by Leanne Banks
Disgusted, upset and distraught, she walked away from the bar. Her primary objective was to place as much distance as possible between herself and Ray. When she found herself back in front of the bookstore, she took several deep breaths and tried to decide how she would get back to the ranch. She obviously wasn’t going to ride with Ray. There were no taxis, she realized with sinking realization. She would have to call Addie.
Locating a pay phone, she dialed the number. “Addie,” she said, relieved when the housekeeper answered.
“Miss Chambeau, I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’ve had a little…” She paused. “…transportation problem. I apologize for troubling you, but I need a ride—”
“Oh, Mr. Logan’s headed into town for you now.”
Felicity’s stomach sank to her feet. “How did he know where I was?”
Addie chuckled. “Well, there ain’t a lot of choices. We figured you’d gone shopping. Where are you?”
“Near the bookstore,” Felicity said, dread seeping through her blood.
“You sit tight and I’ll call him on the cell phone. He’ll be there in no time.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Felicity murmured after she hung up, wishing she’d thought to bring her own cell phone. A jet would be nice right now. A jet to Tahiti. Siberia. Anywhere away from Brock Logan.
Five
“You were right. I was wrong. I apologize,” Felicity said before Brock could deliver even one of the blistering admonitions that had raced through his mind on his way to collect her.
Although she was overdressed for the little town of Blackstone in her knee-length cream skirt and silk blouse, he noticed her hair was slightly mussed, she was biting her lip and she looked upset. Ignoring his offer of assistance into his truck, she avoided his gaze and climbed in under her own steam. Despite his frustration and her awkwardness, he noticed the mesmerizing way her skirt pulled tight over her hips as she maneuvered. Felicity might be a pain in the rear, but she also had a great rear end.
Brock closed her door and walked to the driver’s side of the truck. “Is Ray at the Longhorn?” he asked after he got in.
She closed her eyes. “Can we please just go back to the ranch now?”
“What did he do?”
She hesitated. “Before or after I kicked him?”
Brock felt his temperature rise. “Did he touch you?”
“He tried,” Felicity admitted. “After I went to the bookstore, he wouldn’t take me home until I agreed to one drink at the bar. He drank more and wanted to dance in the corner. When I refused, he got—” she faltered “—pushy.”
Brock felt the bitter taste of anger rise to his throat. “Is he at the Longhorn?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
Brock drove in silence to the bar. “Stay here,” he told her before he headed inside. He collected the keys to the ranch truck from Ray and told the bastard not to return to the Triple L. It took every bit of his restraint not to punch Ray.
Returning to the truck, he started the engine and drove quietly with his hands clenched around the steering wheel for several miles. When he could speak in a normal tone, he said, “I told you to stay away from the men, Felicity.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I needed to get to the bookstore today.”
“Books for what?” he demanded.
“I wanted some books about helping children with reading problems.”
Her explanation scored his heart and rained on the fire of his anger like an afternoon shower. He took a deep breath and inhaled the soft, sexy scent of her perfume. How could he chastise her for trying to help his son? And getting mauled for her effort, he thought, his anger at Ray rising again. The image of Ray touching her made his gut twist in a vicious knot.
“Next time ask Addie or me,” Brock said, bothered by how much he didn’t want another man touching her.
“Addie felt bad and you were busy. I didn’t want to bother you. I had decided to extend my stay for a month because of Jacob and because my vocational quest isn’t exactly progressing at warp speed, but I’m sure you’d rather I leave,” she said. “Would you mind letting me out a few minutes before you turn in the driveway?”
He tossed her a quick glance and frowned. “Why?”
“Because I’m not ready to go back to the guest room. I need to be outside for a few minutes, to walk,” she said, her voice unsteady. “To breathe.”
He could see she was still tense and upset. Brock took a deep breath of his own and turned in a different direction. “I know where to go.” Driving down a dirt road, he pulled to a stop at a fence next to a stream.
