Rawhide and Lace

by Diana Palmer

  “But what if he sues you?” she asked.

  “Let him. I like a good fight.” He buttoned the coat and studied her in the tight leotard. “Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you and I have to talk.”

  He came close then, framing her face in his lean hands. “I may be late. Don’t wait up.”

  He bent and put his mouth softly against hers, with a new tenderness. She smiled against his lips and bit at the lower one.

  He jerked back, frowning. And then he repeated the tiny caress on her own lip, smiling slowly at the reaction.

  “How do you know so much about kissing?” he murmured.

  “Because up until you came along, that was all I ever did with boys,” she replied, and searched his eyes. “Be careful out there.”

  “Worried about the enemy?” he asked mockingly.

  She touched his cheek. “Who would I fight with if something happened to you?” she asked noncommittally.

  He brushed his finger against her mouth, brooding. “Erin…No. I can’t talk about it now. Good night.”

  He left her without a backward glance, taking his rifle and ammunition from José on his way through the hall. She heard the front door slam behind him, and felt chilled to the bone.

  What, she wondered, had he been about to say to her?

  Chapter Six

  Erin felt haunted that night. She couldn’t help remembering Bruce and Ty and the way things had been. She recalled vividly one particular day, when she and Bruce were going for a ride in the chill of the early morning.

  Ty had been working with one of his horses that day, and he’d stopped just long enough to tell Bruce which horse to saddle for Erin…

  Bruce had bowed low, then glared up at him, all boyish and defiant. “I do know how to pick a horse,” he’d drawled sarcastically. “I won’t let her get hurt, either. After all,” he’d added pointedly, “she is my girl, not yours.”

  Ty hadn’t said a word. But he’d looked at Erin, and his silver eyes had been faintly hungry, possessive. Even in memory, the intensity of his gaze made her tingle. Up until that moment, Ty had been openly hostile, taunting her at every opportunity, picking at her, mocking her. But on that cold morning, there had been something in his eyes that had excited her, attracted her.

  He’d held her gaze until she’d wondered if her heart could stand it. It had been like holding a live wire in wet hands. Her lips had parted, and his narrowed eyes had gone to them hungrily. If Bruce hadn’t chosen that moment to reappear with Erin’s mount, anything might have happened.

  She’d relived that look all through the ride. When they’d returned, Bruce had been sidetracked by one of the stable boys.

  Erin had spotted Ty, standing all alone by the corral, staring into the distance. And for some reason that she still didn’t completely understand, she’d run to him.

  Even now, she could see the expression on his hard, homely face, shock mingling with pure pleasure as she’d come toward him, her long black hair flaring behind her, her eyes alive with the joy of living. She’d darted up onto the lowest rail of the corral fence, beside him, and talked enthusiastically about the ride and the ranch and how much she was enjoying her visit.

  Surprisingly, he hadn’t been sarcastic or ridiculing. He’d smoked his cigarette calmly and answered all her curious questions, even seemed to enjoy them. But there still had been that hunger in his eyes when he’d looked at her. And it hadn’t been very much later that Bruce had gone out on business and Ty had made one cutting remark too many.

  She could still remember the feel of his hard cheek under her flashing hand, the shocked amusement in his face as he’d reached out arrogantly and jerked her against his hard-muscled body.

  She’d thrilled to the unfamiliar contact…and all the arguments had suddenly made sense as the very real, explosive passion between them had been unleashed at last.

  “At last,” he’d whispered roughly, bending to her mouth. “Oh, God, at last…”

  She hadn’t questioned that strange wording, and when his lips had come crashing down against hers, she’d forgotten everything in the magic of being touched by him. For a long time, she’d forbidden her mind to relive that ecstatic night, but now she wanted to remember. She savored again the shocked gasp that had burst from his throat as she’d reached toward him instead of pushing him away, the pulsating hardness of his body as he’d smoothed her against its every rippling muscle and deepened the warm, rough kiss.

