Callaghan's Bride

by Diana Palmer

  “That Janie Brewster isn’t too bad-looking, is she?” Leo murmured between bites of perfectly cooked barbecued chicken. “Of course, she can ruin a chicken.”

  Cag glanced at him quickly, as if the remark puzzled him. Then he glanced at Tess’s studiously down bent head and understood immediately what Leo was trying to do.

  He took a forkful of chicken and ate it before he replied, “She’ll never make a cook. Or even much of a wife,” he added deliberately. “She knows everything.”

  “She does have a university degree.”

  “In psychology,” Cag reminded him. “I got psycho-analyzed over every bite of food.” He glanced at Tess. “It seems that I have repressed feelings of inadequacy because I keep a giant reptile,” he related with a twinkle in his black eyes.

  Tess’s own eyes widened. “You do?”

  He nodded. “And I won’t eat carrots because I have some deep-seated need to defy my mother.”

  She put a napkin to her mouth, trying to ward off laughter.

  “You forgot the remark she made about the asparagus,” Leo prompted.

  Cag looked uncomfortable. “We can forget that one.”

  “But it’s the best one!” Leo turned to Tess. “She said that he won’t eat asparagus because of associations with impo—”

  “Shut up!” Cag roared.

  Leo, who never meant to repeat the blatant sexual remark, only grinned. “Okay.”

  Tess guessed, quite correctly, that the word Cag had cut off was impotence. And she was in a perfect position to tell Leo that it certainly didn’t apply to his older brother, but she wouldn’t have dared.

  As it was, her eyes met Cag’s across the table, and she flushed at the absolutely wicked glitter in those black eyes, and almost upset her coffee.

  Leo, watching the byplay, was affectionately amused at the two of them trying so hard not to react. There was a sort of intimate merriment between them, despite Cag’s attempts to ward off intimacy. Apparently he hadn’t been wholly successful.

  “I’ve got a week’s worth of paperwork to get through,” Cag said after a minute, getting up.

  “But I made dessert,” Tess said.

  He turned, surprised. “I don’t eat sweets. You know that.”

  She smiled secretively. “You’ll like this one. It isn’t really a conventional dessert.”

  He pushed in his chair. “Okay,” he said. “But you’ll have to bring it to me in the office. How about some coffee, too?”

  “Sure.”

  Leo put down his napkin. “Well, you do the hard stuff. I’m going down to Shea’s Bar to see if I can find Billy Telford. He promised me faithfully that he was going to give me a price on that Salers bull we’re after. He’s holding us up hoping that he can get more from the Tremaynes.”

  “The Tremaynes don’t run Salers cattle,” Cag said, frowning.

  “Yes, but that’s because Billy’s only just been deluging them with facts on the advantages of diversification.” He shrugged. “I don’t think they’ll buy it, but Billy does. I’m going to see if I can’t get him dru…I mean,” he amended immediately, “get him to give me a price.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Cag warned. “I’m not bailing you out again. I mean it.”

  “You drink from time to time,” Leo said indignantly.

  “With good reason, and I’m quiet about it. You aren’t. None of us have forgotten the last time you cut loose in Jacobsville.”

  “I’d just gotten my degree,” Leo said curtly. “It was a great reason to celebrate.”

  “To celebrate, yes. Not to wreck the bar. And several customers.”

  “As I recall, Corrigan and Rey helped.”

  “You bad boys,” Tess murmured under her breath.

  Cag glanced at her. “I never drink to excess anymore.”

  “Neither do I. And I didn’t say that I was going to get drunk,” Leo persisted. “I said I was going to get Billy drunk. He’s much more malleable when he’s not sober.”

  Cag shook a finger at him. “Nothing he signs inebriated will be legal. You remember that.”

  Leo threw up both hands. “For heaven’s sake!”

  “We can do without that bull.”

  “We can’t! He’s a grand champion,” Leo said with pure, naked hunger in his tone. “I never saw such a beautiful animal. He’s lean and healthy and glossy, like silk. He’s a sire worthy of a foundation herd. I want him!”

