Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  The sight of her pinched face hurt Leslie, who hadn't realized her mother even felt remorse. There had been no communication between them. She knew now that Matt had been telling the truth about her mother's silence. Marie was too ashamed to face her, even now. It eased the wound a little. "I didn't know about the drugs," Leslie blurted out abruptly.

  Her tone brought Marie's eyes up, and for the first time, there was hope in them. "I never used them around you," she said gently. "But it started a long time ago, about the time your father...died." The light in her eyes seemed to dim. "You blamed me for his death, and you were right. He couldn't live up to being what I wanted him to be. He couldn't give me the things I thought I deserved." She looked down at the table in front of her. He was a good, kind man. I should have appreciated him. It wasn't until he died that I realized how much he meant to me. And it was too late." She laughed hollowly. "From then on, everything went downhill. I didn't care anymore, about myself or you, and I went onto harder drugs. That's how I met Mike. I guess you figured out that he was my supplier."

  "Matt did," Leslie corrected.

  Marie lifted her eyes to look at Matt, who was still standing behind Leslie. “Don't let them hurt her any­more," she pleaded gently. "Don't let that reporter make her run anymore. She's had enough."

  "So have you," Leslie said unexpectedly, pain­fully touched by Marie's concern. "Matt says...that he thinks his attorneys might be able to get you a new trial."

  Marie started. Her eyes lit up, and then abruptly shifted. "No!" she said gruffly. "I have to pay for what I did."

  "Yes," Leslie said. "But what you did..." She hesitated. “What you did was out of shock and out­rage, don't you see? It wasn't premeditated. I don't know much about the law, but I do know that intent is everything. You didn't plan to kill Mike."

  The older woman's sad eyes met Leslie's through the glass. "That's generous of you, Leslie," she said quietly. "Very generous, considering the notoriety and grief I caused you."

  "We've both paid a price," she agreed.

  "You're wearing a cast," her mother said sud­denly. "Why?"

  "I fell off a horse," Leslie said and felt Mart's hands contract on her shoulders, as if he was remem­bering why. She reached up and smoothed her hand over one of his. "It was a lucky fall, because Matt got an orthopedic surgeon to operate on my leg and put it right."

  "Do you know how her leg was hurt?" the other woman asked Matt with a sad little smile.

  "Yes," he replied. His voice sounded strained. The tender, caressing action of Leslie's soft fingers on his hand was arousing him. It was the first time she'd touched him voluntarily, and his head was reel­ing.

  "That's another thing I've had on my conscience for years," the smaller woman told her daughter. "I'm glad you had the operation."

  "I'm sorry for the position you're in," Leslie said with genuine sympathy. "I would have come to see you years ago, but I thought...I thought you hated me," she added huskily, "for what happened to Mike."

  "Oh, Leslie!" Marie put her face in her hands and her shoulders shook. She wept harshly, while her daughter sat staring at her uncomfortably. After a minute, she wiped the tears from her red, swollen eyes. "No, I didn't hate you! I never blamed you!" Marie said brokenly. "How could I hate you for something that was never your fault? I wasn't a good mother. I put you at risk the minute I started using drugs. I failed you terribly. By letting Mike move in, I set you up for what he and his friends did to you. My poor baby," she choked. "You were so very young, so innocent, and to have men treat you...that way—" She broke off. "That's why I couldn't ask you to come, why I couldn't write or phone. I thought you hated me!"

  Leslie's fingers clenched around Matt's on her shoulder, drawing strength from his very presence. She knew she could never have faced this without him. "I didn't hate you," she said slowly. "I'm sorry we couldn't talk to each other, at the trial. I...did blame you for Dad," she confessed. "But I was so young when it happened, and you and I had never been particularly close. If we had..."

  "You can't change what was," her mother said with a wistful smile. "But it's worth all this if you can forgive me." Her long fingers moved restlessly on the receiver. Her pained eyes met Leslie's. "It means everything if you can forgive me!"

