Heartbreaker

by Linda Howard

  “It’ll take more time than that. I’d like to make an appointment, then. Would it be convenient for me to come over tomorrow morning?”

  He laughed, a short, humorless bark. “This is a working ranch, sugar, not a social event. I don’t have time for you tomorrow morning. Time’s up.”

  “Then when?”

  He muttered an impatient curse. “Look, I don’t have time for you now. I’ll drop by tomorrow afternoon on my way to town. About six.” He hung up before she could agree or disagree, but as she hung up, too, she thought ruefully that he was calling the shots, so it didn’t really matter if she liked the time or not. At least she had the telephone call behind her now, and there were almost twenty hours in which to brace herself for actually seeing him. She would stop work tomorrow in time to shower and wash her hair, and she’d do the whole routine with makeup and perfume, wear her white linen trousers and white silk shirt. Looking at her, Rafferty would never suspect that she was anything other than what he’d always thought her to be, pampered and useless.

  IT WAS LATE in the afternoon, the broiling sun had pushed the temperature to a hundred degrees, and the cattle were skittish. Rafferty was hot, sweaty, dusty and ill-tempered, and so were his men. They’d spent too much time chasing after strays instead of getting the branding and inoculating done, and now the deep, threatening rumble of thunder signaled a summer thunderstorm. The men speeded up their work, wanting to get finished before the storm hit.

  Dust rose in the air as the anxious bawling increased in volume and the stench of burning hide intensified. Rafferty worked with the men, not disdaining any of the dirty jobs. It was his ranch, his life. Ranching was hard, dirty work, but he’d made it profitable when others had gone under, and he’d done it with his own sweat and steely determination. His mother had left rather than tolerate the life; of course, the ranch had been much smaller back then, not like the empire he’d built. His father, and the ranch, hadn’t been able to support her in the style she’d wanted. Rafferty sometimes got a grim satisfaction from the knowledge that now his mother regretted having been so hasty to desert her husband and son so long ago. He didn’t hate her; he didn’t waste that much effort on her. He just didn’t have much use for her, or for any of the rich, spoiled, bored, useless people she considered her friends.

  Nev Luther straightened from the last calf, wiping his sweaty face on his shirtsleeve, then glancing at the sun and the soaring black cloud bank of the approaching storm. “Well, that’s it,” he grunted. “We’d better get loaded up before that thing hits.” Then he glanced at his boss. “Ain’t you supposed to see that Cabot gal today?”

  Nev had been in the barn with Rafferty when he’d talked to Michelle, so he’d overheard the conversation. After a quick look at his watch, Rafferty swore aloud. He’d forgotten about her, and he wasn’t grateful to Nev for reminding him. There were few people walking the earth who irritated him as much as Michelle Cabot.

  “Damn it, I guess I’d better go,” he said reluctantly. He knew what she wanted. It had surprised him that she had called at all, rather than continuing to ignore the debt. She was probably going to whine about how little money she had left and tell him that she couldn’t possibly scrape up that amount. Just thinking about her made him want to grab her and shake her, hard. Or better yet, take a belt to her backside. She was exactly what he disliked most: a spoiled, selfish parasite who’d never done a day’s work in her life. Her father had bankrupted himself paying for her pleasure jaunts, but Langley Cabot had always been a bit of a fool where his beloved only child had been concerned. Nothing had been too good for darling little Michelle, nothing at all.

  Too bad that darling Michelle was a spoiled brat. Damn, she irritated him! She’d irritated him from the first moment he’d seen her, prissing up to where her father had stood talking to him, with her haughty nose in the air as if she’d smelled something bad. Well, maybe she had. Sweat, the product of physical work, was an alien odor to her. She’d looked at him the way she would have looked at a worm, then dismissed him as unimportant and turned her back to him while she coaxed and wheedled something out of her father with that charming Golden Girl act of hers.

  “Say, boss, if you don’t want to see that fancy little thing, I’d be happy to fill in for you,” Nev offered, grinning.

