by Diana Palmer
"Promise me you won't leave," he asked suddenly, his eyes dark and troubled.
She hesitated. "I'm going to have to go back to Chicago, at least for a while. I have obligations, responsibilities."
He sighed. "Then leave Blake with me."
That thought hadn't occurred to her. She wasn't sure how that would work out, although Blake loved his father and seemed happy enough with his grandmother. But as she looked at Cy, she wondered if it was another ploy, a way to keep Blake and get her away long enough to accomplish it. He said he cared for her, but did he, really?
"I can see the bricks going up in that wall you're trying to build," he said, watching her. "I'm going to steal Blake away and send you packing, isn't that the theme?"
She actually gasped, and then she blushed.
He nodded grimly. "I thought so. We've got a long way to go, haven't we, honey? You don't trust me any farther than you can throw me."
"I don't know you," she replied.
"That's true enough." He sighed gently. "Okay. I'll work on it. Maybe I can find a way to convince you that it isn't just Blake I want. I happen to want you, too. And not just for that delicious body that gives mine such agonizing pleasure."
"I'm used to working," she began.
"And making decisions and giving orders," he agreed. "Fine. Give some. Then come back, and I'll give you a few."
She glared at him. "I don't take orders."
He smiled slowly. "You will."
Her temper went over the top. She turned and walked stiffly to the door, cursing her own weakness for him.
"You're just frustrated, little woman," he said as he settled back onto the pillows and closed his eyes, smiling smugly. "As it happens, I can take care of that problem with relative ease, once I can use my back again."
"You conceited ! "
He opened his eyes and looked up and down her slender body with a possessiveness and sensuality that made her legs go weak. "I'm going to watch you, all through it," he said in a voice that rippled with meaning. "I'll exhaust you, but when it's over, you won't want to leave me. We'll never be apart again."
"You're not playing fair!"
"I'm not playing, honey," he replied, his expression somber.
She couldn't manage an answer to that. She was far too vulnerable right now, and the way he was looking at her made her aware of her own needs.
"Sleep well," she managed, opening the door.
"You, too. Good night, little one."
She paused, looking back at him. He smiled. After a minute she did, too. She closed the door and went upstairs.
The next morning Blake burst into the dining room where Myrna and a sleepy Meredith were having breakfast. Mrs. Dougherty had already taken a tray to Cy's room for him and Blake.
"Mommy," he exclaimed, leaning against her legs, "that man says I can stay with him while you go to Chicago! Can I really?"
"That man?' Meredith murmured softly with a glance at Myrna.
"My daddy!"
Myrna's hand trembled on her coffee cup. She put it down, her wide eyes going from Meredith to Blake.
"Yes, you can stay with Daddy," Meredith replied.
Blake glanced at Myrna and frowned. "You're my daddy's mama. Does that mean you're my grandmother?" he asked.
Myrna could barely get the word out. "Yes," she croaked.
Blake moved around the table and leaned against her legs, looking up at her with innocent fascination. "I never had a grandmother before. Do you like me?"
"Oh, yes," Myrna said huskily. She touched his dark hair. "I like you very much."
"I can read you stories, too, if you like," he told her. "My daddy likes it when I read to him."
"I'm sure he does." Myrna could hardly breathe. Blake grinned and ran out of the room again, leaving the two women alone.
"I told him last night," Meredith explained.
Myrna was dabbing at tears with her napkin. "Thank you," she said. "Under the circumstances, I hardly expected"
"What circumstances?" Meredith asked easily. "You're not the Witch of Endor, you know. In fact," she said, studying the older woman, "I wish I had you on my board of directors. You and I could give Don Tennison hell."
Myrna managed a watery laugh. "Aren't you going to give it to him anyway?"
"Indeed I am," she agreed, her eyes darkening with anger at her brother-in-law's treachery. She finished her breakfast and dabbed at her mouth. "I'm going to have Mr. Smith drive me out to the Big Horn Mountains. I have to have a little talk with your great-uncle about an offer he's probably gotten." She glanced at Myrna and smiled in a conspiratorial way. "Don't tell Cy, will you?"
