by Diana Palmer
He moved down another step, easing her back against the bannister with the threat of his big body. He reached down and cupped her chin with a lean, strong hand. His thumb stroked her lower lip lightly.
“How old are you now?” he asked in a deep, taut voice.
She swallowed. He was too close, too disturbing, far too masculine. He smelled of the outdoors, of a woodsy cologne and cigarettes. “I’m twenty,” she said unsteadily. “I’ll be twenty-one in four months.”
“Too young,” he murmured. “Still years too young. Do you know how old I am, Teddi?”
“You...you’re thirty-three,” she whispered.
“Thirty-four,” he corrected. His eyes fell to her mouth and studied it for a long time. “God, what a sweet mouth!” he ground out. Then, as if the admission had annoyed him, he let her go abruptly and moved away toward the front door.
She stood staring helplessly after him, her eyes glued to the blue-patterned shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, the blond head that seemed to throw off golden lights as he passed under the chandelier. She loved the way he walked, so tall and bronzed and regal. She loved everything about him.
He turned with the doorknob in hand and looked back at her suddenly, reading with pinpoint accuracy the aching hunger she was too young to disguise.
His face hardened. His hand tightened on the doorknob. He uttered a soft curse and whirled, slamming the door shut with a booted foot as he headed straight for her.
She watched him with eyes so filled with confusion they seemed black, her face lifting as he came closer.
She didn’t even protest when he reached for her, crushing her soft breasts against his chest as he bent to find her mouth in one smooth, expert motion.
She felt his hard lips burrow into hers with a sense of awe, her eyes closing so that she could savor their warmth and sensuality. She stiffened involuntarily as he tried to deepen the kiss, his tongue probing at her lips.
“Let me...” he ground out, grasping the hair at the nape of her neck to tug gently, surprising a gasp from her lips. As they parted, his tongue shot past them into the soft, dark warmth of her mouth, exploring, tasting, teasing, fencing with her own tongue in an intimacy she’d never liked with other men. But King made of it a pleasure beyond bearing, a caress so sensuous that her hands reached up to grasp his hard face between them and urge him even closer.
She moaned achingly at the penetration, the suggestive intimacy as his tongue thrust gently into her soft mouth.
He reached down, half lifting her body against his so that she could feel every warm, hard line of it in total contact with her own.
“King,” she whispered shakily.
He drew back for breath, dragging air into his lungs. His eyes fairly blazed as they searched hers. “Witch,” he ground out. “Little dark-eyed witch, stop casting spells on me, will you?”
Even as he spoke, he freed her, turned on his heel and strode out the door. He slammed it violently behind him, while Teddi touched her swollen mouth with nervous fingers and trembled deliciously with delayed reaction. Years of waiting, hoping, to feel that hard, arrogant mouth on her own, and it had finally happened. King had kissed her. The crazy thing was that the reality had been so much more wonderful than the dream....
Chapter Four
Teddi walked around in a daze for the rest of the day, absently listening to Jenna rave about Blakely while her mind lingered on the hard, possessive crush of King’s mouth.
“Do you realize what you just agreed to do?” Jenna asked as they helped Mary put supper on the table.
“Ummmm?” Teddi offered with an empty smile.
Jenna grinned. “You agreed to have cowhide biscuits with grass sauce and ride a saddled chicken.”
The flush appeared instantly in Teddi’s cheeks and she averted her eyes to the platter of biscuits she was putting on the table. “Sorry about that,” she murmured. “I guess my mind wasn’t on what you were saying.”
“It’s been conspicuous by its absence all afternoon,” came the dry reply. “Uh, that wouldn’t have anything to do with King being home?”
The platter lurched precariously as it met the tabletop. “Why ever would you think that?” Teddi asked, innocent eyes dark and wide.
“Joey walked out of the office carrying his duffel bag an hour ago.”
Teddi blinked.
