Fire Brand

by Diana Palmer

  Hiding her terror from Bowie was harder than she’d thought it would be. She put on her old mask and laughed at the supper table, telling him about the giant squash she’d photographed, listening to his woes about the snags the Canada project had run into, but her eyes were haunted, and he saw it.

  “You’re worried,” he said unexpectedly, his black eyes probing, seeing deep, as usual. “You’re trying to hide it, but you can’t. I know you too well.”

  “It’s the story we ran,” she fabricated. “I’m still worried about a lawsuit.”

  He relaxed, smiling. “Well, don’t worry. We can handle a lawsuit. I’ve got terrific lawyers. So has Chalmers. Eat your apple pie and ice cream and stop looking for trouble.”

  But I’m not, she wanted to say—it’s looking for me. She smiled at him and dipped her fork into the deliciously flaky crust of Tía Elena’s apple pie.

  She didn’t return Mrs. Bartholomew’s call. In fact, she carefully put a match to the telephone number and asked Judy to tell the lady she wasn’t there if any calls came again. She made up a story about an old enemy, and Judy was nice enough not to question what she was told. She liked Gaby, and agreed to do as she was asked.

  Meanwhile, Gaby started getting her things together. It broke her heart to think about leaving her husband and Casa Río, Aggie and all her friends, but there wasn’t any other choice. If she stayed, she could put them all at risk. It was far better to sacrifice her own happiness than to put them on the firing line with her.

  She planned to leave on the following Saturday. Somehow, she got through until Friday night, but it was hard not to give the show away. Bowie was all too perceptive, and she disliked hiding anything from him.

  Montoya and Tía Elena went into Tucson to visit relatives. Aggie was still in Jackson with Ted. Bowie went swimming in the pool house. It would have been a perfect time to slip away, but Gaby couldn’t go—not just yet.

  She stood at the edge of the pool, clad in her long blue silk robe, watching Bowie. He’d gotten into the habit of swimming nude just lately, and occasionally she joined him, but still in her bathing suit. Tonight was different. Tonight would be the last night. She was going to give him a memory that would last them both all the long years ahead when they wouldn’t see each other.

  He leaned his arms on the pool edge, smiling at her. “Well, come on in,” he taunted. “You won’t melt.”

  “Won’t I?” She laughed softly, and all at once, she let the robe drop.

  The smile faded. His face hardened with pure desire as his black eyes slid from her high, firm breasts down her soft body to her full hips and long, elegant legs.

  “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” he asked softly.

  “I could say the same thing about you, Bowie,” she whispered, her voice carrying in the stillness. “And I’d mean inside as well as out. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known.”

  Her voice broke and he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She smiled and slid into the water with him, her arms curling around his neck. “No questions,” she whispered as she eased her lips against his. “No more questions. I want you.”

  The shock of her uninhibited behavior made his mind fog. As soon as he felt her soft skin against his and returned her warm, hungry kisses, reason vanished.

  “Gaby,” he breathed. His hands slid to her hips and brought them in a slow, erotic motion to his.

  “Yes, I like that,” she murmured against his hardening mouth. Her nails scraped gently against his nape and then down his shoulders to his hips. She pressed herself against him, drowning in the sudden fury of his need and her exquisite certainty that she could satisfy it as never before.

  “What are you doing?” he asked roughly when she moved back a little and her hands began to touch him in new, exciting ways.

  “Learning things,” she laughed tenderly. “Don’t be aftaid, honey,” she whispered, nuzzling his nose with hers. “I’ll be gentle.”

  He burst out laughing, and the laughter turned into a groan. His mouth found her neck and brushed there, his breathing rough and sharp, his hands clenching her hips.

  She turned her mouth against his and kissed him with all her heart, levering her body so that she was even with his hips. “Help me,” she whispered into his parted lips. “I... I’m not...yes! Oh, yes!”

  His big, lean hands were under her spine, under her thighs, lifting, positioning. He pulled gently, lifting his head so that he could see her eyes as he probed, and then surged upward in one slow, tender movement of his powerful body.

  “Not here,” he whispered. “It’s too deep.”

  He eased her into shallow water, backing her up against the side of the smooth pool, but so that they were standing waist-deep in the cool water.

  “Take a long time,” she whispered huskily. Her hands touched his hard face, tracing his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his mouth and nose, as he moved with exquisite slowness. “Take a long, long time.” She gasped, and his mouth touched hers with easy affection.

  “Marriage gets better every day,” he breathed. He looked down and so did she, catching her breath at the contrast between his dark, hair-roughened body and her soft, pink one, at the intimacy of seeing where they touched, how they touched.

  Her face turned red as he looked up. “Yes, it awes me, too,” he whispered huskily. “And I’ve seen it before. But with you, it’s a miracle of togetherness, a sharing of all we are. I love you very much, Mrs. McCayde.”

  “Oh, Bowie... I love you,” she moaned. Tears filled her eyes, but she kissed him so that he wouldn’t see them. Her arms lifted around him and she moved sensuously against him, which made him even hungrier, incited him to urgency.

  “Don’t let me hurt you,” he breathed roughly.

