Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  She should have known that she couldn't walk away from Jobe. He followed her right up the staircase and into her bedroom without hesitation.

  "For God's sake," she said angrily, turning on him, "I'm tired! Have this out with Ted. He's your boss, as you like to remind me. I have no voice in the business except in an advisory capacity."

  She averted her eyes from his shirt, unbuttoned to the collarbone, and showing a disturbing amount of thick dark hair. She hated the very sight of him.

  "I don't want Missy blamed for something that was my fault," he persisted.

  She sat down on the edge of her bed with a hard sigh, pushing back strands of loosened hair. She still wouldn't look at him. "I won't say anything," she said stiffly. "But Ted would have."

  "I'm aware of that."

  She rubbed her fingers against her forehead. "I've got a splitting headache. Close the door on your way out, would you?"

  He didn't leave. "Shall I send Mrs. Bird up with some aspirin?"

  "I have aspirin of my own, if I want them." She looked at him then, with accusing eyes that gave away her contempt.

  His jaw tautened. "Tell me that you've never kissed your boss in his office, Sandy."

  The mocking remark didn't hit a nerve. "My boss is a gentleman," she said quietly. "He has a business degree from Harvard and he's quite reserved. It would never occur to him to wrestle any woman down on a couch, much less an employee."

  His eyes narrowed. They skimmed over her loose jacket to the firm thrust of her breasts under it, and his face changed imperceptibly. "Would he know what to do with you if he did wrestle you down on a couch?" he asked in a tone he'd never used with her.

  She stared at him blindly, aware of the sudden silence in the room, of his gray eyes holding hers, of the ragged sound of her own breathing, the uneven throb of her heart at her rib cage.

  "You have...no right...to say such things to me," she choked.

  "Maybe I have more right than you realize," he said grimly.

  "Missy's the one with the rights," Sandy said curtly.

  "At least," he said softly, "she knows that she's a woman."

  Sandy stared at him without blinking. It was ridiculous that she should feel betrayed. But she did. "Lucky you," she replied in a baiting tone.

  "That's the one thing you've never tried- throwing yourself at me," he continued in a conversational tone. "Pity. You might have learned a few things."

  She flushed uncomfortably. "I don't throw myself at men," she said unsteadily.

  "Of course not," he replied. "You're much too superior to think about it seriously. Your mother should have taught you how to manage men."

  She stood up. "Don't you make remarks about my mother!"

  His eyebrows rose. "Was I?"

  "Everyone knows what she was," she said angrily. "She left our father and ran away with another man, and shortly afterward, she left him for yet another one. No man could ever satisfy her," she said bitterly. "Well, I'm not like her and I never will be. I don't need a man!"

  Jobe was oddly silent. He searched her white face for a long moment before his gaze fell to the hands clenched at her sides.

  "So that's it," he said, almost to himself. "I knew Ted didn't like women until Coreen came along. I never really knew why." His jaw tautened. "I guess she did a job on both of you, didn't she?"

  She drew herself up to her full height. "My mother is none of your business."

  "That's a matter of opinion, but we'll let it drop for now."

  "If you're through goading me, I'd like to rest. It's a long drive from Houston."

  He stuck his hands into his jean pockets and watched her with keen eyes. "We're having a barbecue tomorrow, to coincide with Ted's horse auction."

  "I'm sure you and Missy will enjoy it," she said pointedly. "I have no intention of attending, if that reassures you."

  He scowled. "Why should you think that?"

  She laughed mirthlessly. "For God's sake, I know how you feel about me," she said in a hollow tone, turning away. "I've always known."

  "How do I feel about you?" he asked in a strange tone.

  "You despise me," she replied without turning. "Didn't you think I knew?"

  Chapter 3

  Jobe stared at her straight back with conflicting emotions. "Who told you that?" he asked finally.

  "Nobody had to," she said in a defeated tone. "When I was younger, nothing I did ever measured up to your expectations. I spent years trying to be what you wanted, and I always fell short." She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were cold, and stared out the window. "Finally I gave up."

  He was scowling. "I don't understand," he said. "You don't care what I think. You've always been at my throat."