  “It’s tempting,” Rafferty said sourly, checking his watch again. He could go home and clean up, but it would make him late. He wasn’t that far from the Cabot ranch now, and he wasn’t in the mood to drive all the way back to his house, shower, and then make the drive again just so he wouldn’t offend her dainty nose. She could put up with him as he was, dirt, sweat and all; after all, she was the one begging for favors. The mood he was in, he just might call in that debt, knowing good and well she couldn’t pay it. He wondered with sardonic amusement if she would offer to pay it in another way. It would serve her right if he played along; it would make her squirm with distaste to think of letting him have her pampered body. After all, he was rough and dirty and worked for a living.

  As he strode over to his truck and slid his long length under the steering wheel, he couldn’t keep the image from forming in his mind: the image of Michelle Cabot lying beneath him, her slim body naked, her pale gold hair spread out over his pillow as he moved in and out of her. He felt his loins become heavy and full in response to the provocative image, and he swore under his breath. Damn her, and damn himself. He’d spent years watching her, brooding, wanting her and at the same time wanting to teach her in whatever way it took not to be such a spoiled, selfish snob.

  Other people hadn’t seen her that way; she could be charming when she chose, and she’d chosen to work that charm on the local people, maybe just to amuse herself with their gullibility. The ranchers and farmers in the area were a friendly group, rewarding themselves for their endless hard work with informal get-togethers, parties and barbecues almost every weekend, and Michelle had had them all eating out of her hand. They didn’t see the side of her that she’d revealed to him; she was always laughing, dancing…but never with him. She would dance with every other man there, but never with him. He’d watched her, all right, and because he was a healthy male with a healthy libido he hadn’t been able to stop himself from responding physically to her lithe, curved body and sparkling smile, even though it made him angry that he responded to her in any way. He didn’t want to want her, but just looking at her made him hungry.

  Other men had watched her with hungry eyes, too, including Mike Webster. Rafferty didn’t think he’d ever forgive her for what she’d done to Mike, whose marriage had been shaky even before Michelle had burst onto the scene with her flirtatious manner and sparkling laughter. Mike hadn’t been any match for her; he’d fallen hard and fast, and the Webster marriage had splintered beyond repair. Then Michelle had flitted on to fresher prey, and Mike had been left with nothing but a ruined life. The young rancher had lost everything he’d worked for, forced to sell his ranch because of the divorce settlement. He was just one more man Michelle had ruined with her selfishness, as she’d ruined her father. Even when Langley was deep in financial trouble he’d kept providing money for Michelle’s expensive life-style. Her father had been going under, but she’d still insisted on buying her silks and jewels, and skiing vacations in St. Moritz. It would take a rich man to afford Michelle Cabot, and a strong one.

  The thought of being the one who provided her with those things, and the one who had certain rights over her because of it, teased his mind with disturbing persistence. No matter how angry, irritated or disgusted he felt toward her, he couldn’t control his physical response to her. There was something about her that made him want to reach out and take her. She looked, sounded and smelled expensive; he wanted to know if she tasted expensive, too, if her skin was as silky as it looked. He wanted to bury his hands in her sunlit hair, taste her wide, soft mouth, and trace his fingertips across the chiseled perfection of her cheekbones, inhale the gu
t-tightening fragrance of her skin. He’d smelled her the day they’d first met, the perfume in her hair and on her skin, and the sweetness of her flesh beneath it. She was expensive all right, too expensive for Mike Webster, and for the poor sap she’d married and then left, certainly too expensive for her father. Rafferty wanted to lose himself in all that richness. It was a pure, primitive male instinct, the reaction of the male to a ready female. Maybe Michelle was a tease, but she gave out all the right signals to bring the men running, like bees to the sweetest flower.

  Right now Michelle was between supporters, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before she had another man lined up. Why shouldn’t he be that man? He was tired of wanting her and watching her turn her snooty little nose up at him. She wouldn’t be able to wrap him around her finger as she was used to doing, but that would be the price she had to pay for her expensive tastes. Rafferty narrowed his eyes against the rain that began to splat against the windshield, thinking about the satisfaction of having Michelle dependent on him for everything she ate and wore. It was a hard, primitive satisfaction. He would use her to satisfy his burning physical hunger for her, but he wouldn’t let her get close enough to cloud his mind and judgment.