  “You couldn’t,” she whimpered. Her eyes closed. Her teeth ground together. “You couldn’t, not...ever!”

  The side of the pool was hard at her back, but his hands slid there, protecting her from the abrasion. He groaned into her open mouth as his hips began to echo the feverish urgency of his tongue penetrating her lips, probing the soft sweet darkness of her mouth, finding the emptiness there and making it throb with the need to be filled.

  She felt her legs twining around his, holding him, as the rhythm grew shuddery and strong. She whispered something, and cried out. The heat was there again, like a brand, burning her, filling her with molten flame. She bit into his shoulder helplessly as the waves washed over her and lifted her, convulsively, into heaven.

  She opened her eyes at that moment and saw his face—saw it corded and contorted with the anguish of fulfillment, even as the sound broke from his tight lips and his body arched into hers with the savage throb of ecstasy in his voice.

  His eyes opened as his coiled muscles relaxed. He looked directly into Gaby’s eyes. Incredibly, the sight of her watching him made his body begin to shudder all over again. He caught her hair and held her face while his mouth burned down into hers, and he waded into the shallows, with her body still part of his.

  He lifted his head when they were knee-deep and his eyes were black as night. “Again,” he breathed roughly. “I have to have it again.”

  She smiled faintly as she met his lips. He put her down to get out of the pool, a tremor in his arms as he helped her out and lifted her onto one of the loungers under the sun roof.

  “Will it hold us?” she whispered as he came down over her.

  “Who the hell cares,” he ground out. “Gaby!”

  His stamina overwhelmed her. He kissed her until she was dizzy, touched her in ways he never had, took her to the brink and pulled her back, over and over again, until she sobbed.

  “I can’t stand it!” she wailed.

  “Yes, you can,” he bit off against her mouth. His hands contracted hungrily on her
hips. “Lift up. Hard. Hard!”

  He controlled her movements, her mind, her heart. He rolled over and lifted her onto him and held her while she learned the rhythm and let him guide her. It was incredible the second time. She almost fell in her anguished release, his hands holding her thighs to keep her upright, his voice breaking with the sweet pain of fulfillment.

  He pulled her down at last and his big hands soothed her while they both strained to breathe, their heartbeats shaking each other.

  “I’ve never done it like that,” he whispered finally, when she was still and faintly trembling against his broad, damp chest.

  “Before,” she whispered, smiling as she lifted up to put her mouth gently over his.

  “Before,” he agreed. His soft eyes searched hers. “I couldn’t love you more if I worked at it all my life,” he whispered. “You’re my world, Gaby.” His eyes darkened. “You’re my very life. Now I know how Ted felt when his wife died and he ran the truck into the river. I’d just as soon be dead if I had to face a future without you in it.”

  “No,” she whispered, her eyes tearing up again as she put her fingers to his hard mouth. “No, you’re strong. You’d go on...”

  “No, I damned well wouldn’t,” he said curtly, moving her hand to his chest. “I’ve never loved anyone before. I never could again—not like this.”

  Terror shot through her. She bit her lower lip and tried to find the right words. How could she tell him that she was leaving him? How could she admit that she was going away?

  “Stop looking so terrified,” he murmured as he brought her back down against him and sighed. “You’re not going anywhere, and neither am I—except to bed,” he mused, chuckling, “before Montoya and Tía Elena get the shock of their married lives.”

  “They won’t be back until ten,” she murmured lazily.

  “It’s five after ten,” he whispered.

  She shot up, her wide eyes stunned. He lifted his waterproof watch and showed her the dial.

  “Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun?” he mused, his black eyes twinkling.

  “They might come in here!”

  “Yes, they might.”

  She jumped up, grabbing at her robe. She shouldered into it, still damp, and threw Bowie’s towel to him. “Get up, do,” she coaxed. “What will they think if they see us?!”

  He chuckled as he got up, lazily, and wrapped the towel around his hips. “They’ll think we’ve been swimming,” he murmured, tongue in cheek. “Unless you blush like that in front of them.”

  “I can’t help it,” she said shyly.

  “Amazing,” he sighed. “Especially in view of the fact that you seduced me,” he added wickedly. “I’ve never enjoyed anything as much in my whole life. You might keep that in mind.”

  “Oh, I will,” she assured him. I’ll live on it all my life, she added silently.

  They came out of the pool area together just as Tía Elena and Montoya came in the door. Gaby greeted them, mumbled something about changing out of her wet bathing suit, smiled sheepishly, and shot up the staircase like a bullet.

  Bowie was still laughing about it when he came to bed minutes later.

  She got up before dawn, careful not to rouse Bowie, and dressed in a suit and high heels, barely pausing to put on makeup and brush her hair. Then she stood beside the bed and looked down at him, tears misting her vision as she let her eyes adore him one last time. It was for his own good. She had to remember that, and not weaken. If she stayed, she put him at risk—him, Aggie, Casa Río, and everything he held dear. She didn’t dare think about what he’d said—about what he’d do if he lost her. She had to believe that he’d go on, because he was strong. He was very strong. He’d make it.