  He hadn’t been experienced. She’d known he was no virgin, but in retrospect, she realized that every movement had been spontaneous, unpremeditated. He’d wanted her desperately, and she’d wanted him. The nearness of him, the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his body—she’d wanted it all, without realizing what her desire meant to an aroused man. Her experience was even less than his…so that what happened had been inevitable. Inevitable…like the wreck…

  She touched her flat stomach with gentle hands and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. The hardest thing of all had been losing the baby. She remembered how she’d cried when they’d told her about the miscarriage, about her crushed pelvis. The world had gone dark with Ty’s stubborn refusal to listen, with his harsh renunciation. The wreck, the miscarriage, the terrible ordeal of surgery…it had been nightmarish….

  And now, because of the horror, she was here, close to Ty, beginning a relationship that was new and a little frightening. Did he only feel pity for her? And what did she feel? At first she’d wanted revenge; she’d hated him. But in time, she’d stopped being so terribly bitter and had drifted into a kind of numb apathy. Now she was back to stinging life again—and all because of Ty.

  She rolled over onto her back with a troubled sigh. She felt desire; that much was sadly evident. Every time he touched her, her willpower vanished. She was his. And he had to know that. But he seemed hesitant, too.

  His father had warped him, she realized. His ideas of intimacy and marriage were distorted. He didn’t seem to know a great deal about women or closeness or giving. There was still a side of him that was guarded, buried, hidden from the world. Hidden from her. She wondered if anyone had ever seen that side of him. Perhaps no one ever would.

  That made her sit up, eyes wide and troubled.

  If he wanted her only because he felt guilty, responsible for what had happened to her, she’d have to try to resist him—after all, he might feel guilty now, but once she was whole again, his guilt would surely vanish, and his desire with it. There was something else to consider, too: right now, he needed her to keep Ward Jessup at bay. But if things ever straightened out, he’d have no need of her…and perhaps no desire for her. It would be wise not to get too close to him emotionally. She knew from hard experience that he didn’t have a lot of sentiment, even though the loss of his brother had obviously affected him.

  Hearing about the baby had affected him, too; Erin didn’t doubt that. He was the kind of man who would want children. But when and with whom were questions she couldn’t answer. She believed that he’d never completely forgotten what she was like before the wreck. He’d never liked her when she was a model; her beauty had repelled him, antagonized him. But now that she was scarred and crippled, she seemed to appeal to him much more. Why? she wondered. Why?

  A car door slammed, breaking into the silence, and she tensed, listening. She was wearing a low-cut nightgown with a slit down the side of her scarred hip, and she couldn’t bear to have Ty see the way she looked there. But surely he wouldn’t come in…would he?

  Just as the thought occurred to her, she heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. The next instant, the door swung open.

  Ty stripped off his gloves as he walked into the room, leaving the door open. “My, my,” he murmured, studying the picture she made. “And I thought men only saw mirages in the desert.”

  “It’s more a nightmare than a mirage under the gown,” she muttered, scrambling for the covers. “The scar bothers me sometimes, and it stings when fabric
rubs against it. The stitches haven’t been out long. My hip doesn’t like exercise,” she couldn’t help adding.

  “Does it like being dressed in see-through gowns?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow to where she’d pulled up the covers. “That could get it into big trouble. I’d have a talk with it if I were you. While you’re about it, you might tell it we’re going to exercise it every day, so it might as well stop grumbling.”

  That didn’t sound like the Ty she’d known months before. His humor was droll these days—not mocking and sarcastic—and he actually seemed to be making an effort to thaw her out. She stared up at him curiously. “Did you get the dog?” she asked.

  “No. The damned thing got to the woods and hid, but Jessup’s going to pay for that calf all the same.” He moved closer to the bed, gripping his gloves in one hand as he walked toward her. He was still wearing the shepherd’s coat, although he’d unbuttoned it, and his hat was tilted at an arrogant angle over his face. He stared down at her with narrowed, mocking eyes.