“Where are we?”
“We call it High Lonesome. The most peaceful spot on the ranch,” he said, getting out of the truck, opening her door and offering his hand to assist her. “Good for what ails you.”
She hesitated before she accepted his help, making him prickle in irritation. Her hand felt soft in his and he felt an odd urge to twine his fingers through hers so he could feel her against the insides of his fingers, too. She pulled away, however, leaving him with a restless sensation that lingered.
Ever polite, she murmured, “Thank you.”
In the evening dusk, he watched her walk toward the stream. She stopped next to an old tree, and heedless of the rough bark, leaned against it with her arms wrapped around her slim frame. She presented a strange, but pleasing picture dressed in her city clothes, standing in a pasture.
She was a strange, but sometimes pleasing woman, he thought, moving toward her, unable to avoid the fact that she looked very lonely.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said. “The sound, the peacefulness. I’d like to stay awhile. You can drive to the ranch and I’ll walk back.”
He glanced at her high heels dubiously. “In those?”
“I’m from New York. I can walk a mile in stilts. You can go back. I’ll be here.” She glanced at him with a wry smile. “I can’t cause too much trouble here.”
“You want to be alone,” he said, fighting another itchy urge to touch her hair.
“I want to take a little break from disrupting your life,” she said.
“It hasn’t been all bad.”
She glanced at him sideways. “Feeling sorry for me? No need. I’ll be fine. I am fine,” she insisted as if she were trying to convince herself more than him. She pushed away from the tree and walked closer to the stream. He watched her stumble on a root and pitch forward.
Brock rushed forward to help her.
“I have a little coordination problem,” she said breathlessly. “I told you that you should go,” she said, clinging to his arms. “That way, you won’t feel compelled to rescue me from myself.”
Brock didn’t say anything. She felt so good in his arms he was wordless.
“But rescuing is part of your honorable character, isn’t it? You’ve probably always known exactly who you were and what you wanted and how to do it. Do you have any idea,” she asked irritably, “how incompetent you make the rest of us feel?”
His lips twitched. “Is that a compliment or insult?”
She ignored his question. “You’re strong, coordinated,” she said in an accusing voice. “You speak and your cowhands obey. You’re effective and intelligent. You have two wonderful children and a brother and sister. Is there anything you don’t have?”
“A wife.” The word sprang unexpectedly from his tongue, deep from his heart. He instantly regretted it.
“She was obviously a flake,” Felicity said in a dismissive, matter-of-fact tone. Her assessment was voiced with such confidence that he felt as if she’d tossed one of the weights he carried into that stream. And she’d done it so easily.
He looked into her guileless gaze and a kick of need ricocheted through him all the way down to his boots. It struck Brock that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman in his arms when day was turning to night. The restless sensation in his gut drew tighter. Her br
easts brushed against his chest; her torso meshed with his belly. It would be easy to dip his head and touch her parted lips with his, to taste and take her with his tongue. It would be easy to slide his leg between her silky thighs and draw her even closer.
It would be so easy, but she’d just been pawed by another man she hadn’t wanted touching her, he remembered, yet still didn’t release her. He could touch her hair, he thought. That would be safe. He lifted his hand.
Her gaze shifted as if she sensed a change from him. She stood very still while he fingered her hair. Then she took a shallow breath and swallowed. “Did you know your daughter told me that your sister said you need a woman to drive you crazy on a regular basis?”
Surprised, he stopped mid-stroke. “Crazy?”
Felicity gave a little nod. “I don’t think she meant crazy the way I make you, though. I think she meant man-woman crazy. And I don’t make you man-woman crazy.”
Impatience scored his already heated blood. “Why wouldn’t you make me man-woman crazy? I’m a man. You’re a woman.”
“Yes, but you’re too honorable to be attracted to—” She broke off when he shook his head.