  She wanted to kiss him, just once more, but she was afraid she might wake him. He was a light sleeper at best, despite the way she’d tired him out the night before. She still blushed, remembering how sweet it had been to make love with him. Amazing, she thought, that just when her old nightmares and fears were put to rest, the past should come back to threaten her again.

  With a weary sigh, she forced her eyes away from him and turned. She opened the door silently and closed it. Then, with tears hot in her eyes, she crept down the staircase.

  Montoya and Tía Elena would still be asleep. They arose just past dawn. She had less than ten minutes to get her suitcase and get out of the house before she was discovered. She didn’t dare let anyone see her with her things in a bag, leaving Casa Río. She had to just disappear.

  She reached into the hall closet where she’d hidden the suitcase, past the sports equipment, and gently pulled it out. She’d taken only what she had to have. She had her savings passbook in her purse, with enough money in her account to tide her over until she could get another job.

  With a heart like lead in her chest, she gently closed the closet door and picked up the bag.

  She turned to leave, and ran straight into Bowie, who’d been standing at the foot of the staircase, watching her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  GABY COULDN’T EVEN SPEAK. She tried to get words out, but they wouldn’t come. Bowie looked down at her without any particular surprise on his lean face. He was wearing jeans and nothing else, so obviously he’d dressed in a hurry. And he was smiling, tenderly, as his black eyes held hers.

  “I can explain,” she began finally, knowing she couldn’t.

  “I already know,” he replied. “Everything.”

  “But you couldn’t!” she burst out. “You said you’d tried already...!”

  He took the bag from her and put it down. Then he picked her up gently and carried her into his study, kicking the door shut. “I did try, years ago,” he agreed. He sat down in his big armchair with Gaby in his lap. “Mrs. Bartholomew isn’t the kind of woman who gives up. She called me yesterday at my office.”

  Gaby burst into tears. She put her face in her hands and cried until her throat hurt.

  Bowie held her close, rocking her. “Shhh,” he whispered softly. “It’s all right, baby. There’s nothing in the world to be afraid of. It’s all over. You’re safe. You’re with me, and you’re safe.”

  “They’ll hurt you.” Her voice broke. She lifted eyes dark with terror. “My father killed Mrs. Bartholomew’s son when he attacked me! We ran, oh, God, we ran, and I hoped... But she found me...and now she’ll put it in all the papers. I can run away!” she whispered feverishly. “If they can’t find me, they’ll leave you alone!”

  “Gaby.” He put his fingers gently across her wild mouth. “Hush. I said it’s all right. Mrs. Bartholomew doesn’t want to hurt you, or me, or any of us.”

  She shuddered a little with reaction. “What?”

  “It’s a long story, but I can abbreviate it,” he replied quietly. “Your father didn’t kill her son.”

  “But he did, I saw...!”

  “Your father hit him, and there was a lot of blood,” he whispered. “There was even a preliminary and very premature story in one of the local papers to the effect that he had been murdered. But he didn’t die that night, Gaby. He died in the hospital, two days later, of a heart attack. An autopsy was performed, at the request of the family. He died of valve disease—calcification of the heart valves. He must have known he had a heart problem for a long time, because the symptoms would have been obvious. But he drank heavily, and he wouldn’t see a doctor. The blow concussed him. It didn’t kill him.”

  Gaby buried her face in his chest and wept. She wept for her father, who’d died in a mental institution, overcome by the thought that he’d murdered another human being. She wept for herself, for all the long years that she’d been haunted by what had happened that night. She wept for the Bartholomews, who’d suffered so much because of their son.

  Bowie smoothed her long hair. “Mrs. Bartholomew said they�
��d looked for you and your father for years. They finally traced him to the place he’d died. He was a minister at one time, wasn’t he, Gaby, and that was why what happened was so horrible for him. Taking life was against everything he believed in.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, wiping away the tears. “We were poor, but he was a good man, Bowie. He was never affectionate, but he was good to me, and he took care of me the best way he knew.” She sniffed. “I’ve lived with it for so long,” she whispered, shaking. “I’ve been so afraid that they’d find me one day.”

  “They did, from the wire service photo of our wedding,” he continued. “They wanted you to know the truth. It was important to Mrs. Bartholomew that you weren’t hiding or afraid that you might be prosecuted even today. There was no crime. There was no guilt—only theirs, that they hadn’t known he was harassing you. She is delighted to know that you’re married to a moderately successful man, and that you’re happy. And you are, aren’t you, honey?” he asked tenderly.

  She clung to him hungrily and kissed him—tender little kisses, all over his face. “Oh, I’m happy,” she whispered brokenly. “So happy! Bowie, I was going away...”

  “Yes, I know.” He kissed her back. “I wanted you to tell me. I was hoping, up until the last minute, that you’d trust me enough—especially after what happened in the pool last night. That was goodbye, wasn’t it?” he asked gently.

  She nodded, wiping away the tears. “I wanted to leave you a good memory.”

  “It was that. But losing you would have killed me.” He searched her eyes, and he wasn’t smiling. “I wasn’t kidding. I meant every last word I said to you. You’re my world—all of it.”