  “Something on your mind?” she challenged.

  “Yes, and you know what, don’t you?” He slapped the gloves against his palm, letting his eyes run over the covers she was huddled under. “Why did you do that?”

  She blinked. “Do what?”

  “Rush under the blankets like that, the minute I walked in? You haven’t got anything I haven’t already seen.”

  She averted her eyes to the blue coverlet. “Maybe not. But you haven’t seen it in its present condition, and you’re not going to.”

  “Like hell I’m not.”

  Even as he said it, he was stripping away the covers. He pinned her to the bed simply by clamping one firm, hard hand down on her waist, and when he sat down beside her, he cut off her last chance at escape.

  “No!” she cried as he stripped the gown up to her waist with his free hand, exposing the scarred hip.

  It wasn’t a pretty sight, despite the fact that it had healed since the wreck. The subsequent surgeries had left more scars, and only a skin graft would restore its former soft smoothness. But the scars didn’t bother him—only her attitude toward them.

  She closed her eyes because she couldn’t bear to see his disgust. “Now are you satisfied?” she asked huskily.

  “Not by a long shot, honey.” He bent and put his mouth against the scar tissue, felt her stiffen and tremble, heard the involuntary sound that escaped her lips.

  “Ty, you mustn’t!” she protested, pushing at his head.

  He looked up into her wide, frightened green eyes and smiled—actually smiled, although it was mocking and faint and didn’t soften the hard face one bit.

  “Frightened?” he chided. “Of what? You were terrified that I’d see you like this, so now you know. I’m not disgusted, or horrified, or repulsed. Any more questions?”

  She backed up on the pillows and stared at him, heart pounding. “It’s gruesome,” she said under her breath. “I can’t bear to look at it.”

  “But then you’re a cream puff, honey,” he said. “I’ve lived on a ranch all my life. I’ve seen things and done things that would turn your pretty hair white. By comparison, a few little hairline scars aren’t much.”

  “They are to me!”

  “Considering how you came by them, I guess so,” he replied, his tone quiet, almost sympathetic. He touched the newest scar gently, where it was still tender. Erin saw his face grow pale, watched his jaw tense as if he were remembering things he didn’t want to face.

  “Were you in the hospital a long time?” he asked after a moment.

  “After the wreck, yes,” she confessed, and he flinched. “Ty—”

  “It must have been damned painful,” he said under his breath, still staring at the scars. “And with no one to look after you, care about you. God!”

  He jerked up from the bed and turned away, his hands rammed into his pockets, the gloves forgotten on the coverlet. His back was ramrod stiff, and there was something disturbing in his stance.

  She was just beginning to understand him. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel anything. He’d just grown adept at hiding his feelings. She remembered what he’d told her about having two strikes against him with women, and she imagined he’d been taunted all his life about his lack of looks. She grimaced at the pain she felt emanating from him.

  It was just too much. Her own pain forgotten, she got out of bed and went to him. Talking wouldn’t help, she knew that instinctively. So she went in front of him and slid her arms around his hard waist and pressed against him inside his coat.

  He shuddered wildly for an instant. His hands caught her shoulders roughly and hesitated, as if he were thinking about pushing her away. And then the feel of her got through to him, the soft warmth pressed so close to his heart, the scent of her rising into his nostrils.

  His hands flattened on her shoulder blades, savoring the feel of her. And he let her come close, let her hold him. His head bent over hers, his cheek finally resting against her hair with a long, aching sigh.

  “You’re very human after all, aren’t you?” she asked softly, her eyes closed as she held him. “You lock it all up inside you and keep people from seeing, but things hurt you just as much as they hurt me. I know you feel bad about what happened, Ty. I’m not bitter anymore. I’ve stopped hating you for it. Does that help?”

  He touched her hair lightly, and his grip didn’t slacken one bit. “You see too deeply,” he whispered roughly.

