It was as if he’d lit her up. “Ooo—like a ranch for kids to raise horses? Once I did a story about a place near L.A. that hosts so-called directionless children who need somewhere to go so they can learn how to be responsible. Animals are good therapy for them. So is having a job when they’re out of school, and Lord knows enough of those aren’t available around here.”
He might’ve been one of those kids if Violet hadn’t come along and shown him that there was more to him than a social scoundrel.
Her gaze was shiny as she looked at him. Into him, it seemed.
“Davis,” she said, “you’re a surprise a minute.”
“It’s nothing.” He shrugged. “It’s only an idea.”
“One of many.” She bit her lip, glancing around, maybe even seeing what he saw in this place now. “You know what’s great? If something had happened and you didn’t have all your money, you would’ve been a success, anyway. You could’ve done anything you wanted to do.”
For a man who’d feared that everyone in St. Valentine thought he was nothing more than a rich boy, that was a balm.
“I’m a lot like you then,” he said quietly. “You can do anything, too.”
She hesitated. “These days, I feel like I don’t have much choice in the matter.”
He hated to see her sad, and he stood, taking a step toward her—near enough to put his hands on her arms, sparking the electricity between them. “You’ll always have a choice.”
He meant himself. She should choose him, whether it seemed like a crazy idea or not.
When she looked him in the eye, he saw hesitation there. “Davis, last night…”
“Was a start.”
She seemed anguished. “Last night was wonderful, in so many ways. But that text I got during dinner?”
She’s a part of your past… .
He pushed the warning aside again. “What did it say?”
Her words were thick. “There might be a position opening on a paper in San Francisco. My friend has inside word about it, and…”
He let go of her arms as the past wound around him, repeating itself.
Violet leaving town again. His heart cracking into pieces that he’d never quite picked up until she’d come back.
Last time, he’d let her go without a fight, but this time…
Hell, no.
He kissed her with such passion—and possession—that she made a soft noise against his mouth. And as the kiss deepened, their desire grew frenzied, breathless.
After getting lost in the seemingly endless moments, he trailed his mouth up her jaw, pressing his lips against her ear. “Are you going to tell me you don’t feel anything after that?”
Hazily, she looked into his eyes, and he saw the maelstrom of emotion.
“I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” she said.
“Why would it have to turn out that way?”
“Because—”
He cut off the same old arguments by kissing her again. Now, though, it seemed as if she’d thrown away every excuse she’d been clinging to, and she leaned back against the fence, pulling him with her until the wood creaked under their weight.
But it held strong as she pressed against him, pulling him down so they were chest to chest, hip to hip.
“Vi,” he whispered, “you’re not going anywhere.”
She didn’t contradict him, only tugged at his shirt in an effort to unbutton it. He fumbled right along with her until she delved her hands under the gaping material, palms against his ribs, exploring as if he was new territory.
And, in a way, he was. Being with her again wouldn’t be like the last time—there were too many years gone by, too many experiences they couldn’t ignore.
He loosened her ponytail, and her hair rained over his hands. Captured by the scent of her, he picked her up, making his way back to the convertible, where there was a long, upholstered backseat.
Just like the one they’d made love on the first time.
He got the back door open, and he laid her down, her hair red-kissed and enticing against the white vinyl.
“My Violet,” he said under his breath, as he climbed in.
Slow, though. He’d told himself this would go slow, that he would revel in every moment with her, stretching it out until she couldn’t tell the difference between now and forever.
He slid his hands up her hips, her waist, making her hold her breath as he stroked over her ribs. His thumbs caught her sensitized nipples and he circled them, bringing her to even harder peaks through her thin top.
She ran her hands up and down his arms, watching him, something like fear mixed with utter ecstasy in her light brown gaze.
He thought of how she would look without all these clothes, and he could barely stand the wait to find out how different she would be. But he forced himself to undo the buttons on her top in an unhurried rhythm, one, another, until he got down to where the material tied into a knot.
Just as he had done with those ribbons in the box on Founder’s Weekend, he untangled the knot, taking off her top until her pale skin greeted him, the lace of her bra the only thing between him and her breasts.
When he reached behind her to unclasp her bra, she arched, sending her hips against him, and he sucked in a breath.
“Hurry,” she said, restless.
Not on his life.
He slid one bra strap down, guiding her hand through the strap. He did the same with the other, then deliberately pulled at the bra until it was off.
His core hummed as he looked at her breasts, definitely more womanly now, full and shapely even when she was lying down. The pink tips were hard and he came forward, latching his mouth to one.
She rocked against him again, and he eased his hands to her back, bringing her to him.
