Lacy

by Diana Palmer

  "Mama is in Europe, of course," Jessica informed him as they sipped champagne cocktails before being served dinner in the spacious dining room. She moved closer to him, drowning him in exquisite scent. "She detests the frontier. It's nothing like New York. But Papa insisted that we come here to take over this territorial publication."

  "Papa knows a good business venture when he sees one," Bradley said haughtily. He looked down his nose at her and made a face. "This little publication is going to become a force in Western journalism, you wait and see, daughter. Now, Whitehall, tell me about yourself. Your people are in cattle ranching, I understand."

  Ben felt uncomfortable. "Why, yes," he replied, with a faint smile, trying to sound as confident and urbane as his host. "My brother handles that end of it, of course. I'm more into the— uh.. .financial side of things." Thank God Cole wasn't here to hear him or he'd be into something else—like Cole's fist!

  "Good man. Nasty things, cattle," the older man said, lifting his glass. "We're going to make you into the reporter of the century. Scandal, crime, tragedy—We'll make a fortune! Here's to profit, son."

  Ben lifted his own glass. Waterford crystal, he recognized. Very nice. The bit about scandal, crime, and tragedy had gone right over his head. "Here's to profit!"

  It was a wonderful evening. Old man Bradley went out of his way to be courteous, and Jessica's dark eyes made Ben into a nervous wreck with their frank sensuality. He was never aware of what he ate, but he was thankful for his mother's insistence on proper table manners. At least he didn't embarrass himself by not knowing which fork to use.

  "Well," Bradley said when they'd finished dessert and were sipping glasses of brandy in the living room, "I must get my rest. Bed at eight every evening, you know, son. It keeps the body fit."

  "Yes, of course," Ben said falteringly, rising to his feet awkwardly. "I must be getting back home..."

  "That long drive at this time of night? Don't be absurd!" Bradley scoffed. "You'll stay with us. Can't have my star reporter on the road in the middle of the night. I need you, my boy. Your connections in San Antonio will be invaluable to me.. .to us! Advertising counts, you know, and a locally known name sells ads. Good business. Sleep well, my boy. Good night, my dear,"he told Jessica, bending to kiss her cheek warmly.

  "Good night, Daddy," Jessica said demurely. "I'll show our guest to his room. An early night won't hurt any of us."

  "My thoughts exactly." Bradley chuckled as he climbed the winding staircase.

  "Come along, Bennett," Jessica told Ben. She put her glass down and took his hand in hers.

  She was wearing a filmy blue creation, very lacy and clinging, and Ben's heart actually hurt him with its wild pounding. She was the most sophisticated woman he'd ever known. His age exactly, but she was much more worldly than he was. And so sexy!

  As she opened the door to a room in the wing across from where her father had vanished, he expected her to bid him good night. But she came in with him.. .and locked the door behind her.

  "Now," she whispered huskily, "I can do what I've waited all night for."

  "And what is that?" he asked, drinking in the scent of her.

  "This," she murmured, drawing his head down to hers.

  God, could she kiss! He felt his toes curling at the first impact of her soft, moist lips. Her tongue went quickly into his mouth, thrusting, teasing. He reached for her, all restraint gone at the intimacy of her hips pushing urgently against his. She was no virgin. Not this little number!

  Seconds later, she led him to the bed, but she moved back when he reached for her.

  "Not yet, little Ben." She laughed softly. She backed away, smoothing the dress down her body, her dark eyes sultry and triumphant as she saw the desire in his.

  She peeled the buttons from their buttonholes with slender, deft fingers, and let him watch as she peeled the bodice down and stepped out of the dress, standing only in her pale lilac chemise and hose. Holding his eyes, she toyed with the thin straps, easing them slowly down her arms, her lips parted, her tongue touching her teeth.

  Ben sat rigidly on the white coverlet, astonished at her lack of embarrassment. She tugged the chemise away from her small, taut breasts and let it fall. Standing in her knickers and garter belt and hose, she kicked the chemise across the polished wood floor and lifted her arms to remove the hairpins and loosen her long, dark hair.