Brock ground his teeth. “I may have been raised to do the right thing, but I’m still a man,” he told her, thinking he was a man who could want the wrong kind of woman. “You may be impulsive and you may not think the same way I do, and you sure as hell don’t do things the same way I do, but you’ve got a good heart.”
Felicity blinked, then her face lifted in a big smile. “Think so?”
“Yeah, but you need to understand that I’d like to see you out of that skirt and blouse and find out what you’re wearing underneath,” he said, watching her eyes grow wide with surprise. “The only thing holding me back right now is I don’t want to be the second man this evening to push himself on you.”
She stared at him for a full moment, then her gaze slid away, but she didn’t move from his arms. “You’re not pushing,” she said in a low voice.
He felt the curl of need swell in his belly. “I feel like pushing,” he said, and expected her to pull back.
Slowly lifting her ambivalent gaze to his, she still didn’t move away. Instead, she moved closer, pressing herself against him, stretching her arms around him, and tucking her head under his chin.
“Your technique is very different from Ray’s,” she said. “I don’t have the overwhelming urge to kick you.”
She moved her head from side to side, rubbing her soft hair over his throat. He could imagine how her hair would feel rubbing other places on his body. Insanity, he thought. There were two ways to settle this; leave or kiss her.
Leave.
Instead, he nudged her chin upward with his thumb and kissed her. Back and forth, up and down, he explored her soft lips. Darker needs tugged at him. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and she opened for him, and the air seemed to crackle around them.
He felt her stand up on her toes to slide her fingers through his hair. The gesture arched her body into his. She wiggled as if to get closer. The instinctual, unbearably sensual little movement made him sweat. Brock took full advantage, sliding his hands down to her hips to guide the part of him that ached into the cradle of her thighs.
He sucked her tongue into his mouth, wanting to devour her, wanting to slide inside her and feel her moistness close around him and pump him into next week.
Felicity pulled her mouth from his and dipped her head. “Oh, wow. I wish you liked me.”
Her words broke through the haze of his arousal. Perplexed, Brock stared down at her backside as his body still throbbed from her closeness. The woman confused the hell out of him. “Liked you?”
“Yeah,” she murmured and sighed. “I can feel—” she said “—that you want me.” She slowly lifted her gaze to his, her eyes dark with a passion that revealed she wanted him, too. “But I wish you liked me.”
Hell.
Later that night, Brock couldn’t sleep. His mind and body wouldn’t let him. Unfortunately, a late-night sandwich wasn’t going to take care of his persistent gnawing hunger.
He’d mentally listed a dozen reasons why he couldn’t take Felicity to bed, including the Logan Curse, but his body wasn’t listening. His room, his private haven, suddenly seemed too small. He prowled his father’s study instead.
Drinking a beer, he walked around the room and eyed the piano warily. Since his father had died, Brock had felt uncomfortable in the room until he’d found Felicity playing the piano and swearing at the sounds. It had seemed such a sad room, a room full of his father and his father’s heavy grief.
Now, it seemed dusty but expectant. He fingered a few of the keys on the piano, muttering his agreement with Felicity’s assessment of the terrible tuning.
“I thought I heard a ghost,” Tyler said from the door, looking at Brock in amazement. His brother wore his white hospital jacket and weariness around his eyes.
“No ghost. I’m just restless tonight,” Brock said, determined to turn the attention away from himself. “How was your day?”
Tyler sighed and loosened his tie. “Okay,” he said. “I specialized in pediatric cardiology and there’s not much call for it around here. I can’t put in ear tubes every day the rest of my life.”
Brock heard the restlessness in his brother’s voice. He’d heard it more often lately. The local hospital was too small for anything more than general cases, but Brock figured Tyler would get over his impatience. He always did. “Maybe you’ll get a little kid with a heart problem tomorrow.”
Tyler threw him a sideways glance, then walked into the study. He glanced at the bare windows and uncovered piano. “If you’re redecorating, I like it,” he said.
