from her long week of avoiding Calhoun. So it was a surprise to find the telephone ringing in her room, where she had her own private extension.
She put down her purse and sat on the bed to answer it. “Hello?”
A deep, familiar voice that made her pulse leap said, “Hello.”
“Calhoun?” she asked softly.
“I can’t sit up and wait for you anymore,” he said. “So I thought I’d make sure you got home all right.”
“I did.”
“Where did you go?”
She lay back on the bed, her head on the pillow. “To the new Greek place.”
“Ummm,” he murmured, sounding as if he were stretched out on his own bed. “I’ve been there for business dinners a time or two. Did you try the moussaka? It’s delicious.”
“Yes, that’s what I had, and some of that resinated wine. It’s very strong.”
He paused. “Did you come straight home?”
She almost smiled at his concern. “Yes, I came straight home. He didn’t even try to seduce me.”
“I don’t remember accusing him of it.”
She touched the receiver gently. “Is everything all right at the house?”
“I guess so.” There was a pause. “It’s lonely.”
“It’s lonely here, too,” she said.
Another pause. “I didn’t mean what you thought I did,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t take you to bed on a bet. You aren’t the kind of woman to be used and thrown aside. I’m ashamed of you for thinking I could treat you like that after all these years.”
Her heart ran away. She clutched the receiver closer to her ear. “But you said—”
“I said we could go to the apartment and be alone,” he interrupted. “And that we could make love. I meant we could make a few memories and then I’d take you home.” He sighed. “I’d probably do it bent double, but I never had any intention of taking advantage of the situation.”
“Oh.”
“So now that we’ve cleared that up, how about dinner tomorrow night?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Calhoun, wouldn’t it be better if we just didn’t see each other again?” she asked quietly, even though it broke her heart to say the words.
“I’ve looked out for you, watched over you and ordered your life for years,” he replied. “Now you’re grown, and things have happened between us that I never expected. We can’t go back to the relationship we had, and we can’t be intimate. But there has to be a way that we can keep each other,” he said heavily. “Because I can’t quite put you out of my life, Abby. I hate like hell going past your room at night and knowing you aren’t in it. I hate watching television alone and sitting at a table alone when Justin has business dinners. I hate the feedlot because there’s going to be another woman at your desk.”