  She laughed bitterly. "Haven't I, though?"

  "Why?"

  She wouldn't have told him ordinarily. But she was worn out and half sick from what she'd seen downstairs. There was no hope left where he was concerned, she knew that now. Her shoulders lifted and fell. "So you wouldn't realize that I was in love with you," she said, without looking at him. Even so, she could feel the sudden tension in the room. She let out a breath. "Oh, don't worry, I got over it," she said, her eyes on a distant horse out in the pasture.

  "That's a relief." His voice sounded choked.

  She nodded. "I imagine so. I didn't know anything about you. If I had..." She closed her eyes. "I suppose you had your fill of career women a long time ago."

  "Who told you about my mother?" he asked curtly.

  "Ted." She smoothed her hands over her forearms. "I'm sorry about what I said to you that day," she added quietly. "I meant it to hurt, but I'm sorry."

  There was a long pause. "No harm done."

  That wasn't quite true, she thought, but she didn't pursue it. She leaned her head against the cool windowpane. "You'll have things to do," she said, closing her eyes. "And I really have to lie down now. My head's splitting." After a minute, she heard footsteps and the closing of the door. Until they died away, she didn't even realize that she was crying.

  Later, she was horrified at what she'd admitted to Jobe. He must have had a good laugh about it, probably with Missy. God knew, the girl looked smug enough every time Sandy saw her. And as the barbecue got underway, it seemed that Missy had suddenly become the hostess.

  Coreen put a stop to that immediately, her blue eyes flashing fire at the girl even as she gently sent her to the kitchen to make coffee. Sandy noticed that Jobe held her hand and drew her along to the kitchen to soften the blow.

  "Honestly," Coreen exclaimed shortly thereafter, "did you see that? She's getting a little big for her britches!"

  "Jobe indulges her," Sandy said without emotion.

  "He can indulge her someplace else if she tries that again," Coreen said. "I'm not putting up with that sort of nonsense."

  Sandy didn't say a word.

  Coreen scowled at her. "Sandy, what's wrong?" she asked gently. "You haven't been yourself at all lately. Isn't your boss supposed to come down today to bring those papers you left in Houston?"

  "You saw the fax he sent, I guess?" Sandy mused. "He said he might, but I doubt it. Mr. Cranson isn't much on parties. He's strictly a businessman."

  "Does he drive a black Mercedes?" Coreen asked conversationally.

  "Well, yes, he does."

  Coreen grinned. "Then he's here." She let out a soft whistle as the big, dark man climbed out of the car. "Good grief, you didn't say he was a dish!"

  "He is, isn't he?" Sandy murmured, smiling. "I'm very fond of him. But he's in love with someone else."

  "Pity."

  "Yes, it is," Sandy agreed. She went to meet her dark-eyed boss. "Glad you could come, Mr. Cranson."

  "You might as well call me Phillip, under the circumstances," he said, handing her a thick file. "This is the dossier you mislaid, I believe."

  "Yes, it is. Mr.-Phillip," she amended, "this is my sister-in-law, Coreen. Coreen, Mr. Cranson."

  "Nice to meet you," Coreen sa
id, smiling. "Ted and I have heard a lot about you."

  "Hopefully some of it was good," he murmured with a dry glance at Sandy. He looked down at his expensive suit. "I seem to be overdressed."

  "We're having a barbecue and later there'll be square dancing," Coreen said. "I hope you'll stay."

  He pursed his lips and glanced at Sandy.

  "I'd love it if you would," she said honestly.

  He chuckled. "In that case, I'd be delighted."

  He walked around the gathering with Sandy beside him, looking very comfortable now that he'd taken off his jacket and rolled up his white shirtsleeves. He was rakishly handsome, and Sandy had often wondered what had happened to sour him against women so much. He never spoke of the past, but sometimes he sat in his office and glowered, intimidating young employees.

  "Have you always lived here?" he asked Sandy when they paused to get coffee.

  "Most of my life," she agreed "I love Jacobsville. It may be a small town, but it has a big history."

  "Does it? Tell me about it."

  She did, and he listened attentively. Neither of them noticed a pair of gray eyes glaring in their direction.