  Leslie felt a lump in her throat as she looked at her mother and realized the change in her. "Of course I can." She bit her lip. "Are you all right? Is your health all right?''

  "I have a weak heart, probably damaged by all the drugs I took," Marie said without emphasis. "I take medicine for it, and I'm doing fine. I'll be all right, Leslie." She searched the younger woman's eyes intently. "I hope you're going to be all right, too, now that you aren't being stalked by that re­porter anymore. Thank you for coming to see me."

  "I'm glad I did," Leslie said, and meant it sin­cerely. "I'll write, and I'll come to see you when I can. Meanwhile, Matt's lawyers may be able to do something for you. Let them try."

  There was a hesitation while the other woman ex­changed a worried look with Matt.

  Both his hands pressed on Leslie's shoulders. "I'll take care of her," he told Marie, and knew that she understood what he was saying. Nobody would bother Leslie again, as long as there was a breath in his body. He had power and he would use it on her daughter's behalf. She relaxed.

  "All right, then," she replied. "Thank you for try­ing to help me, even if nothing comes of it."

  Matt smiled at her. "Miracles happen every day," he said, and he was looking at Leslie's small hand caressing his.

  "You hold on to him," the older woman told Les­lie fervently. "If I'd had a man like that to care about me, I wouldn't be in this mess today."

  Leslie flushed. Her mother spoke as if she had a chance of holding on to Matt, and that was absurd.

  He might feel guilt and sympathy, even regret, but her mother seemed to be mistaking his concern for love. It wasn't.

  Matt leaned close to Leslie and spoke. "It's rather the other way around," Matt said surprisingly, and he didn't smile. "Women like Leslie don't grow on trees."

  Marie smiled broadly. "No, they don't. She's very special. Take care of yourself, Leslie. I...I do love you, even if it doesn't seem like it."

  Leslie's eyes stung with threatening tears. "I love you, too, Mama," she said in a gruff, uneasy tone. She could barely speak for the emotion she felt.

  The other woman couldn't speak at all. Her eyes were bright and her smile trembled. She only nodded. After one long look at her daughter, she got up and went to the door.

  Leslie sat there for a minute, watching until her mother was completely out of sight. Matt's big hands contracted on her shoulders.

  "Let's go, sweetheart," he said gently, and pressed a handkerchief into her hands as he shep­herded her out the door.

  That tenderness in him was a lethal weapon, she thought. It was almost painful to experience, espe­cially when she knew that it wasn't going to last. He was kind, and right now he was trying to make amends. But she'd better not go reading anything into his actions. She had to take one day at a time and just live for the present.

  She was quiet all the way to the parking lot. Matt smoked a cigar on the way, one hand in his pocket, his eyes narrow and introspective as he strode along beside Leslie until they reached the car. He pushed a button on his electronic controller and the locks popped up.

  "Thank you for bringing me here," Leslie said at the passenger door, her eyes full of gratitude as they lifted to his. “I’m really glad I came, even if I didn't want to at first."

  He stayed her hand as she went to open the door and moved closer, so that she was standing between his long, muscular body and the door. His dark eyes searched hers intently.

  His gaze fell to her soft mouth and the intensity of the look parted her lips. Her pulse raced like mad. Her reaction to his closeness had always been in­tense, but she could almost feel his mouth on her body as she looked up at him. It was frightening to feel such wanton impulses.

  His eyes
lifted and he saw that expression in her soft, dazed gray eyes. The muscles in his jaw moved and he seemed to be holding his breath.

  Around them, the parking lot was deserted. There was nothing audible except the sound of traffic and the frantic throb of Leslie's pulse as she stared into Matt's dark, glittery eyes.

  He moved a step closer, deliberately positioning his body so that one long, powerful leg brushed be­tween her good leg and the bulky cast on the other one.

  "Matt?" she whispered shakily.

  His eyes narrowed. His free hand went to her face and spread against her flushed cheek. His thumb nudged at her chin, lifting it. His leg moved against her thighs and she gasped.