  Her back arched as she moved toward him. "How do you like me, little Ben?" she whispered. "Hmm?" "God, you're.. .lovely!" he choked.

  "Then don't sit there, lovey dove... Show Jessica you like her," she whispered, lifting his hands.

  She put them on her firm breasts, his palms hard against the taut, dark nipples, and watched with glittery, excited eyes as he caressed them.

  "Come on, honey. Don't be slow," she teased, drawing his hands down to her knickers and garter belt.

  He removed them with trembling hands, his heart pounding as he eased them off and peeled down her silky hose. She laughed a little wildly, sliding back onto the coverlet, glorious in her pink nudity, moving sensuously on the bed under his intense stare.

  "Are you just going to stand there looking?" she challenged.

  "Oh." He blinked. "No, of course not!" He felt as if it were the first time. His hands were all thumbs as he got rid of the gray suit and most everything under it.

  He had a good body, thank God. Smooth and not too pale, and fairly muscular.

  He removed his shorts and turned, watching her eyes go down to the explicit masculinity of him.

  "Well, my goodness. You're not little Ben after all, are you, honey?" She laughed softly, holding out her arms. "Come here, you adorable savage, and love me to death!"

  This, at least, was familiar territory. He might not be the world's greatest reporter, but he knew what to do with a woman. As she learned, quickly and with some measure of astonishment.

  He laughed to himself at her shocked eagerness when she felt his tongue on the soft, warm inside of her thighs. She was noisy, all right, he thought as he moved up to her soft breasts and felt her go rigid and whimper when he caught a dusky, fragrant nipple delicately in his teeth and nibbled it. Yes, she was going to make a lot of noise. He hoped no one was close enough to hear her.

  WHILE BEN WAS ENJOYING his evening, Lacy was cursing her own— along with the impulsive threat that had forced Cole into the intimacy of sharing her room. She was alone, pacing the floor, dressed in a soft pink cotton gown and flowing robe, and the fact that they were married didn't make her feel any less like a vamp. It had started out to be fun, but now she was nervous. She'd felt something new and delicate in her relationship with Cole all day. A warmth that had been lacking before, a tender beginning. She didn't want to jeopardize it. But she was so inexperienced. She knew nothing of men, except what little she'd learned that unpleasant night with Cole.

  She clasped her hands together as she paced the wooden floor in her bare feet. She hadn't seen Cole since that afternoon. She'd spent most of it with Marion, talking mostly about Katy. And Cole hadn't come in for supper. There'd been a sick bull, and he and the veterinarian had spent the evening worrying over it out in the barn.

  Perhaps he'd just been looking for an excuse to avoid her, she thought miserably. And perhaps he'd go on finding them, every night...

  She spun around as someone quietly opened the door. She froze in place, staring, as Cole, covered with dust and looking as if he'd just been brawling with a mob of cattle out on his range walked wearily into the room.

  "How's your bull?" she asked softly.

  His dark eyebrows lifted. He even managed a tired smile as he tugged off his wide-brimmed hat and sailed it across the room onto a chair. "That wasn't the question I expected, Mrs. Whitehall," he replied as he stood before her, tall and overpowering in his lean masculinity.

  "Wasn't it?" she asked, with a demure, shy smile.

  "I need a bath," he said. "And a lot of sleep." He cocked his head down at her. "Unless...?" he probed, taking
the attack into the enemy camp. He wanted to see if she was bluffing. And he almost smiled when her face went bloodred and she couldn't look at him to save her life. He was right. She was putting on an act. She wasn't half as confident as she made out, and that pleased him. It gave him some badly needed confidence of his own.

  He moved closer, smelling of dust and cattle, and she looked up to find a strange, soft expression—or what passed for one— in those very dark eyes.

  "Instead of getting things on a physical level right at the outset, Lacy," he began, his voice deep and soft, "suppose you and I get to know each other? That's the one thing we've never done. Not even in the beginning, when you came to live here."

  She relaxed visibly. He saw that, and relaxed himself. He'd been pushing himself all day, finding excuses, giving his men hell because it was staring him in the face and he didn't know how to tell her—

  "Yes," she interrupted his thoughts. "I'd like that." She ventured a glance up at him. "I didn't mean to make it sound so blatant in San Antonio. I'd been drinking."