Jenna hid a giggle behind a slender hand. “Every time King goes broody, he takes a strip off Joey. Then Joey packs his duffel bag and gives notice. The last time he did that,” she continued, “was at Easter. I told you the men started getting nervous the minute you set foot on the place.”
Teddi just stared, her heart beating a tattoo as she suddenly heard the front door open and close with a bang.
Mary’s clear voice could be heard in the hall. “Oh, there you are, dear, the girls are putting the food on the table now.”
“The computer broke down,” came the harsh reply, accompanied by the sound of angry footsteps, “and we can’t get a repairman here before morning. But I need those herd records now!”
“What are you going to do?” Mary was asking.
“Fix it,” he growled. There were sounds of paper rustling, drawers opening and closing. “If I can find the repair manual...there’s a home number for one of the service technicians in it. They don’t give you schematics or troubleshooting info, you have to call a service technician! Before long, you’ll have to call a number in Ontario in order to engage the gears of your automobile...don’t keep supper, I’ll be late.” And the door slammed loudly.
“It’s Saturday night,” Teddi murmured. “Surely to goodness he doesn’t expect a service technician to fly out here on a Saturday night...?”
Jenna eyed her friend patiently. “Would you say no to him?” she asked.
There was a brief pause. “I think I’d pack my duffel bag,” she admitted with a grin.
Mary came through the door just then, her eyes widening at the amount of food on the table. “Gracious, what army are you girls planning to feed tonight?” she gasped, her eyes going from the platter of biscuits Teddi had made to the ham casserole, cottage-fried potatoes, green beans, sliced carrot sticks and celery and tomatoes with a dip, and the enormous banana pudding on the elegant table under the crystal chandelier.
“It’ll keep until tomorrow,” Jenna promised, winking at Teddi.
Mary laughed. “What a pity King’s going to miss this,” she murmured as she sat down and unfolded her napkin. “All his favorites. Buttering him up, Jenna?” she mused.
“Actually, it was Teddi’s idea to do the casserole,” came the dry reply. “I can’t make one, you know. And look at these biscuits!”
“Never mind, my friend,” Teddi murmured as she spooned the casserole onto her plate. “I love it, too, as it happens.”
It was late, and the women were watching an old movie on TV in the den when King came in. He looked every year of his age. His thick blond hair was rumpled, and his shirt was open at the throat. His face was hard, but there was a faint satisfaction in it as he went directly to the bar and poured himself a whiskey before he dropped into his armchair with a sheaf of papers in one hand.
“I see you got the repairman, dear,” Mary remarked.
“An obliging gentleman,” King agreed, fingering the glass as he scanned an open folder in his lap. “I’m going to cull a few cows, and I needed these records before I made a decision on which ones to sell.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Mary reminded him.
“Ummm,” he agreed. “But Jake Harmone is driving over here tomorrow morning before church to make me an offer. Hence the urgency.”
“Sell Mahitabel and I’ll never speak to you again,” Jenna promised him.
He looked up with the old, mischievous light in his silvery eyes as he locked glances with his sister. “Mahitabel hasn’t calved in six years,” he reminded her. “She’s eating my grass, drinking my spring water and yielding absolutely nothing.”
; “She’s tough,” Jenna replied.
“So she is,” King murmured thoughtfully. “But if we parboiled her first...”
“King!” Jenna positively shrieked. “You can’t, you wouldn’t!”
He burst out laughing at her horrified expression. “All right, calm down. I’ll put it off another year, as I’ve done for the past six.”
His sister breathed easier. “What a scare you gave me!”
“I’ll remind you again that sentimentality and cattle raising don’t mix,” he remarked.
“As I found out at the tender age of twelve,” Jenna said, pouting, “when my pet bull disappeared.”
“He was an Angus,” King reminded her.
“So? What’s wrong with black Angus?” she challenged.
“Nothing, except that we run Herefords,” he replied. “Your pet got in with my registered cows and they dropped half Angus calves the next spring.”
“I thought they were cute,” Jenna said defensively. “Little black calves with white faces.”
