Passion Flower

by Diana Palmer

  He was testing her. So that was how it was going to be. She stared back at him fearlessly. “Try it,” she invited.

  His mouth curled up. “No hysterics?”

  “I stopped having hysterics the day that horse threw me and you got an anatomy lesson,” she tossed back. “Go ahead, rape me.”

  His face darkened. “It wouldn’t be rape. Not between you and me.”

  “If I didn’t want you, it would be.”

  “Honey,” he said softly, “you’d want me. Desperately.”

  She already did. The feel of him, the clean smell of his body, the coiled strength in his powerful muscles were all working on her like drugs. But she was too afraid of the future to slide backwards now. He wanted her. But nothing more. And without love, she wanted nothing he had to offer.

  “You promised,” she said again.

  He sighed. “So I did. Damned fool.” He set her down on her feet and moved away with a long sigh to pick up his hat. His eyes studied her from the doorway. “Well, come on down when you’re rested, and I’ll have Consuelo fix something to eat.”

  “Consuelo?”

  “My housekeeper.” His eyes watched the expressions that washed over her face. “She’s forty-eight, nicely plump, and happily married to one of my new hands. All right?”

  “Did you hope I might be jealous?” she asked.

  His broad chest rose and fell swiftly. “I’ve got a lot of high hopes about you. Care to hear a few of them?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” He went out and closed the door behind him with an odd laugh.

  Chapter Ten

  CONSUELO WAS a treasure. Small, dark, very quick around the kitchen, and Jennifer liked her on sight.

  “It is good that you are here, señorita,” the older woman said as she put food on the new and very elegant dining room table. “So nice to see the señor do something besides growl and pace.”

  Jennifer laughed as she put out the silverware. “Yes, now he’s cursing at the top of his lungs,” she mused, cocking her ear toward the window. “Hear him?”

  It would have been impossible not to. He was giving somebody hell about an open gate, and Jennifer was glad it wasn’t her.

  “Such a strange man,” Consuelo sighed, shaking her head. “The room he has given you, señorita, he would not let me touch it. Not to dust, not even to change the linen.”

  “Did he say why?” Jennifer asked with studied carelessness.

  “No. But sometimes at night...” She hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  Consuelo shrugged at the penetrating look she got from the younger woman. “Sometimes at night, the señor, he would go up there and just sit. For a long time. I wonder, you see, but the only time I mention this strange habit, he says to mind my own business. So I do not question it.”

  How illuminating that was. Jennifer pondered on it long and hard. It was almost as if he’d missed her. But then, if he’d missed her, he’d have to care. And he didn’t. He just wanted her because she was something different, a virgin. And perhaps because she was the only woman who’d been close to him for a long time. Under the same circumstances, it could very well have been any young, reasonably attractive woman.

  He came in from the corral looking dusty and tired and out of humor. Consuelo glanced at him and he glared at her as he removed his wide-brimmed hat and sat down at the table with his chaps still on.

  “Any comments?” he growled.

  “Not from me, señor,” Consuelo assured him. “As far as I am concerned, you can sit there in your overcoat. Lunch is on the table. Call if you need me.”

  Jennifer put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. Everett glared at her.

  “My, you’re in a nasty mood,” she observed as she poured him a cup of coffee from the carafe. She filled her own cup, too.

  “Pat yourself on the back,” he returned.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

  “You.” He picked up a roll and buttered it.

  “I can leave?” she suggested.

  “Go ahead.”

  She sat back in her chair, watching him. “What’s wrong?” she asked quietly. “Something is.”

  “Bull died.”

  She caught her breath. “The big Hereford?”

  He nodded. “The one I sold and then bought back when I leased the oil rights.” He stared at his roll blankly. “The vet’s going to do an autopsy. I want to know why. He was healthy.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “You were very proud of him.”

  His jaw tautened. “Well, maybe some of those heifers I bred to him will throw a good bull.”

  She dished up some mashed potatoes and steak and gravy. “I thought heifers were cows that hadn’t grown up,’ she murmured. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “Heifers are heifers until they’re two years old and bred for the first time. Which these just were.”

  “Oh.”

  He glanced at her. “I’m surprised you’d remember that.”

  “I remember a lot about the ranch,” she murmured as she ate. “Are you selling off stock before winter?”

  “Not a lot of it,” he said. “Now that I can afford to feed the herd.”

  “It’s an art, isn’t it?” she asked, lifting her eyes to his. “Cattle-raising, I mean. It’s very methodical.”

  “Like decorating?” he muttered.

  “That reminds me.” She got up, fetched her sketch pad, and put it down beside his plate. “I did those before I came down. They’re just the living room and kitchen, but I’d like to see what you think.”

  “You’re the decorator,” he said without opening it. “Do what you please.”

  She glared at him and put down her fork. “Everett, it’s your house. I’d at least like you to approve the suggestions I’m making.”

  He sighed and opened the sketch pad. He frowned. His head came up suddenly. “I didn’t know you could draw like this.”

  “It kind of goes with the job,” she said, embarrassed.