  Jobe paused beside Ted and Coreen. "Who is he?" he asked curtly.

  "Her boss," Ted murmured, avoiding the other man's eyes. "Nice-looking man, isn't he? I wondered what he was like. She's been very secretive about him."

  Jobe's eyes narrowed. "He's older than she is. A good bit older. And for all her age, Sandy is a babe in the woods where men are concerned."

  If Ted was shocked at Jobe's words, and he was, it never showed in that poker face. "Well, she's twenty-six, Jobe," he reminded the other man. "It's past time she thought of settling down and having children."

  Jobe's eyes flashed. "She won't marry. She's a career woman."

  "Nonsense," Coreen said shortly. "She loves kids, and there's nothing she enjoys more than riding around the ranch."

  "She can't cook," Jobe muttered.

  "She's never had to," Ted interjected.

  "We've always had housekeepers. She does pretty needlework, though, and she knits." He studied Sandy and her boss. "They look good together," he remarked. "Of course, he's a city boy. You can tell."

  "He probably knows computers inside out," Jobe said irritably.

  "Actually he doesn't," Coreen replied. "He's good at business, but he's pretty much limited to marketing. He doesn't ride, either."

  "That's a shame," Ted added. "Because I can't see Sandy living anywhere that she can't ride. She loves horses."

  "If he cared enough, he'd do what pleased her," Coreen remarked.

  Jobe's face paled. He murmured something and went off alone, to be waylaid by Missy shortly afterward.

  "I see Lady Boss has somebody to hang on to," Missy remarked pertly. "He isn't bad, but he's old."

  Jobe didn't reply. He was glaring at them.

  Missy pressed close. "Want to go somewhere we can be alone?" she purred.

  He scowled down at her. He didn't know why he'd let himself be tempted. She was cute and sweet, but she had no maturity at all. A few kisses, and she'd become horribly possessive. He wondered if anyone else had noticed.

  "Listen," he said quietly, "we work together and I like you. But that's as far as it goes. We aren't a couple."

  Missy's eyebrows lifted. "You kissed me."

  "I kiss lots of girls," he said honestly. "You're sweet, honey, but I'm not in the market for an affair."

  She colored. "Well, neither am I!"

  "Or marriage," he added firmly. "I don't want it Not ever."

  Missy looked as if he'd hit her with a brick bat. She moved a little away from him. "I...see."

  "No, you don't," he said sharply. "It's not that I don't like you. I don't want a relationship, that's all."

  She looked so young. Tears swam in her eyes. He felt guilty and ashamed as he looked at her. He should never have given her ideas.

  "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

  She pressed against him, crying softly. He gathered her close.

  "Damn it, Missy!" he muttered.

  "Don't fuss," she pleaded, sniffing. "I won't stand in your way, or anything. I'll just be around when you're lonely."

  He only half heard her. His eyes were on Sandy. Her boss had put his arm around her as they walked toward the barbecue pit, and his heart leaped with fury. He felt jealousy as if it were acid in his stomach, and wondered at the intensity of it.

  Missy felt him stiffen and pulled away, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue she'd produced from her pocket. "What's wrong?"

  He didn't answer and she followed his angry gaze to Sandy and the big, dark man beside her.

  "You don't like her at all, do you?" Missy said with evident satisfaction. "I'm glad. Maybe she'll marry her boss and go away. I hate to see her upset you like she does."

  "She doesn't upset me," he said stiffly. "Her opinion doesn't matter."

  "Good. Then you can come and dance with me, can't you?" She coaxed him onto the dance floor. He went, but his heart wasn't in it. If only he could keep his eyes off Sandy, damn her!

  Sandy, unaware of the reaction she was causing, ate barbecue with her handsome boss and then sat and talked computers until the music changed to slow, sultry songs.

  "Care to dance?" Jobe asked suddenly.

  She jumped. She hadn't realized he was so close. She hesitated.

  "Oh, go ahead," Mr. Cranson chided. "You've been talking business with me all evening. Go enjoy yourself."

  Jobe glared at the man, but he nodded politely as he took Sandy's hand and pulled her along with him.

  She was stiff in his arms, so tense that she felt brittle.