“If you had your way, you’d make pets of every calf on the place,” King murmured indulgently. His eyes shifted suddenly and met Teddi’s. Something flashed briefly in the gray depths and burned so brightly that she dropped her own gaze and tried unsuccessfully to calm her wildly beating heart. Involuntarily, her mind caught and held the image of King’s hard mouth taking hers, and a shimmer of pure pleasure washed over her.
“Well, the hero got the girl. As usual.” Mary got up with a sigh and turned off the television. “I hate to leave good company, but that shopping spree left me dragging. Good night, my dears,” she said with a motherly smile, bending to kiss Jenna’s cheek as she went out the door.
“Do you still type?” King asked Teddi unexpectedly.
“Uh...yes,” she stammered.
He got up from the chair with the folder in one big hand. “Come help me make a list, then.”
“Aren’t you going to have something to eat?” Jenna asked him, glancing curiously from King’s set face to Teddi’s flushed one.
“Later, honey,” he said, ruffling her hair as he went out the door.
Jenna winked at Teddi, her whole face beaming with mischief as her friend followed him.
Teddi perched herself at one side of the big oak desk in King’s pine-paneled study and tapped out the cattle names and lineage and herd numbers and pasture locations while he leaned back in his big chair and dictated them, ending each notation with the cow’s production record. She began to realize that the names he was giving her—or rather, the numbers that seemed to pass for names for most of them—were those of cows that didn’t produce calves that were up to his exacting standards.
“Animal slavery,” she mumbled as he finished, and she paused to make a correction.
He raised both heavy blond eyebrows and glanced at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Selling off cows,” she explained, a tiny mischievous light in her wide brown eyes. “Poor things, what if that Mr. Harmone beats them or doesn’t feed them properly?”
“Mr. Harmone,” he informed her, “is going to use them as hosts for embryo transplants. They’re Herefords, but they’ll throw purebred black Angus calves.”
She stared at him. “Sure they will,” she agreed. “Shouldn’t you eat something? Lack of food...”
He grimaced, getting up to toss the records on his desk. “My God, don’t you know anything about cattle breeding?”
She nodded. “First you take a boy cow...”
He chuckled deeply, watching the lights play in her short, thick hair, almost blue-black in its darkness. “It’s not quite that simple, darling. Suffice it to say that this new technique has a large following and Mr. Harmone is part of it. You take purebred embryos and transplant them into host cattle—like these Herefords. The result is a well-cared-for purebred calf with superior bloodlines out of a less expensive cow.”
“Improving on nature?” she asked with lifted eyebrows.
“Don’t women do it all the time?” he fired back, looming over her. “Lipstick, eye shadow, curlers... none of which applies to you right now, however,” he conceded, studying her impossibly clear, creamy complexion, and the wide, black-lashed eyes that stared up at him.
“I don’t use makeup when I’m not working,” she murmured. Her eyes were as busy as his, seeking out the hard angles of his face, his imposing nose, his deep-set gray eyes, his chiseled mouth and square chin. He was so good to look at. Her first sight of him, all those years ago, had made him like a narcotic to her. She could scarcely exist without the picture of him in her mind, her heart. Her eyes fed on him.
The mention of her modeling had been enough to break the fragile peace between them. King’s face had gone hard; his eyes glittered like sun on a rifle barrel.
“I saw one of those televised fashion shows you were in,” he remarked curtly. “They ran it on the cable station.”
Her eyes avoided his probing stare. “I can imagine what you thought of it.”
“Can you? I’ve seen bikinis that showed less. One of the blouses you wore was quite transparent, and you wore nothing under it!”
Her face flamed. He was right, a great many of David Sethwick’s creative designs for Velvet Moth were practically sheer and very sensuous. Working around designers and other models, she tended to forget that bodies were more than just mannequins to people outside the business. King had such a low opinion of Teddi, and all without foundation. She wondered how he’d react if he knew how innocent she truly was, how afraid she was of anything physical....