  “Well, you’re good. Damned good. Is this what it will look like when you’re finished?” he asked.

  “Something like it. I’ll do more detailed drawings if you like the basic plan.”

  “Yes, I like it,” he said with a slow smile. He ran a finger over her depiction of the sofa and she remembered suddenly that instead of drawing in a new one, she’d sketched the old one. The one they’d lain on that night....

  She cleared her throat. “The kitchen sketch is just under that one.”

  He looked up. “Was that a Freudian slip, drawing that particular sofa?” he asked.

  Her face went hot. “I’m human!” she grumbled.

  His eyes searched hers. “No need to overheat, Miss King. I was just asking a question. I enjoyed what we did, too. I’m not throwing stones.” He turned the page and pursed his lips. “I don’t like the breakfast bar.”

  Probably because it would require the services of an architect, she thought evilly.

  “Why?” she asked anyway, trying to sound interested.

  He smiled mockingly. “Because, as I told you already, I won’t have that redhead in my house.”

  She sighed angrily. “As you wish.” She studied his hard face. “Will you have a few minutes to go over some ideas with me tonight? Or are you still trying to work yourself into an early grave?”

  “Would you mind if I did, Jenny?” he mused.

  “Yes. I wouldn’t get paid,” she said venomously.

  He chuckled softly. “Hardhearted little thing. Yes, I’ll have some free time tonight.” He finished his coffee. “But not now.” He got up from the table.

  “I’m sorry about your bull.”<
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  He stopped by her chair and tilted her chin up. “It will all work out,” he said enigmatically. His thumb brushed over her soft mouth slowly, with electrifying results. She stared up with an expression that seemed to incite violence in him.

  “Jenny,” he breathed gruffly, and started to bend.

  “Señor,” Consuelo called, coming through the door in time to break the spell holding them, “do you want dessert now?”

  “I’d have had it but for you, woman,” he growled. And with that he stomped out the door, rattling the furniture as he went.

  Consuelo stared after him, and Jennifer tried not to look guilty and frustrated all at once.

  For the rest of the day, Jennifer went from room to room, making preliminary sketches. It was like a dream come true. For a long time, ever since she’d first seen the big house, she’d wondered what it would be like to redo it. Now she was getting the chance, and she was overjoyed. The only sad part was that Everett wouldn’t let her get Drew in to do an appraisal of the place. It would be a shame to redo it if there were basic structural problems.

  That evening after a quiet supper she went into the study with him and watched him build a fire in the fireplace. It was late autumn and getting cold at night. The fire crackled and burned in orange and yellow glory and smelled of oak and pine and the whole outdoors.

  “How lovely,” she sighed, leaning back in the armchair facing it with her eyes closed. She was wearing jeans again, with a button-down brown patterned shirt, and she felt at home.

  “Yes,” he said.

  She opened her eyes lazily to find him standing in front of her, staring quietly at her face.

  “Sorry, I drifted off,” she said quickly, and started to rise.

  “Don’t get up. Here.” He handed her the sketch pad and perched himself on the arm of the chair, just close enough to drive her crazy with the scent and warmth and threat of his big body. “Show me.”

  She went through the sketches with him, showing the changes she wanted to make. When they came to his big bedroom, her voice faltered as she suggested new Mediterranean furnishings and a king-size bed.

  “You’re very big,” she said, trying not to look at him. “And the room is large enough to accommodate it.”

  “By all means,” he murmured, watching her. “I like a lot of room.”

  It was the way he said it. She cleared her throat. “And I thought a narrow chocolate-and-vanilla-stripe wallpaper would be nice. With a thick cream carpet and chocolate-colored drapes.”

  “Am I going to live in the room, or eat it?”

  “Hush. And you could have a small sitting area if you like. A desk and a chair, a lounge chair...”

  “All I want in my bedroom is a bed,” he grumbled. “I can work down here.”

  “All right.” She flipped the page, glad to be on to the next room, which was a guest bedroom. “This...”

  “No.”

  She glanced up. “What?”

  “No. I don’t want another guest room there.” He looked down into her eyes. “Make it into a nursery.”

  She felt her body go cold. “A nursery?”

  “Well, I’ve got to have someplace to put the kids,” he said reasonably.

  “Where are they going to come from?” she asked blankly.

  He sighed with exaggerated patience. “First you have a man. Then you have a woman. They sleep together and—”

  “I know that!”

  “Then why did you ask me?”

  “Forgive me if I sound dull, but didn’t you swear that you’d rather be dead than married?” she grumbled.

  “Sure. But being rich has changed my ideas around. I’ve decided that I’ll need somebody to leave all this to.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

  She stared at her designs with unseeing eyes. “Do you have a candidate already?” she asked with a forced laugh.

  “No, not yet. But there are plenty of women around.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her profile. “As a matter of fact, I had a phone call last week. From the woman I used to be engaged to. Seems her marriage didn’t work out. She’s divorced now.”

  That hurt. She hadn’t expected that it would, but it went through her like a dagger. “Oh?” she said. Her pencil moved restlessly on the page as she darkened a line. “Were you surprised?”