  “It’s like looking in a mirror,” she said. “I’ve done the same thing all my life, too. Locked away the hurts, so no one could see. My father died and my mother started playing the field. One man after another was in and out of her life, and the other kids tormented me with it. You see, their own fathers weren’t immune to her. She had affairs with at least two of them.”

  His hands tightened around her. “I guess it was pretty tough.”

  “Pure hell.” She smiled ruefully. “I grew up near Dallas, remember; I was a small-town Texas girl before I started modeling. Small-town people are the salt of the earth, but they have old-fashioned ideas about morality, and they tend to condemn people who ignore the rules.” She nuzzled her cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt, feeling the hard muscle and heartbeat underneath. “I guess that’s one reason I never ran around.”

  He tugged gently on a strand of her hair. “At least not until I came along. I guess your conscience gave you hell about that.”

  “It did.”

  “Oddly enough,” he said, “I had some problems with my own conscience. The women I’d…known before weren’t virgins.”

  “Incredible, isn’t it,” she murmured, “that I’d get pregnant the very first time?”

  “That’s what they say happens to good girls.” He stroked her hair. “God, I’m sorry, honey,” he said softly. “Sorry I wouldn’t listen, sorry I didn’t go after you. I started to. And before I could, Bruce moved out and fed me a bunch of lies….”

  She lifted her head and looked up at him. “I never told him about us,” she said honestly, holding his eyes. “And I certainly never accused you of…of fumbling.”

  “I should have known that, shouldn’t I?” he asked, his voice deep. “After today, anyway.”

  She frowned slightly. “Why after today?”

  He traced her mouth with his finger. “If you were the kind of woman who’d laugh at a man, you’d have done it today. But you didn’t. Instead of making fun of me, you took my hand and showed me how to touch you.”

  She blushed and buried her face in his warm throat.

  He laughed softly, enjoying that very feminine reaction to his blatant teasing. He tugged lightly on her hair, savoring its softness. “Men aren’t born knowing how to arouse women,” he said, gently mocking. “We have to learn. It was exciting, having you show me what you liked. That’s never happened for me before.”

  “Never?” she asked without lifting her head.

  “Never. Bruce fed you some bull, too, honey, or haven’t you
cottoned on to that by now?”

  “About your sordid reputation and the harem you kept?” she asked, keeping her red cheeks hidden.

  “That’s about the size of it,” he agreed. “I’m not a virgin, but I’ve never been much of a rounder. Men who look like I do don’t score that often.”

  That brought her head up, wide green eyes searching his curiously. “What do you mean, men who look like you do? What’s wrong with you?”

  He cocked his head a little to one side, staring at her. “I’m ugly.”

  She smiled, completely without malice. “You’re sexy, too,” she murmured.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Me?”

  She dropped her eyes to his chest. “And arrogant,” she continued. “Bad-tempered. Impatient…”

  “You could have stopped at ‘sexy,’” he said.

  She shifted restlessly. “No, I couldn’t,” she said. “We don’t want you to get conceited.”

  “Hip hurting?” he asked softly.

  “Nagging a bit.” She peeked up at him. “I’ll be your best friend if you’ll stop making me do those exercises.”

  “No deal. You’re going to walk again even if I become your worst enemy. Here.” He swung her up into his arms without warning and carried her back to bed.

  She clung, drowning in the masculine scent of him, the feel of that powerful, lean body. “You’re very strong,” she murmured absently.

  “I don’t sit behind a desk and count my money. I work for what I’ve got.” He put her down on the coverlet, and as he rose up, his eyes caressed the curves of her body like seeking hands.

  She didn’t try to cover herself, although part of one creamy breast was revealed by her disheveled gown. She let him look, glorying unashamed in the pleasure she saw in his silver-gray eyes.

  “Have you ever let another man look at you like this?” he asked, his voice deep and faintly cutting.

  “No,” she said.

  “Bruce wanted to, didn’t he?” he asked, lifting his eyes to hers. “He wanted that and a hell of a lot more.”