  He’d never paid for a woman before, never been a sugar daddy, but if that was what it took to get Michelle Cabot, he’d do it. He’d never wanted another woman the way he wanted her, so he guessed it evened out.

  The threatening storm suddenly broke, sending a sheet of rain sluicing down the windshield to obscure his vision despite the wipers’ best efforts. Gusts of wind shoved at the truck, making him fight to hold it steady on the road. Visibility was so bad that he almost missed the turn to the Cabot ranch even though he knew these roads as well as he knew his own face. His features were dark with ill-temper when he drove up to the Cabot house, and his disgust increased as he looked around. Even through the rain, he could tell the place had gone to hell. The yard was full of weeds, the barn and stables had the forlorn look of emptiness and neglect, and the pastures that had once been dotted with prime Brahman cattle were empty now. The little society queen’s kingdom had dissolved around her.

  Though he’d pulled the truck up close to the house, it was raining so hard that he was drenched to the skin by the time he sprinted to the porch. He slapped his straw hat against his leg to get most of the water off it, but didn’t replace it on his head. He raised his hand to knock, but the door opened before he had a chance. Michelle stood there looking at him with the familiar disdain in her cool, green eyes. She hesitated for just a moment, as if reluctant to let him drip water on the carpet; then she pushed the screen door open and said, “Come in.” He imagined it ate at her guts to have to be nice to him because she owed him a hundred thousand dollars.

  He walked past her, noting the way she moved back so he wouldn’t brush against her. Just wait, he thought savagely. Soon he’d do more than just brush against her, and he’d make damned certain she liked it. She might turn her nose up at him now, but things would be different when she was naked under him, her legs wrapped around his waist while she writhed in ecstasy. He didn’t just want the use of her body; he wanted her to want him in return, to feel as hungry and obsessed as he did. It would be poetic justice, after all the men she’d used. He almost wanted her to say something snide, so he’d have a reason to put his hands on her, even in anger. He wanted to touch her, no matter what the reason; he wanted to feel her warm and soft in his hands; he wanted to make her respond to him.

  But she didn’t cut at him with her tongue as she usually did. Instead she said, “Let’s go into Dad’s office,” and led the way down the hall with her perfume drifting behind her to tease him. She looked untouchable in crisp white slacks and a white silk shirt that flowed lovingly over her curvy form, but he itched to touch her anyway. Her sunny pale-gold hair was pulled back and held at the nape of her neck with a wide gold clip.

  Her fastidious perfection was in direct contrast to his own rough appearance, and he wondered what she’d do if he touched her, if he pulled her against him and got her silk shirt wet and stained. He was dirty and sweaty and smelled of cattle and horses, and now he was wet into the bargain; no, there was no way she’d accept his touch.

  “Please sit down,” she said, waving her hand at one of the leather chairs in the office. “I imagine you know why I called.”

  His expression became even more sardonic. “I imagine I do.”

  “I found the loan paper when I was going through Daddy’s desk the night before last. I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to weasel out of paying it, but I don’t have the money right now—”

  “Don’t waste my time,” he advised, interrupting.

  She stared up at him. He hadn’t taken the chair she’d offered; he was standing too close, towering over her, and the look in his black eyes made her shiver.

  “What?”

  “This song and dance; don’t waste my time doing the whole bit. I know what you’re going to offer, and I’m willing. I’ve been wanting to get in your pants for a long time, honey; just don’t make the mistake of thinking a few quickies will make us even, because they won’t. I believe in getting my money’s worth.”

  Chapter Two

  SHOCK FROZE HER in place and leached the color from her upturned face until it was as pale as ivory. She felt disoriented; for a moment his words refused to make sense, rotating in her mind like so many unconnected pieces of a puzzle. He was looming over her, his height and muscularity making her feel as insignificant as always, while the heat and scent of his body overwhelmed her senses, confusing her. He was too close! Then the words realigned themselves, and their meaning slapped her in the face. Panic and fury took the place of shock. Without thinking she drew back from him and snapped, “You must be joking!”