  “Not really,” he said with cynicism. “Women like that are pretty predictable. I told you how I felt about buying them.”

  “Yes.” She drew in a slow breath. “Well, Houston is full of debutantes. You shouldn’t have much trouble picking out one.”

  “I don’t want a child.”

  She glanced up. “Picky, aren’t you?”

  His mouth curled. “Yep.”

  She laughed despite herself, despite the cold that was numbing her heart. “Well, I wish you luck. Now, about the nursery, do you want it done in blue?”

  “No. I like girls, too. Make it pink and blue. Or maybe yellow. Something unisex.” He got up, stretching lazily, and yawned. “God, I’m tired. Honey, do you mind if we cut this short? I’d dearly love a few extra hours’ sleep.”

  “Of course not. Do you mind if I go ahead with the rooms we’ve discussed?” she asked. “I could go ahead and order the materials tomorrow. I’ve already arranged to have the wallpaper in the living room stripped.”

  “Go right ahead.” He glanced at her. “How long do you think it will take, doing the whole house?”

  “A few weeks, that’s all.”

  He nodded. “Sleep well, Jenny. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  He went upstairs, and she sat by the fire until it went out, trying to reconcile herself to the fact that Everett was going to get married and have children. It would be to somebody like Libby, she thought. Some nice, sweet country girl who had no ambition to be anything but a wife and mother. Tears dripped down her cheeks and burned her cool flesh. What a pity it wouldn’t be Jennifer.

  She decided that perhaps Everett had had the right idea in the first place. Exhaustion was the best way in the world to keep one’s mind off one’s troubles. So she got up at dawn to oversee the workmen who were tearing down wallpaper and repairing plaster. Fortunately the plasterwork was in good condition and wouldn’t have to be redone. By the time they were finished with the walls, the carpet people had a free day and invaded the house. She escaped to the corral and watched Eddie saddlebreak one of the new horses Everett had bought.

  Perched on the corral fence in her jeans and blue sweatshirt, with her hair in a ponytail, she looked as outdoorsy as he did.

  “How about if I yell ‘ride ’em, cowboy,’ and cheer you on, Eddie?” she drawled.

  He lifted a hand. “Go ahead, Miss Jenny!”

  “Ride ’em, cowboy!” she hollered.

  He chuckled, bouncing around on the horse. She was so busy watching him that she didn’t even hear Everett ride up behind her. He reached out a long arm and suddenly jerked her off the fence and into the saddle in front of him.

  “Sorry to steal your audience, Eddie,” he yelled toward the older man, “but she’s needed!”

  Eddie waved. Everett’s hard arm tightened around her waist, tugging her stiff body into the curve of his, as he urged the horse into a canter.

  “Where am I needed?” she asked, peeking over her shoulder at his hard face.

  “I’ve got a new calf. Thought you might like to pet it.”

  She laughed. “I’m too busy to pet calves.”

  “Sure. Sitting around on fences like a rodeo girl.” His arm tightened. “Eddie doesn’t need an audience to break horses.”

  “Well, it was interesting.”

  “So are calves.”

  She sighed and let her body slump back against his. She felt him stiffen at the cont
act, felt his breath quicken. She could smell him, and feel him, and her body sang at the contact. It had been such a long time since those things had disturbed her.

  “Where are we going?” she murmured contentedly.

  “Down to the creek. Tired?”

  “Mmm,” she murmured. “My arms ache.”

  “I’ve got an ache of my own, but it isn’t in my arms,” he mused.

  She cleared her throat and sat up straight. “Uh, what kind of calf is it?”

  He laughed softly. “I’ve got an ache in my back from lifting equipment,” he said, watching her face burn. “What did you think I meant?”

  “Everett,” she groaned, embarrassed.

  “You babe in the woods,” he murmured. His fingers spread on her waist, so long that they trespassed onto her flat stomach as well. “Hold on.”

  He put the horse into a gallop and she caught her breath, turning in the saddle to cling to his neck and hide her face in his shoulder.

  He laughed softly, coiling his arm around her. “I won’t let you fall,” he chided.

  “Do we have to go so fast?”

  “I thought you were in a hurry to get there.” He slowed the horse as they reached a stand of trees beside the creek. Beyond it was a barbed-wire fence. Inside it was a cow and a calf, both Herefords.

  He dismounted and lifted Jenny down. “She’s gentle,” he said, taking her hand to pull her along toward the horned cow. “I raised this one myself, from a calf. Her mama died of snakebite and I nursed her with a bottle. She’s been a good breeder. This is her sixth calf.”

  The furry little thing fascinated Jenny. It had pink eyes and a pink nose and pink ears, and the rest of it was reddish-brown and white.

  She laughed softly and rubbed it between the eyes. “How pretty,” she murmured. “She has pink eyes!”

  “He,” he corrected. “It will be a steer.”

  She frowned. “Not a bull?”

  He glowered down at her. “Don’t you ever listen to me? A steer is a bull that’s been converted for beef. A bull has...” He searched for the words. “A bull is still able to father calves.”