  Cag exchanged an amused glance with Tess. “It’s love, I reckon,” he drawled.

  “With all due respect to women,” Leo sighed, “there is nothing in the world more beautiful than a pedigree bull in his prime.”

  “No wonder you aren’t married, you pervert,” Cag said.

  Leo glared at him. “I don’t want to marry the bull, I just want to own him! Listen, your breeding program is standing still. I have ideas. Good ideas. But I need that bull.” He slammed his hat down on his head. “And one way or another, Billy’s going to sell him to me!”

  He turned and strode out the door, looking formidable and determined.

  “Is it really that good a bull?” Tess asked.

  Cag chuckled. “I suppose it is.” He shook his head. “But I think Leo has ulterior motives.”

  “Such as?”

  “Never you mind.” He studied her warmly for a minute, approving of her chambray shirt and jeans. She always looked neat and feminine, even if she didn’t go in for seductive dresses and tight-fitting clothes. “Bring your mysterious dessert on into the office when you get it ready. Don’t forget the coffee.”

  “Not me, boss,” she replied with a pert smile.

  She put the finishing touches on the elegant dessert and placed it on a tray with the cup of coffee Cag liked after supper. She carried the whole caboodle into the study, where he was hunched over his desk with a pencil in one hand and his head in the other, going over what looked like reams of figure-studded pages of paper.

  He got up when she entered and took the tray from her, placing it on the very edge of the desk. He scowled.

  “What is it?” he asked, nodding toward a saucer of what looked like white foam rubber with whipped cream on top.

  “It’s a miniature Pavlova,” she explained. “It’s a hard meringue with a soft center, filled with fresh fruit and whipped cream. It takes a long time to make, but it’s pretty good. At least, I think it is.”

  He picked up the dessert fork she’d provided and drew it down through the dessert. It made a faint crunching sound. Intrigued, he lifted a forkful of the frothy-looking substance to his mouth and tasted it. It melted on his tongue.

  His face softened. “Why, this is good,” he said, surprised.

  “I thought you might like it,” she said, beaming. “It isn’t really a sweet dessert. It’s like eating a cloud.”

  He chuckled. “That’s a pretty good description.” He sat down in the big leather swivel chair behind his desk with the saucer in his hand. But he didn’t start eating again.

  He lifted his chin. “Come here.”

  “Who, me?” she asked. “Yes, you.”

  She edged closer. “You said that I mustn’t let you do things to me.”

  “Did I say that?” he asked in mock surprise.

  “Yes, you did.”

  He held out the arm that wasn’t holding the saucer. “Well, ignore me. I’m sure I was out of my mind at the time.”

  She chuckled softly, moving to the chair. He pulled her down onto his lap so that she rested against his broad chest, with his shoulder supporting her back. He dipped out a forkful of her dessert and held it to her lips.

  “It’s not bad, is it?” she asked, smiling.

  He took a bite of his own. “It’s unique. I’ll bet the others would love it, too.” He glanced down at her expression and lifted an eyebrow. “Mm-hmm,” he murmured thoughtfully. “So you made it just for me, did you?”

  She shifted closer. “You work harder than everybody else. I thought you deserved something special
.”

  He smiled warmly at her. “I’m not the only hard worker around here. Who scrubbed the kitchen floor on her hands and knees after I bought her a machine that does it?”

  She flushed. “It’s a very nice machine. I really appreciate it. But it’s better if you do it with a toothbrush. I mean, the dirt in the linoleum pattern just doesn’t come up any other way. And I do like a nice kitchen.”

  He grimaced. “What am I going to do with you? A modern woman isn’t supposed to scrub floors on her hands and knees. She’s supposed to get a degree and take a corporate presidency away from some good old boy in Houston.”

  She snuggled close to him and closed her eyes, loving his warm strength against her. Her hand smoothed over his shirt just at the pocket, feeling its softness.