Myrna grinned. "I should, you know."
"No. You shouldn't. I'm going to insure that your grandson has a company to inherit. You can't tell Cy that, either."
Myrna frowned. "What are you up to?"
"Wait and see," was the smug reply.
Down the hall, Cy was muttering as Mr. Smith helped him get up from the mat where he'd been exercising.
"Don't growl," Mr. Smith said imperturbably. "You'll upset the boy."
"He's my son," Cy reminded him. "Growling shouldn't upset him."
"Well, maybe not. Here, don't overdo. You're managing just fine, you'll be walking well in no time. Take it easy."
Cy glanced at Blake, who was lying on his belly on the carpet, reading a book with oblivious fascination. "He's quite a boy," he murmured.
"That he is. I hope you plan to make time for him, when you're back to normal. He needs a father."
"Does he? He has you," Cy said with venom.
Cy sat down heavily on his chair and stretched from the long strain. Mr. Smith put his hands on his hips and glared at him. "I'm not his father," he said shortly. "I'm his bodyguard. A few gentlemen from overseas had a go at him earlier this year. I was in the right place at the right time, and I foiled them. But he's heir to more money than even you've got, and that makes him a target. You can't watch him all the time. I can."
Cy was slowly revising his opinion of Mr. Smith. It disturbed him that he actually admired the man. He stared at his son with eyes that were concerned. "He's safe here, surely."
"Is he?" Mr. Smith gave a curt laugh. "Nobody that rich is safe anywhere."
Mr. Smith went off to take care of a couple of projects before he drove Meredith to see the old gentleman a few miles down the road. But he felt a little less concerned. Cy loved the boy, that was obvious. He had every reason to believe that Cy loved Meredith even more. Things were going to work out very well. He began to whistle as he went down the hall.
CHAPTER TWENTY
» ^ «
It amused Meredith that Lawrence Harden wasn't particularly surprised to see her. The old man actually grinned when he found her standing on his front porch.
"Well, well," he murmured. "I figured you'd be along. Want to know if I sold you out, I guess?"
She laughed. "I don't even need to ask. I'll go home."
"Not without coffee. Who's your friend outside?"
"My bodyguard," she said simply. And the way she was dressed, she looked rich enough to need one. If that wasn't an indication, the huge limousine certainly was.
"Bring him in. He can drink coffee with us."
Meredith laughed and called to Mr. Smith, who joined them with a minimum of fuss.
They drank coffee, and Mr. Harden told Meredith about his telephone call and the visit he'd had from one of Cy's directorsBill, in fact, the director Meredith remembered as being so antagonistic toward Cy.
"He really wants that proxy." Lawrence chuckled. "Thinks he's got what it takes to oust Cy and take his place. But I said I'd think about it. I figured you'd be around."
"I'm not as dim as some people think I am," Meredith said dryly. "I appreciate what you're doing for me. Cy will appreciate it, tooalthough I imagine you won't care about that."
"He's not a bad boy, when he's away from Myrna."
Meredith frowned. "There are a lot of things you don't kn
ow about your great-niece," she said after a minute. "Someday it wouldn't hurt to get to know her. She isn't what she seems."
His eyebrows shot up. "I thought she was your worst enemy."
"So did I," she agreed. "But I don't feel that way anymore."
They talked for a few minutes, and then she and Mr. Smith left, having thanked Lawrence Harden for his support and promising to be in touch.
"He's a wiry old man," Mr. Smith said on the way home. "Good stuff."
"Yes. A real cattleman, in the best sense of the word." She leaned back and sighed. "I think I might like a ranch of my own."
"Buy one. You can afford it."
"Yes, but can I afford to live on it?" she asked. "My life gets more complex by the day. If I give up the company, I'll be letting Henry down. I can't do that. On the other hand, I'm not about to let Don take it away from me. Or Cy."
"Deal on your own terms," he suggested. "Get the upper hand and then bargain for what you want. You can do it."
She smiled, glancing at him. "You're devious, Mr. Smith."