“Not me,” Brock said, then reluctantly added the most powerful disruption the Triple L had experienced since a tornado had hit a few years ago, “Felicity.”
Tyler raised his eyebrows, then chuckled. “Ah. Our resident goddess.”
“I hadn’t thought of that description for her,” Brock added wryly.
“Then you’re the only one. I heard a bit of interesting news today. There’s been an anonymous six-figure donation to the hospital.”
“Felicity,” he said again, wondering if she’d developed amnesia about their agreement.
Tyler lifted his hands in defense. “Hey, I can’t swear to it,” he said, clearly hearing the disapproving tone in Brock’s voice. “She’s not getting under your skin is she?”
“Like a burr,” Brock said, sitting down on the piano bench.
“She’s not all bad,” Tyler said, joining him on the bench and lazily playing the melody of “Chopsticks.”
“I didn’t say she was.” He picked out the bass. His mom would have said the low keys sounded thuddy.
“Then why do you look like you think the next hurricane should be named after her?” Tyler continued, picking up the tempo.
“Not a bad idea,” Brock muttered, still playing. Lord, it had been a long time. His mother had required both him and Tyler to learn. A few sweet memories trickled in. It had been over twenty years since he’d touched a piano. “Felicity’s a part-time job when I’m already working overtime.”
“Any chance she’ll be leaving for New York soon?”
“Not soon. One of her financial advisors left the country with some of her funds.”
Tyler whistled and stopped. “Is she broke?”
Brock chuckled. “Nowhere near it, but it doesn’t sit right with me and her New York attorneys aren’t getting a damn thing done. I called our retired Ranger friend, Steve, and I’m shipping him down to South America for a weekend of stomping out American cockroaches.”
“Bet you wish it wasn’t calving season and you could go,” Tyler said, tinkering with the treble keys.
Brock felt the temptation burn through him, but shook his head. “I’ve got better things to do.”
“Like Felicity?” Tyler said with a sly grin.
“You’re forgetting the curse,” Bro
ck reminded him, wondering how Tyler could get involved with women and remain unscathed.
“Maybe you should take a vacation from the curse.”
Brock remembered his divorce and swallowed a bitter taste. He took a long swig of beer. “I already took a vacation from the curse. I’m still paying for it.”
Tyler sighed and stood. “I like what Felicity did to this room. Maybe you ought to let her redo your bedroom, too,” he hinted and ambled toward the door. “By the way, your timing’s a little rusty, bro. Mom would make you practice.”
“Your finger positioning needs work. It always did.”
Tyler met his gaze, and Brock remembered their ongoing competition to be the brightest in their mother’s eyes. It was the only reason they’d endured the piano lessons. “I’d forgotten how much I missed her,” Brock said, breaking the long silence and looking at her portrait on the wall.
“Me, too,” Tyler said, glancing at the portrait, then giving Brock a thoughtfully assessing look. “You can enjoy a woman without falling in love with her. You could use a woman in your life.”
“Like a hole in the head,” Brock replied. The Logan Curse never quite left his mind.
A couple of afternoons later, Brock stepped through the front door and heard sounds from the study. He tensed in automatic response, wondering what she might be doing this time. He walked down the hallway and stood outside watching.
While Jacob played a cassette and mouthed the words of the book he was looking at, Bree perched on the piano bench. Felicity was clutching something that resembled a slender crowbar and it appeared she was destroying the guts of his mother’s piano.
“Middle C,” Felicity said. “Hit it.”
Bree obliged.
Brock cleared his throat, and Bree spun around. “Hi, Daddy! We’re tuning the piano!”
“Is that what you’re doing?” he asked, unable to keep the doubt from his voice.
“Yep, Felicity got a bunch of stuff in the mail today.”
Felicity pulled her head out of the piano and looked at Brock. Her gaze held a fleeting, but powerful sexual punch, that gave him a buzz. “Express mail is wonderful, and I never realized what you could buy and learn through catalog shopping.”