  “I don’t want a degree. I’d like to grow roses.”

  “So you said.” He fed her another bite of the dessert, which left one for himself. Then he sat up to put the saucer on the desk and reach for the coffee.

  “I’ll get it.” She slid off his lap and fixed the coffee the way he liked it.

  He took it from her and coaxed her back onto his lap. It felt good to hold her like that, in the pleasant silence of the office. He shared the coffee with her, too.

  Her hand rested on his while she sipped the hot liquid, staring up into eyes that seemed fascinated by her. She wondered at their sudden closeness, when they’d been at odds for such a long time.

  He was feeling something similar. He liked holding her, touching her. She filled an empty place in him with joy and delight. He wasn’t lonely when she was close to him.

  “Why roses?” he asked when they finished the coffee and he put the cup back on the desk.

  “They’re old,” she said, settling back down against his chest. “They have a nobility, a history. For instance, did you know that Napoleon’s Empress Josephine was famous for her rose garden, and that despite the war with England, she managed to get her roses shipped through enemy lines?”

  He chuckled. “Now how did you know about that?”

  “It was in one of my gardening magazines. Roses are prehistoric,” she continued. “They’re one of the oldest living plants. I like the hybrids, too, though. Dad bought me a beautiful tea rose the last year we lived in Victoria. I guess it’s still where I planted it. But the house was rented, and we weren’t likely to have a permanent home after that, so I didn’t want to uproot my rosebush.”

  He smoothed his fingers over her small, soft hand where it pressed over his pocket. His fingers explored her neat, short nails while his breath sighed out at her forehead, ruffling her hair.

  “I never had much use for flowers. Our mother wasn’t much of a gardener, either.”

  She leaned back against his shoulder so that she could see his face. He looked bitter.

  Her fingers went up to his mouth and traced his hard, firm lips. “You mustn’t try to live in the past,” she said. “There’s a whole world out there waiting to be seen and touched and lived in.”

  “How can you be so optimistic, after the life you’ve had?” he wanted to know.

  “I’m an incurable optimist, I guess,” she said. “I’ve seen so much of the ugly side of life that I never take any nice thing for granted. It’s been great, living here, being part of a family, even though I just work for you.”

  His lips pursed against her exploring fingers. He caught them and nibbled absently at their tips while he looked down into her eyes. “I like the way you cook.”

  “I’m not pretty, though,” she mused, “and I can’t psychoanalyze you over the vegetables.”

  “Thank God.”

  She chuckled.

  He tugged at a lock of her hair and searched her eyes. “Cute of Leo to bring up the asparagus.” His eyes narrowed and his smile faded as he looked down at her with kindling desire. “You knew what he was going to say, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. Her heart was racing too fast to allow for speech.

  “Well, it was interesting, having asparagus signify impotence,” he murmured dryly, smiling at her blush. “But we could have told Miss Brewster that the asparagus lied, couldn’t we, Tess?” he drawled.

  She hid her hot face against him, feeling his laughter as his chest rippled with it.

  “Sorry,” he said at her ear, bending to gather her even closer against him. “I shouldn’t tease you. It’s irresistible. I love the way you blush.” His arms tightened and his face nuzzled against hers, coaxing it around so that his lips could find her soft mouth. “I love…so much about you, Tess,” he growled against her lips.

  She reached up to hold him while the kiss grew and grew, like a spark being fanned into a bonfire.

  He lifted away from her for an instant, to search her eyes and look down at her soft, yielding body.

  Without the slightest hesitation, his hand smoothed over the chambray shirt she was wearing and went right to her small breast, covering it boldly, teasing the nipple to immediate hardness with his thumb.

  Her lips parted with the excitement he aroused, and he bent and took her soft sigh right into his mouth.

  She didn’t have the experience to know how rare this mutual delight was, but he did. It was pleasurable with some women, but with Tess, it was like walking through fireworks. He enjoyed every single thing about her, from the way she curled into him when he touched her to the way her mouth opened eagerly for his. It made him feel vaguely invincible.