"I'm shrewd, which is something else entirely," he countered. He stared straight ahead as they approached the city limits of Hardin, Montana. "Cy wants to marry you."
"I know."
He gave her a knowing glance. "You could do worse."
"So could he. I'm filthy rich."
"That isn't why he wants you. He's crazy about the boy. Even a blind man could see it."
She traced patterns on her skirt. "He wants me to leave Blake with him when I have to go back to Chicago on business."
"Not a bad idea. I can stay with them."
Her eyebrows levered up. "You and Cy will kill each other."
"Oh, I don't think so," he said easily. "We're beginning to understand each other. Besides," he added, "he needs me to help get him back on his feet. He won't be much trouble."
Mr. Smith was soon to regret his words. Because as soon as Cy knew Meredith was talking about leaving, he gave the older man hell three times a day. The inversion therapy, which he did lying prone on a flat table that moved up and down like a seesaw, made him dizzy. The electrical stimulation therapy was unnecessary. He wanted to go back to work. He was furious because the doctor wouldn't let him drive. In between complaints, he cursed. He didn't exempt Meredith, his mother, or his son, either. He was in the worst possible temper, and it degenerated by the hour.
"You've got the entire household hiding under beds," Meredith said, exasperated with him. "You've got to stop snapping at everybody!"
"I'm not snapping." He glared at her. "I want to get back to work. I can't handle my office over the damned phone!"
"Why can't you?" she asked. "I'm handling mine that way."
"Smith won't do what I tell him to, and he won't let me go at my own pace."
"That's because your own pace will land you back in the hospital," she observed. "You're trying to do too much."
He let out an angry breath and turned off the treadmill. "God, this is slow," he groaned. "Like molasses. I feel as weak as a baby, Meredith."
That was probably most of the problem, she thought. He hated being dependent on other people. He hated being helpless. Now that he knew he wasn't going to be paralyzed, he was getting irritable and impatient all over again.
She smiled and walked over to him. "Haven't you had enough for today, anyway? It's very early. Mr. Smith just left to take Blake to school."
He stared at her for a long minute, looking leaner than ever and especially tall in the dark blue silk pajamas and robe he was still wearing because of the earliness of the hour. His dark eyes slid down her body in her neat pink track suit, and he smiled gently.
"You're dressed for exercise," he murmured.
"I've been running. I do it every day, when I have time."
"Do you? I used to jog, but I ran out of free time."
She moved close, getting an arm under his and around his narrow waist. He smelled of cologne and soap, and the feel of that muscular power made her knees tremble.
"You've lost weight," she said as they walked back toward the bed. At least he could walk well now, even if he was a bit wobbly after a physical workout. He'd made tremendous progress since Mr. Smith had started the more strenuous exercises.
"I've been ill," he replied. His arm contracted around her shoulders. "You're thinner, too. Aren't you eating?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "Blake and I are being spoiled by your mother and Mrs. Dougherty."
He didn't reply. Things were still strained between him and Myrna. They spoke, and he didn't go out of his way to be hostile to her, but he was no friendlier.
"Blake reads me a story every night," he murmured dryly. "I look forward to his bedtime."
She smiled up at him. "He adores you. Can you tell?"
"It would be difficult to miss." He stopped beside the bed and turned, taking his time, so that they were face to face. "Do you adore me, too?" he asked softly.
"With all my heart." She went up on tiptoe and put her mouth gently against his.
He nibbled at her lips with exquisite slowness, smiling as she followed the movement of his mouth and tried to stay it against her own.
"You like that, don't you?" he whispered. "So do I. I love the way your mouth opens when I touch it, the way you tremble when you feel my tongue going between your lips"
She moaned, because as he said it, he did it. His hands went to her hips and pulled, gently, lifting her against the slow, raging arousal of his body.
"That feels good," he murmured. He pulled her closer. "Lift against me."
"I'll hurt you."
He smiled slowly. "No, you won't. Do it."