  There was arrogance not only in the way he touched her, but in the way he looked at her. She was completely vulnerable when he approached her like this, and he must surely know it, with his ex­perience of women.

  "So many women put on an act," he murmured conversationally. "They pretend to be standoffish, they tease, they provoke, they exaggerate their re­sponses. With you, it's all genuine. I can look at you and see everything you're thinking. You don't try to hide it or explain it. It's all right there in the open."

  Her lips parted. It was getting very hard to breathe. She didn't know what to say.

  His head bent just a little, so that she could feel his breath on her mouth. "You can't imagine the pleasure it gives me to see you like this. I feel ten feet tall."

  "Why?" she whispered unsteadily.

  His mouth hovered over hers, lightly brushing, teasing. "Because every time I touch you, you offer yourself up like a virgin sacrifice. I remember the taste of your breasts in my mouth, the soft little cries that pulsed out of you when I pressed you down into the mattress under my body." He moved against her, slowly and deliberately, letting her feel his instant response. "I want to take your clothes off and ease inside your body on crisp, white sheets..." he whis­pered as his hard mouth went down roughly on her soft lips.

  She made a husky little cry as she pictured what he was saying to her, pictured it, ached for it. Of all the outrageous, shocking things to say to a wom­an...!

  Her nails bit into his arms as she lifted herself against his arousal and pushed up at his mouth to tempt it into violence. The sudden whip of passion was unexpected, overwhelming. She moaned bro­kenly and her legs trembled.

  He groaned harshly. For a few seconds, his mouth devoured her own. He had to drag himself away from her, and when he did, his whole body seemed to vibrate. There was a flush high on his cheekbones, and his eyes glittered.

  She loved the expression on his face. She loved the tremor of the arms propped on either side of her head. Her chin lifted and her eyes grew misty with pleasure.

  "Do you like making me this way?" he asked gruffly.

  "Yes," she said, something wild and impulsive rising in her like a quick tide. She looked at the pulse in his throat, the quick rhythmic movement of his shirt under the suit he was wearing. Her eyes dropped boldly down his body to the visible effect of passion on him.

  His intake of breath was audible as he watched her eyes linger on him, there. His whole body shook con­vulsively, as if with a fever.

  Her eyes went back to his. It was intimate, to look at him this way. She could feel his passion, taste it.

  Her hands went to his chest and rested against his warm muscles through the shirt, feeling the soft cushion of hair under it. He wasn't trying to stop her, and she remembered what he'd said to her in his office, that she was going to have to make all the running. Well, why not? She had to find out sooner or later what the limits of her capability were. Now seemed as good a time as any, despite their surround­ings. Shyly, involuntarily, her nervous hands slid down to his belt and hesitated.

  His jaw clenched. He was helpless. Did she know? Her hands slowly moved over the belt and down barely an inch before they hesitated again. His heavy brows drew together in a ferocious scowl as he fought for control.

  He seemed to turn to stone. There was not a trace of emotion on his lean, hard face, but his eyes were glittering wildly.

  "Go ahead if you want to. But if you touch me there," he said in a choked, harsh tone, "I will back you into this car, push your skirt up, and take you right here in the parking lot without a second's hes­itation. And I won't give a damn if the entire staff of the prison comes out to watch!"

  Chapter Twelve

  The terse threat brought Leslie to her senses. She went scarlet as her hands jerked back from his body.

  “Oh, good Lord!" she said, horrified at what she'd been doing.

  Matt closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. It was damp with sweat and he shud­dered with helpless reaction even as he laughed at her embarrassment.

  She could barely get her own breath, and her body felt swollen all over. "I'm sorry, Matt, I don't know what got into me!"

  The raging desire she'd kindled was getting the best of him. He'd wanted her for such a long time. He hadn't even thought of other women. "Leslie, I'm fairly vulnerable, and you're starting something both of us know you can't finish," he added huskily.

  "I'm...not sure that I can't," she said, surprising both of them. She felt the damp warmth of his body close to hers and marveled at his vulnerability.