Damn, she tasted as good as she smelled—cherries and almonds and musk, and a bit of summer sweat. He tugged on her nipple, playing with it, and she made bothered little sounds.
He kissed her breast, then cupped her rear end, positioning himself so that her groin was grinding against his.
Already hard and ready—but he was going slow.
As slow as it took to show her that she was meant to stay in this town.
And with him.
Chapter Ten
Was this what it had been like before with Davis?
When they’d been summer lovers fifteen years ago, had she felt as if her heart were about to burst, right along with every other part of her body? Had there been such devastating, sizzling currents blasting through her, threatening to burn her alive from the inside out?
Now, as he rubbed against her, torturing her until a cry bubbled in her lungs, Violet couldn’t believe she had ever felt this blissful—couldn’t believe that anyone on earth had.
Sensation took over as he undid the front of her shorts, then smoothed a hand into her panties.
A rough, needful sound escaped her when his finger slipped between her folds.
He drew his finger up, down, up again, circling the achiest part of her, pressing down on it until she strained against him.
She wanted all of him now. He’d been right—she didn’t want to leave town again.
Didn’t want to leave him.
Flashes of what could’ve been—no, what could be—took her over—days and nights of languid affection as bedsheets wrapped around them, binding them to each other. Hours in his arms as they listened to the grass near his lake rustling in a breeze as the seasons changed.
All of it filled her up in a way she’d never, ever expected…
He glided a finger inside her, and she grabbed at his loose shirt.
“Davis…”
The pleasure in hi
s gaze was a potent aphrodisiac, more powerful than any expensive champagne he could buy. He slipped his finger in, out, bringing her to a restless brink.
Slow, she thought. He’d wanted them to go slow.
Forget slow.
She tore at his shirt, yanking it off him, and he helped her. But when she made herself stop for a second, just to put her hand over his heart, just to feel it pistoning as much as hers was, he paused, too.
He grasped her hand, raising it to his face, pressing it there, then turning his lips to her palm to kiss it.
It was almost like a pledge of sorts—a wordless vow that things would be different this time around, that nothing truly would ever stand in their way.
You thought the same thing last time…
She shut her eyes against the voice of reason, because this wasn’t reasonable at all—what she was feeling, what she was willing to leave behind in her “other” life, now that she and Davis were together.
But why be reasonable when that was just about all she had been before in life? Wasn’t it time to let herself go?
She touched Davis’s face with her fingertips as he still held her hand. Then he released her, and she stroked downward, over his strong chest, down the center of his hard abs, until she got to the trail of downy hair that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.
No stopping now…
And she didn’t. Wouldn’t.
She eased her hand down, over the bulge in his jeans, and he hauled in a sharp breath. Then she traced her thumb over the outline of his tip.
“It’s time,” she said.
In answer, he smoothed the hair back from her forehead, taking her in with a heart-banging gaze, escalating her pulse to an agonizing rhythm that echoed low in her belly. Then he tugged down her shorts and panties, bringing her sandals along with them.
He spread her legs slightly, and the vulnerability she should’ve felt never materialized.
“Dammit, Violet,” he whispered, looking at her, turning her on that much more just before he took off the rest of his clothing.
He grabbed a packet from a jeans pocket, then discarded them altogether.
“Let me,” she said. She’d never been this bold with him before.
She freed the condom and sheathed him with it. This was it—no turning back. And right now, that didn’t scare her. It invigorated her as she pulled him down to her.
As if retaliating, he teased her with his erection, then finally entered her with one smooth thrust.
The world went misty for Violet—a bank of damp, white fog that clung to her skin as she floated through it. The air undulated, caressing her skin, the lining of her tummy—everything as it pulled her along, growing thicker and thicker.
As she moved with Davis’s every motion, she felt as if the mist was reaching into her, raising her, turning her every which way until she got so dizzy she didn’t know which direction was up, which was down…
Tearing her apart…
Putting her back together again…
Apart—together—
The mist seemed to implode, vacuuming into her, then exploding outward instead, taking her with it.
Then, little by little, it dissipated, molecule by molecule…
Memory by memory…
Until it all coalesced into a moment in which she held on to Davis, unwilling to let him go.
They’d gotten through the fog.
And she was finally in his arms where there was no doubt anymore that she belonged.
* * *
There’d never even been a picnic that morning at the abandoned ranch.
Instead, Davis had driven Violet back to his home straightaway, a palpitating silence in the car. He’d kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her, as they held hands.
But, once through his doorway, they’d grasped at each other again, stumbling through the foyer and up the stairway to his room, where he closed the door and took her to his bed.