She obeyed him, careful not to throw him off balance. Her hunger for him had grown worse, not better. Abstinence was hard on both of them, but she began to feel its effect on her own nerves. A night in his arms would probably only make it worse, but she needed him as she never had before. Only the thought of the damage it might do gave her the strength to pull back from his firm hold.
"No," she whispered.
He gave a ragged sigh, his eyes dark with frustrated desire as they looked into hers. "Will we ever be able to love each other again?" he asked. "I feel like one long ache."
"So do I," she said. "But I won't help you hurt yourself. I care too much."
He drew her forehead to his chest and kissed her soft hair. "You could lie beside me," he whispered. "I could guide you with my hands, without exerting my back."
Her face burned with color. She closed her eyes, drinking in the feel and smell of him. "Just at the last, you wouldn't be able to I mean, when you" She faltered.
"When I started to convulse, you mean?" he whispered. He sighed heavily. "No. I wouldn't be able to control my body, would I?" He shivered a little, thinking of the pleasure he couldn't have. "Oh, God, it's so sweet, then! Like dying"
"Yes." Her nails dug into his back and she clung to him, her breasts flattened against his hard chest.
His mouth found her eyes, her nose, her lips and pressed softly over them. While he was kissing her, his hands were searching under her sweatshirt. She wasn't wearing a bra under the bulky garment she had on, and he smiled as he discovered that with his warm, callused hands. He pushed it up, so that he could look at her breasts.
"You shouldn't," she said weakly, because she was enjoying it as much as he was.
"Yes, I should. Move back a little, so that I can see you."
She did, her breath catching as his eyes moved down to the soft mounds he was caressing so gently. His thumbs eased over the hard nipples and his eyes lifted to her face as she reacted to the sensual touch, her body jerking, her eyes dilating.
"Your breasts always were sensitive," he said softly, and without mockery. "I loved the feel of them in my mouth. I used to dream about the way you looked the first time I kissed you there, the shocked pleasure in your eyes, the feverish trembling of your body."
"You didn't knowit was my first time," she whispered.
&
nbsp; "Not at first," he agreed. He held her eyes while he touched her. "Most women had a difficult time accepting my body. A few were actually afraid of me when I was aroused. But I learned that if I was slow, and very, very gentle, most of them could eventually accommodate me. That's why I didn't realize you were a virgin at first."
She colored as she looked at him. "I never knew, in the old days," she whispered. "You see, I'd never seen a manlike that, except you."
He bent, gently kissing her, while his hands made her body shake as if with a fever. "Go and lock the door," he whispered huskily. "No, don't argue," he added gently. "We're going to lie with each other for a few minutes, nothing more. I won't risk the progress I've made, but I need you very badly, little one."
She couldn't deny him. It was sweet, so sweet, to be intimate with him. She went to the door, closed and locked it with fingers that trembled.
She turned, leaning back against it. He dropped his robe and slipped off his pajama jacket. Holding her eyes, he reached for the snap that held his trousers on, popped it, and let them fall, stepping out of them slowly. He was fully aroused, and she looked at him with eyes that worshiped his blatant masculinity, the fit perfection of his bronzed, muscular body.
"There can't be another man, anywhere, as perfect as you are," she said huskily.
"Or another woman as perfect as you," he replied, his eyes on the swell of her breasts under the sweatshirt. "Undress, and let me watch."
Trembling hands moved to remove her track suit. She tugged off the sweatshirt and slid out of her sneakers before she slipped her track pants and brief lacy underwear down her long legs and stepped free of them. And all the while he watched her, his body throbbing, pulsating, with need.
"It's been so long, little one," he said, his voice unsteady as she came toward him.
"Yes." She went into his arms and pressed close, gasping at the contact with his heated flesh.
He drew her against him, bent his head over her. He shivered with anticipation. His lean hands slid down her back to her lower spine and slowly, tenderly, moved her in a sensuous rotation against the hot evidence of his desire.
He felt her shiver, too. "Here," he said huskily. "Lie with me."
He eased onto the bed, and she went down beside him. Then she lay facing him, her hands adoring on his hair-roughened chest, his broad shoulders, his muscular arms.