  It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it as soon as she’d said it. Now wasn’t the time to insult him, not when she needed his cooperation if she wanted to have a prayer of keeping the ranch going, but both pride and habit made her lash back at him. She could feel her stomach tighten even as she lifted her chin to give him a haughty stare, waiting for the reaction that was sure to come after the inadvertent challenge she’d thrown in his teeth. It wasn’t safe to challenge Rafferty at all, and now she’d done it in the most elemental way possible.

  His face was hard and still, his eyes narrowed and burning as he watched her. Michelle could feel the iron control he exerted to keep himself from moving. “Do I look like I’m joking?” he asked in a soft, dangerous tone. “You’ve always had some poor sucker supporting you; why shouldn’t it be my turn? You can’t lead me around by the nose the way you have every other man, but the way I see it, you can’t afford to be too choosy right now.”

  “What would you know about being choosy?” She went even whiter, retreating from him a few more steps; she could almost feel his impact on her skin, and he hadn’t even moved. He’d had so many women that she didn’t even want to think about it, because thinking about it made her hurt deep inside. Had those other women felt this helpless, this overwhelmed by his heat and sexuality? She couldn’t control her inborn instincts and responses; she had always sensed her own weakness where he was concerned, and that was what frightened her, what had kept her fighting him all these years. She simply couldn’t face being used by him as casually as a stallion would service a mare; it would mean too much to her, and too little to him.

  “Don’t pull away from me,” he said, his voice going even softer, deeper, stroking her senses like dark velvet. It was the voice he would use in the night, she thought dazedly, her mind filled with the image of him covering a woman with his lean, powerful body while he murmured rawly sexual things in her ear. John wouldn’t be a subtle lover; he would be strong and elemental, overwhelming a woman’s senses. Wildly she blanked the image from her mind, turning her head away so she couldn’t see him.

  Rage lashed at him when she turned away as if she couldn’t
bear the sight of him; she couldn’t have made it any plainer that she couldn’t bear the idea of sleeping with him, either. With three long strides he circled the desk and caught her upper arms in his lean, sinewy hands, pulling her hard against him. Even in his fury he realized that this was the first time he’d touched her, felt her softness and the fragility of her bones. His hands completely encircled her arms, and his fingers wanted to linger, to stroke. Hunger rose again, pushing aside some of the anger. “Don’t turn your nose up at me like some Ice Princess,” he ordered roughly. “Your little kingdom has gone to hell, honey, in case you haven’t noticed. Those fancy playmates of yours don’t know you from Adam’s housecat now that you can’t afford to play. They sure haven’t offered to help, have they?”

  Michelle pushed against his chest, but it was like trying to move a wall. “I haven’t asked them to help!” she cried, goaded. “I haven’t asked anyone for help, least of all you!”

  “Why not me?” He shook her lightly, his eyes narrowed and fierce. “I can afford you, honey.”

  “I’m not for sale!” She tried to pull back, but the effort was useless; though he wasn’t holding her tightly enough to hurt, she was helpless against his steely strength.

  “I’m not interested in buying,” he murmured as he dipped his head. “Only in renting you for a while.” Michelle made an inarticulate sound of protest and tried to turn her head away, but he simply closed his fist in her hair and held her still for his mouth. Just for a moment she saw his black eyes, burning with hunger, then his mouth was on hers, and she quivered in his arms like a frightened animal. Her eyelashes fluttered shut and she sank against him. For years she’d wondered about his mouth, his taste, if his lips would be firm or soft, if his mustache would scratch. Pleasure exploded in her like a fireball, flooding her with heat. Now she knew. Now she knew the warm, heady taste of his mouth, the firm fullness of his lips, the soft prickle of his mustache, the sure way his tongue moved into her mouth as if it were his right to be so intimate. Somehow her arms were around his shoulders, her nails digging through the wet fabric of his shirt to the hard muscle beneath. Somehow she was arched against him, his arms locked tight as he held her and took her mouth so deeply, over and over again. She didn’t feel the moisture from his clothing seeping into hers; she felt only his heat and hardness, and dimly she knew that if she didn’t stop soon, he wouldn’t stop at all.