  "I know." He hesitated, seeming as shy as she felt. "Lacy, about sharing the room..."

  "Please don't shame me, Cole," she whispered, averting her eyes.

  "I was going to say that I.. .don't mind it," he said hesitantly.

  She looked up, delightfully surprised. Her face brightened; her warm blue eyes smiled at him. She tingled with pleasure, and it showed. "Thank you," she whispered.

  "Okay, kiddo,"he said, regaining a little of his old confidence. He touched her chin with his knuckles, smiling faintly at her. "I guess we can keep from kicking each other out of bed."

  She beamed, her face gloriously beautiful. She glanced up and then down again. "I hope you don't snore, cowboy," she murmured.

  "Not me, lady. How about you?" he added as he started into the bathroom.

  She picked up a cushion from the chair to toss at him, and he retreated into the bathroom with a laugh. Minutes later she heard water running.

  She found a magazine and curled up with it. How odd this felt, to share a room with a man. Even the sounds of bathing were intimate. She wondered what Cole looked like without his clothing. She'd never seen him that way. The one night they'd been intimate, he'd never turned on the light. In fact, looking back, she was almost certain that he hadn't even undressed completely. Since he'd come home from France, she'd never seen his shirt open, or off, and most of the cowhands went bare-chested from time to time, especially in summer. But not Cole. Not ever these days.

  Involuntarily her mind went back to the day he'd left to join his unit for overseas duty. His shirt had been off then, and he'd kissed her and kissed her. She remembered tugging hungrily on the thick hair that covered his broad chest, how it had felt to be close to him, to let him kiss her. She'd thought it was a beginning, but it hadn't been. He hadn't even written just to her alone once he was gone. And when he came back, he couldn't bear to let her touch him at all. Not until that morning in the barn, before he'd come to her room that one night after they'd married. But that was a sad, shaming memory. He'd hurt her badly, and she'd cried. They hadn't talked about it until he'd come to see her in San Antonio. It was still hard to discuss it.

  Thinking back made her sad. She shook her head as if to clear it. Then an article in the magazine caught her eye and she became engrossed in it.

  He came out of the bathroom much later, clad in pajamas and a flowing robe. It was his room, after all; he had clothing in the closets, too, next to the ones she'd put there on her arrival. She looked up, forcing a smile.

  "You look a few shades lighter," she remarked dryly.

  He chuckled, pausing at the vanity mirror to sweep back his straight, thick hair with a comb. It was wet, almost black with dampness, and although he was completely covered in the navy pajamas and robe, it was so intimate to see him in nightclothes.

  He saw her expression in the mirror and half smiled. "You're the one who wanted to share a room, honey," he reminded her. "Too late for embarrassment now."

  "I suppose so," she murmured. She studied him, thinking how attractive he was, how masculine. "You never told me how your bull was?"

  "The vet said he'll live." He turned, studying the brass bed with its huge, spacious mattress. "Which side do you want?"

  "I like the one I'm on, if you don't mind," she said, putting aside the magazine.

  "As it happens, that's the side I don't sleep on,"he answered. He sat down on his side of the bed, yawned, and fell back onto the pillows. "God, I'm tired. The days get longer, or I get older."

  "Twenty-eight isn't old," she remarked. She studied his lean, dark face. He'd shaved, and his smooth brown cheek tempted her lips, but she liked the idea of making haste slowly. "Sleep well."

  "You, too, honey." He rolled onto his side, studying her with those dark, probing eyes. "You look pretty in a nightgown, Mrs. Whitehall," he added, with a smile.

  She lowered her eyes to his thin mouth. "I'm glad you think so." She wished she were more experienced, that she knew what to do next. If she moved closer, would he interpret it as a plea to be made love to? Would he like that.. .or would it put another wall between them?

  Beside her, Cole was just as uncertain. He didn't want to rush her. She'd only just come back. And he meant it, about wanting something more than a physical relationship. He almost laughed at the irony of that thought. He'd fought this intimacy of being together; he was also too uncertain of what she'd do if she should find out. She was a tenderhearted woman, but he didn't want her pity. He wanted... more than that. He remembered, too, that she'd fought him at the last, the one time they'd been in bed together, and that she'd cried piteously. It didn't help his pride or his self-confidence to realize that the experience must have been as unsatisfying for her as it had been for him.