Now, some time later, after hours of enjoying each other in that bed, Davis was in the kitchen. He’d made sure Lloyd was busy outside the mansion, and that the maid had the rest of the afternoon off. He wanted Violet to have the run of his house, just as much as she had had the run of him.
His body was alive with her touch, his skin keening for her.
The entire time, he couldn’t wipe a smile from his face. She changed her mind about me, he kept thinking, and it felt surreal, a fantasy.
But those other voices were whispering to him, too.
Part of your past…
What if she changes her mind again?
The niggles remained as he heard footsteps on the stairway, then on his carpet, and he turned toward the entry.
As Violet entered the kitchen, his belly clutched at the sight of her—she’d donned one of his long-sleeved shirts, and the hem hung down to midthigh. She was slender, but she’d always been that way, mostly because she burned off so many calories running around like a hellion with a million things on her to-do lists.
But she was all woman these days—sexy as hell, her hair tossed about. When she saw him standing there with just his jeans on, her gaze lingered on his bare chest.
He didn’t know how long he’d be able to stay on the other side of the room.
“Hey, there,” she said.
“I thought you were never coming down.”
“I had to do it sometime.” She had a shift to work at her family’s restaurant.
He wanted to offer her enough money to make sure her parents never had to worry about meeting payroll or keeping the saloon running, but the Osbornes would never accept that. He knew it from past experience with her dad.
And with Violet. Unlike most women, she seemed pretty unimpressed with, although still grateful for, him spending money on her.
She wandered closer to him, and he caught her scent. She smelled like him now, too, wearing his shirt.
Still wearing him.
Leaning against the counter nearby, she tucked her hands inside the long sleeves. “What a morning.”
“I never did get to serve you brunch.”
“I didn’t notice.”
They smiled as he opened the fridge, preparing to coddle her with food.
“Whoa,” she said, slipping under his arm and popping up in front of him. She gave him a playful nudge back. “I told you—next time I’ll be in charge of the meal.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t stand in your way.”
She smirked, then got busy inspecting the contents of his fridge. She brought out eggs, chives, a green and red pepper, cheddar and Monterey cheeses and butter. Then she plucked garlic salt and pepper from the spice rack.
“I thought you didn’t cook,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, ready to be entertained.
“I don’t go out of my way to do it. I hope you don’t mind, but the only go-to recipe I really know offhand is how to make an egg scramble. It’s hard to mess that up.” She grinned back at him. “What, are you thinking of banishing me from your kitchen because I’m serving breakfast food after noon?”
“Nah, I’d kind of like to keep you around. You wear my shirts well.”
She laughed, fetching cut-crystal glasses from one of his cupboards, completely at home in his kitchen.
He liked watching her move—unhooking a pan from where it was hanging over his kitchen island, pouring them both some carbonated, lemon-flavored water.
The scene seemed so right that he was almost surprised when she brought up a topic that neither of them had talked about yet.
“So,” she said. “About that job in San Francisco I started to tell you about.”
God, couldn�
�t they just skip over this for the time being?
She commandeered a cutting board. After washing the vegetables, she began to chop them. “I was thinking of how I wouldn’t know anyone there. It would be just like starting from scratch in a new job, new place.”
What was she saying? “I thought that always seemed like an adventure to you.”
“I was younger then.” She hesitated, a lock of hair hiding her face.
Was she hinting about…staying?
A snap of fear blindsided him, and that took him aback.
Hadn’t he been the one pursuing her? So why did he all of a sudden want to avoid the subject?
He grasped a reason that this might be freaking him out a little. This was where the fantasy would detach from reality for them, and what had Violet been to him most of his life except for a fantasy?
Slow, he thought. Maybe we should drop the subject and still take it slow, not making any life decisions just yet.
But why was he even thinking that when he’d been so sure about him and Violet before?
What if she changes her mind about us?
His head swam with confusion as she quietly added, “Maybe I could get used to newspaper stories about cats stuck in trees and the occasional big opportunity, like the story about Tony Amati. Maybe getting used to St. Valentine would be a big adventure in itself.”
She said it as if she’d be happy with that. But a sinking feeling told him that she was lying to herself. She would get bored, then…
She would leave again.
Violet glanced back at him, as if waiting for him to confirm something. Anything.
But he wasn’t doing it.
Slow…
She still might change her mind about us…
Now that she was in his kitchen, watching him to see why he was so silent, it was all too damned real.
Not knowing what else to do, he went to her, then kissed her on the forehead.
She seemed mildly bewildered, but then he realized just what to do to smooth things over until he could think some more.
Courted by the Texas Millionaire Page 14