“High fashion very often is...risqué,” she had to acknowledge, studying her well-kept nails where they rested on the typewriter keys. “And I work primarily for two designers of evening wear. It’s supposed to be sexy-looking.”
“You damned sure wouldn’t go anywhere with me in some of those dresses,” he growled.
The thought of it made chills go down her spine. It was heady to think of spending an evening with King, being escorted by him to some grand dance. She sighed unknowingly. It would never happen. Not as long as King felt the way he did about her profitable sideline. Which she ought to be pursuing even now, she reminded herself, if she was going to make enough to handle her school fees for the rest of the year. Velvet Moth would make sure she had work while she was in New York, and so would Lovewear—designers at both houses, fortunately, liked her style and her punctuality. And there was always the chance of one or two TV commercials.
“You love it, don’t you?” he asked suddenly, perching himself on the edge of the desk to study her. He was far too close. She could feel the warmth of his big body, see the buttons straining at the open throat of his shirt as he shifted, smell the outdoorsy scent of him. Being this close made her feel trembly, just as it had this afternoon when he’d reached for her....
“Love what?” she asked vaguely, looking up into his searching gray eyes.
He didn’t answer for a minute, his gaze lingering on her wide, misty eyes, her full, parted lips, as if he found the sight of her at this range disconcerting. That was ridiculous, she told herself.
“Modeling,” he said after a tense pause. “The glitter, the glamour, the night lights, the male adulation. You couldn’t give it up if you tried, despite all that rot about becoming a teacher.”
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t really think I’m spending so much time in college just to improve my modeling technique?” she challenged.
“I’ll admit you baffle me,” he said quietly. “Why teaching?”
“Why not? It’s an honorable profession,” she said with deliberate nonchalance.
“Where would you teach?” he persisted. “College?”
“Grammar school,” she corrected, her eyes lighting up at the mental picture she had of guiding young hands toward new pursuits. “Kindergarten, if possible.”
His face underwent a remarkable change. He took a deep breath. “You like children?”
Her face beamed. “Oh, yes,” she to
ld him genuinely. “Especially when they’re just old enough to reach out and begin to experience the world around them.”
His chest rose and fell heavily as he stared down into her wide, dark eyes. His tanned hand moved, touching her cheek, and she trembled at the light touch. It was amazing, the sensations he caused when he touched her. She wasn’t nervous of King like this, although she still had deep fears of any man in an intimate way. It was highly unlikely, of course, that King would ever want to be intimate with her, but she couldn’t help being curious about her own responses. She liked the feel of his hard, warm mouth against hers, she even liked the intimacy of his tongue. But to feel his hard fingers against her bare skin...would she panic, as she had before when one of her dates tried to go further than kisses? Part of her was insatiably curious about King in that way.
“You fascinate me,” he murmured absently. His thumb brushed across her full, soft lips, parting them while he held her eyes with his. “Half woman, half child...and so exquisitely beautiful.”
“I’m...not beautiful,” she protested weakly. Her heart beat violently as his face moved closer.
“Oh, but you are,” he breathed. His mouth poised just over hers, his warm, whiskey-scented breath mingling with hers, his eyes riveted to the curve of her lips. “I was afraid this would happen. Once wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.”
His fingers tilted her chin at just the angle he wanted, and she watched, fascinated, as his hard mouth parted just before it touched hers. She waited, aching, with time stretched to the tautness of a violin string between them.
The sudden opening of the door was no less cruel than the flick of a whip. King lifted his head with a harsh jerk, his eyes almost black with frustration as he watched his sister come in with a loaded tray.
Teddi bit hard on her lip to keep from crying out, so desperately had she wanted that kiss. But she had years of practice at hiding her real feelings, and she looked quite calm when Jenna got to the desk with sandwiches and coffee.
“I thought you might be hungry,” Jenna explained with a grin at her taciturn brother. “Slave driver, isn’t he?” she asked Teddi.