  "Do you suppose you might kiss me good night?" Lacy asked hesitantly. "Just that. I'm not asking you to..."

  "As if you could, after the last time," he said quietly. "We're married, Lacy," he said gently. "And I don't find kissing you any kind of penance. Come here."

  She moved closer. The darkness was intimate, even with the little bedlight burning above them on the brass rail. She looked straight into his eyes as his mouth moved just over hers, poised there for a second, and then covered her lips warmly, briefly.

  "You taste of coffee," he whispered.

  "You taste of tobacco," she whispered back.

  He kissed her again, liking the soft, trembling warmth of her mouth under the slow, easy movement of his. He felt himself going rigid. Odd, how quickly it happened with her. His eyes closed and one lean hand went to her neck, tilting her face to give him better access to her mouth.

  "Lacy," he whispered unsteadily, "open your mouth a little..."

  She did, in shocked pleasure, a tiny gasp at the unexpectedly ardent command escaping into her mouth.

  "Yes.. ."he breathed, and she felt his tongue slowly probing past her lips, into the dark recesses of her mouth, finding and teasing her own tongue in a silence hot and heavy with rustling breath and moist contacts.

  Her fingers went up to his lean cheek, touching it lightly, moving down to feel his mouth locked with hers. Feeling that soft joining between the excited her, and she moaned.

  His mouth lifted suddenly. "Hell, I can't take much of that," he said unsteadily.

  "It's so exciting to kiss," she whispered back, searching his dark, fiery eyes.

  "Yes, and it leads to something you and I aren't too good at, doesn't it?" he asked, his voice faintly cutting.

  She swallowed. "It hurt," she agreed. "One of my married girlfriends said it usually does.. .at first."

  His heart skipped. He'd never talked about it. He couldn't discuss intimacy, except maybe with Turk. But, then, Turk was a man.

  "You're downplaying it," he said huskily. "It was bad, Lacy. Really bad. I had nightmares about it weeks later."

  "Oh, Cole," she whispered softly. "It wasn't your fault. I never blamed you." She leaned forward and
pressed her lips softly to his closed eyelids with tenderness she felt to the depths of her soul.

  He trembled at that soft contact, his body aching to satisfy itself in hers. But the memory of how he'd hurt her stopped him. Besides, if he started to make love to her tonight—and then didn't remove his clothes—it would lead to questions he didn't want to answer yet. Better to ache than to risk that. God, he wanted her! Wanted her beyond all reason. When her warm, soft hands touched his face, she made him feel as if he were flying. He wondered how they might feel against his chest, on his belly, his hips and thighs, and he groaned aloud, because that was something he could never allow her to do.

  He moved away from her, onto his back. "It's late. We need some sleep "he said in a voice more tender than any he'd ever used with her before.

  "Yes. You, too."

  She curled up under the sheet, facing him, sighing softly as the fever burned in her unsatisfied body. She wished she could ask him to hold her, but she'd felt the rigidity in his arms and hands and she already knew that men could easily be aroused beyond reason. She didn't want to do that to him. The past was going to take some forgetting, for both of them. As he'd said, they needed time to really get to know each other. Intimacy could come later.

  She closed her eyes, drinking in the scent of his soap, and smiled as she drifted off to sleep, secure in the delicious comfort of his body next to hers.

  Chapter Six

  Jessica stretched with a sated smile on her face, glancing lazily at the man lying on his side next to her.

  "You are a surprising gentleman, Ben Whitehall." She laughed. "A very surprising gentleman, indeed."

  "I may be young, but I'm not innocent." He grinned, pleased with himself, and with her. She was a wildcat in bed, her appetites as hot and uninhibited as his own. He'd done things to her and with her that he'd never done with anyone else. She was unique in the women of his acquaintance. "Are you sure your father's really asleep?" he asked.

  "Of course. Are you trying to run me off?" she asked.