  "Relax," he muttered angrily. "What can I do to you on a dance floor?"

  He'd be amazed, she thought wildly. Her heart was acting up, so was her breathing. Her legs felt like jelly under her. Only by holding her body rigid could she retain some semblance of dignity. She wanted nothing more than to press close, as Missy had earlier, and feel his strength. But that was the one thing she didn't dare do.

  His big hand spread between her shoulder blades. His fingers linked into hers. His cheek rested against her temple as he moved slowly to the music. His sigh was warm in her hair.

  "You always smell like violets," he murmured.

  She didn't know how to answer that He had his own unique fragrance, a spicy smell that clung to his face, one that she always associated with him. Odd how keen her senses were when he was close. Not that he ever was. She'd only danced with him once before in her life, and that had been a square dance. This was different. It was far too close, too intimate. She was vulnerable, and she didn't want to be.

  "I'm... tired," she protested, weakly pulling against his arm.

  "No, you aren't," he replied, holding her in place. His head lifted and he caught her eyes relentlessly. "Now, relax," he commanded softly.

  He seemed able to make her body obey. Little by little, she relaxed into him and shivered slightly at the reaction their closeness provoked in her. All her senses seemed to come alive at once, in a riot of sensation.

  His big hand smoothed up and down her spine, riveting her to the lean, powerful length of him. She shivered again. Involuntarily, her cheek went to his warm, muscular shoulder and she gave in to all the forbidden longings of the past.

  He sighed unsteadily. He was having his own problems with her closeness. It was good. It was better than he'd ever imagined it would be. His eyes closed. She felt soft and sweet against him, womanly soft. The lights were low and they were a little apart from the other dancers, in the shadows. Impulsively he lowered his head until he could feel her soft mouth under his searching lips. He made a sound, deep in his throat, and stopped dancing. His mouth opened, became demanding, fierce and hard on her trembling lips. They parted for him. She stiffened a little and then pressed close, a sobbing moan rising from her chest

  His hand was at her neck, coaxing, guiding. He lifted his mouth only to lower it again, in soft bit
ing kisses that made her tremble.

  "Sandy," he groaned, looking around him in agonized hunger. There was a big tree close by and nobody was paying attention to them just yet

  He maneuvered Sandy behind the tree and levered his body down against hers in a fever of need, crushing her gently between the tree and himself.

  "No," he whispered when she managed a weak protest "No, sweetheart, no, don't fight..."

  His mouth covered hers again, with slow, sweet ardor that brought her arms around him. She made no more protests. He kissed her until she would have fallen, but for the support of the tree and his arms. So many dreams came true in that space of minutes, so many painful longings. She hadn't dreamed that the two of them would generate such sweet desire between them. She wanted him with all her heart, loved him, needed him. The world spun away and there was only the two of them and the desire that grew like a seedling.

  Eventually he had to stop. His body ached, but he ignored it, pulling Sandy free of the tree trunk and into arms that were suddenly gentle and protective.

  She couldn't stop trembling. She shivered helplessly in his arms while he rocked her in the warm evening silence, broken by sweet, muted strains of music.

  He buried his face in her warm, scented throat, hanging there as he fought to control the raging desire she'd kindled in him.

  Her eyes opened. She saw the shadowy leaves above them, and beyond them, the stars. It was like a moment out of time. She was afraid to break the silence, to speak. She didn't dare ask why. She didn't want to know. It was enough that he'd wanted her, even for such a brief time. She could live on it forever. Her eyes closed again and she stood against him without a protest, without a sound.

  He let her go inch by inch, his face as hard as stone. He didn't say anything. She could feel his eyes, but it was too dark to see them. Her head lowered and she felt cold as he moved back.

  The sound of her own breathing was unusually loud. She didn't look up. Her arms wrapped around herself to warm her in the chill of his withdrawal. Her legs still felt unsteady.

  They didn't speak. A full minute later, Missy's shrill voice calling to Jobe brought his head up. He cursed silently, but he turned and went to her. He didn't want her to see Sandy like this, vulnerable and defenseless. He didn't think any of his own turmoil would show in the dim light.