  He made a rough sound in his throat as his hand edged between them, feeling blindly for her shirt buttons. She wasn’t coy about that, either. She lay submissively in his arms, letting him open the shirt, letting him unclip her bra and push it away.

  She didn’t have to tell him that she liked his gazing on her body. It was even in the way her breath caught and fluttered.

  He touched her delicately, lifting his gaze to her face to watch the way she reacted to it.

  It occurred to him that she might love him, must love him, to let him be so familiar with her body, which he knew instinctively was innocent.

  His heart jumped up into his throat as he traced around one tight little pink nipple.

  “What did you do for experience before I came along?” he murmured half-teasingly.

  “I watched movies on cable,” she said, her own voice breathless. She shivered and her short nails dug into his shoulder. “Callaghan, is it supposed to…do that?” she whispered.

  “What?”

  She bit her lip and couldn’t quite look at him.

  He bent to her mouth and liberated her lower lip with a soft, searching kiss. “It’s supposed to make your body swell,” he whispered into her lips. “Does it?”

  She swallowed hard. “All over?”

  “All over.”

  She nuzzled her face into his hot throat while his hands worked magic on her. “It makes me ache.”

  “It’s supposed to do that, too.”

  He had the weight of her in one big palm and he bent his head to put his mouth, open, on the nipple.

  She shivered again and he heard a tight sob pass her lips. He knew he was going to get in over his head, and it didn’t seem to matter anymore.

  With a rough curse, he suddenly got to his feet and stripped her out of the shirt and bra before he lifted her and, with his mouth hard on hers, carried her to the divan.

  He stretched her out on it, yielding and openly hungry, and came down beside her, one long leg inserted boldly between both of hers.

  “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” he ground out against her breasts.

  Her hands were fumbling for buttons. “It isn’t, because we aren’t…doing anything,” she whispered with deathbed humor as she forced the stubborn shirt buttons apart and pushed the fabric away from hard, warm, hair-covered muscles. “You are…so beautiful,” she added in a hushed, rapt whisper as she touched him and felt him go tense.

  His teeth clenched. “Tess…” He made her name sound like a plea for mercy.

  “Oh,
come here. Please!” She drew him down on her, so that her bare breasts merged with his hard chest. She held him close while they kissed hungrily, feeling his long legs suddenly shift so that he was between them, pressing against her in a new and urgent way.

  He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. His own were coal black, glittering with desire, his face drawn and taut.

  She watched him openly, all too aware of his capability, and that he could lose his head right here and she wouldn’t care.

  He shifted against her deliberately, and his head spun with pleasure. He laughed, but without humor.

  “If I’d ever imagined that a virgin—” he stressed the word in a harsh, choked tone “—could make an utter fool of me!”

  Her hands had been sliding up and down the hard muscles of his back with pure wonder. Now they stilled, uncertain. “A…fool?” she whispered.

  “Tess, have you gone numb from the waist down?” he asked through his teeth. “Can’t you feel what’s happened to me?”

  “Well…yes,” she said hesitantly. “Isn’t it normal?”

  He laughed in spite of the stabbing ache she’d given him. “Baby, you haven’t got a clue, have you?”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No!” He eased down again, giving in to his need, and hers, but careful not to give her too much of his formidable weight. His mouth moved lazily over her forehead, down to close her wide, wounded eyes. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I want you,” he whispered tenderly.

  “I want you, too,” she whispered back shyly.

  He sighed as if he had the weight of the world on him. One big, lean hand slid under her hips and lifted them slowly, sensually into the hard thrust of him, and held her there.

  She stiffened suddenly and a tiny little cry crawled out of her tight throat as she registered the heat and power of him in such stark intimacy.

  “When it gets this bad,” he whispered at her ear, “a man will lie, cheat, steal, kill to get rid of it! If I had just a little less honor, I’d tell you anything that would get those jeans off you in the least possible time.”