  His eyes opened. He lifted his head slowly and looked down at her, his breath on her mouth. "If you have a single instinct for self-preservation left, you'd better get in the car, Leslie."

  "Okay," she agreed breathlessly, her heart in her eyes as she looked at him with faint wonder.

  She got in on the passenger side and fastened her seat belt. He came around to the driver's side and got into the car.

  Her hands were curling in on the soft material of her purse and she looked everywhere except at him. She couldn't believe what she'd done.

  "Don't make such heavy weather of it," he said gently. "I did say that you'd have to do the chasing, after all."

  She cleared her throat. "I think I took it a little too literally."

  He chuckled. The sound was deep and pleasant as the powerful car ate up the miles toward Jacobsville. "You have definite potential, Miss Murry," he mused, glancing at her with indulgent affection. "I think we're making progress."

  She stared at her purse. "Slow progress."

  "That's the best kind." He changed gears and passed a slow-moving old pickup truck. "I'll drop you by your house to change. We're going out on the town tonight, cast and all."

  She smiled shyly. "I can't dance."

  "There's plenty of time for dancing when you're back on your feet," he said firmly. "I'm going to take care of you from now on. No more risks."

  He made her feel like treasure. She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until she heard him chuckle.

  "That's what you are," he said. "My treasure. I'm going to have a hard time sharing you even with other people." He glanced at her. "You're sure there's nothing between you and Ed?"

  "Only friendship," she assured him.

  "Good."

  He turned on the radio and he looked more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. It was like a beginning. She had no idea where their relationship would go, but she was too weak to stop now.

  They went out to eat, and Matt was the soul of courtesy. He opened doors for her, pulled out chairs for her, did all the little things that once denoted a gentleman and proved to her forcefully that he wasn't a completely modern man. She loved it. Old World courtesy was delicious.

  They went to restaurants in Jacobsville and Vic­toria and Houston in the weeks that followed, and Matt even phoned her late at night, just to talk. He sent her flowers at the boardinghouse, prompting teasing remarks and secret smiles from other residents. He was Leslie's fellow, in the eyes of Jacobs-ville, and she began to feel as if her dreams might actually come true—except for the one problem that had never been addressed. How was she going to react when Matt finally made love to her completely? Would she be able to go through with intimacy like that, with her past?

  It ha
unted her, because while Matt had been af­fectionate and kind and tender with her, it never went beyond soft, brief kisses in his car or at her door. He never attempted to take things to a deeper level, and she was too shy from their encounter at the prison parking lot to be so bold again.

  The cast came off just before the Ballengers' party to which all of Jacobsville was invited. Leslie looked at her unnaturally pale leg with fascination as Lou Coltrain coaxed her into putting her weight on it for the first time without the supporting cast.

  She did, worried that it wouldn't take her weight, while Matt stood grim-faced next to Lou and worried with her.

  But when she felt the strength of the bone, she gasped. "It's all right!" she exclaimed. "Matt, look, I can stand on it!"

  "Of course you can," Lou chuckled. "Dr. Santos is the best, the very best, in orthopedics."

  "I'll be able to dance again," she said.

  Matt moved forward and took her hand in his, lifting it to his mouth. "We'll be able to dance again," he corrected, holding her eyes with his.

  Lou had to stifle amusement at the way they looked together, the tall dark rancher and the small brunette, like two halves of a whole. That would be some marriage, she thought privately, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

  Later, Matt came to pick her up at her apartment. She was wearing the long silver dress with the spa­ghetti straps, and this time without a bra under it. She felt absolutely vampish with her contacts back in and her hair clean and shining. She'd gained a little weight in the past few weeks, and her figure was all she'd ever hoped it would be. Best of all, she could walk without limping.

  "Nice," he murmured, smiling as they settled themselves into the car. "But we're not going to overdo things, are we?"

  "Whatever you say, boss," she drawled.

  He chuckled as he cranked the car. "That's a good start to the evening."

  "I have something even better planned for later," she said demurely.