She'd taken the first step across those boundaries they'd set between them and the next move was Mish's. Would he stay or would he run?
Becca knew everyone who was anyone in Santa Fe.
She worked the room like a pro, shaking hands, remembering names, introducing Mish with a brief anecdote about the people he was meeting. 'This is James Sims. Don't ever put money on the game if you golf with him. He's good enough to go pro," and "Mish Parker, Frank and Althea Winters. Their granddaughter was just accepted at Yale University. Biochemistry major."
It wasn't an act. She was really good with people. And they all liked her, too. Who wouldn't, with her warm, inclusive smile?
She hadn't expected him to stick around after dinner. Mish had seen the surprise in her eyes as he'd approached her by the bar after he'd had a second cup of coffee— and let his pulse return to normal.
He wasn't sure himself why he hadn't left. Her message had been all too clear as she'd told him the story of her friend's death. Life was too short. Cut to the chase. Take the plunge. Just do it.
And, in case he'd been completely dense, she'd driven the message home by touching him lightly, provocatively. Come home with me tonight.
Mish wanted to. He wanted to give in. The temptation
was so strong, it seemed to buzz and crackle around him. He knew he should run for the door.
As he watched, Becca let herself be waltzed out onto the dance floor with a man in his eighties.
She sparkled as she laughed with him, and since she was at a safe distance, Mish allowed himself the luxury of aching for her. He longed to lose himself in the sweetness of her body, the warmth of her mouth. It was more than sex, although it was certainly about sex, too—he couldn't pretend otherwise. He burned for her, but he also wanted to lie down with her in his arms, to fall asleep and dream not about the past, but of the future.
A clear, bright future, unshadowed by mistakes and regrets and hidden doubts.
Mish stood there watching Becca, not running anywhere. He couldn't run. He was completely glued in place.
The song ended, and the old man led her back to him.
And then, for the first time in what had seemed like hours, they were alone. The room was clearing out, the party almost over.
"The band's getting ready to pack up," she said, attempting to refasten one of the clips in her hair.
They still hadn't shared a dance. It was probably just as well.
"Where are you staying?" he asked, not touching her for the nine-thousandth time that night. He had to find the strength to stay away from her. She deserved someone better than him.
"I'm down the street at the old Santa Fe Inn. They've just restored it—it's beautiful." She smiled. "Don't worry, I won't ask if you want to come see it." She held out her hand for him to shake. ' Thank you for a lovely evening."
Mish gazed at her hand in disbelief. Did she honestly think he would briskly shake her hand and let her walk out into the night, wearing a dress that would draw the attention of every human male within a ten mile radius?
"I'll walk you to your car," he told her.
"I'm parked over at the inn."
Damn. "Then I'll walk you to the inn." Walking her to her hotel would be a mistake. He knew that for a fact before the words even left his mouth.
"You really don't have to," she said as if she could read his mind.
"I won't come inside," he told her. Told himself.
"Well," Becca said as she headed toward the door, "I won't force you to, so you don't have to look so tense."
Mish rolled his head slightly. "I'm not tense."
Becca just smiled at him.
The night air was cooler now, and she took a deep breath as they stepped out onto the street.
A group of men had just come out of a bar named Ricky's across the street, and were heading back toward the center of town. There were four of them, and as Mish watched, they noticed Becca. First two, then three and four. Heads turned, body language changed. Their stares weren't disrespectful, just very, very interested.
And he resisted the urge to put his arm—or at least his jacket—around her shoulders.
She took another deep breath, and her dress clung to her in a way that was hard to ignore. And now he was staring, too.
"It's a beautiful night." She hugged herself, rubbing her upper arms. "I love it when it cools off like this."
"Are you warm enough? I can give you my jacket..."
Becca smiled at him. "Considering we're about twelve more steps from the inn, and considering it's probably all
.
of seventy degrees, I think I'll survive without danger of frostbite, thanks."
Mish could see the sign out in front of the inn. The place was, literally, just a few dozen yards away. In just a few moments, Becca would go inside and he'd be alone.
"Why did Justin Whitlow want you to come to this party tonight?" he asked, hoping maybe she'd linger, praying that she wouldn't. "I mean, was the point just to keep his name on the tip of everyone's tongue, or was there something else you were trying to do?"
She gazed up toward the moon. "Whitlow's actually trying to arrange a fund-raising event for the opera at the Lazy Eight. He gets to be the big generous benefactor that way, because he'd donate the facility. Except, of course, people would have to stay over. And then there would be the publicity he'd get for hosting the event. Not to mention the bonus of showing off the ranch to all those Santa Fe Opera supporters who have money to burn."
"Money to burn."
She turned to glance at him, amusement in her eyes, a small smile playing about the corners of her lips. ' 'Yeah. Amazing concept, isn't it? But nearly everyone I introduced you to tonight has more money than they know what to do with."
Mish touched her. For the second time that evening, he couldn't help himself. He just stopped short and took her arm. "There's your answer, Becca."
She didn't know what on earth he was talking about. But she didn't pull away. Her skin was so soft beneath his fingers, he was momentarily distracted, temporarily thrown.
She was standing close enough to kiss, and the way she was looking up at him—eyes wide, lips slightly parted—
he nearly gave in to the temptation to cover her mouth with his own.
But he didn't kiss her, though he didn't release her, either. "You just spent four hours tightening your relationship with dozens of men and women who have—in your words—'money to burn.' Come on, Bee, don't you get it? These people like you. If you went to them with a plan to buy a spread and turn it into a vacation ranch, you could very well find yourself all the financial backing you'd need right here in Santa Fe."
She was wary, keeping her natural enthusiasm buried, at least for the moment. "I'd need to work it all out— down to the last detail—before I started asking anyone for money. I'd have to find a piece of property..." She shook her head. "God, I don't have time to go driving halfway across the state to—"
"Use the Internet," Mish interrupted. "The computer back at the Lazy Eight office has Internet access, doesn't it?"
"Actually, it doesn't," Becca told him. "But I just got access on my laptop. I'm trying to create a website for the Lazy Eight. In my spare time." She laughed. "I hear myself say that, and I sound completely insane. What spare time?"
He finally let go of her, and took a step back. When she laughed, he found her irresistible, but kissing her now would only complicate things beyond belief. "When we get back to the ranch tomorrow, we can use your laptop to search for properties listed for sale."
"My laptop's upstairs in my hotel room," Becca told him.
Upstairs. In her room. Mish didn't say anything, didn't move. He just looked at her, imagining the hushed quiet of this four-star hotel's rooms, imagining one that smelled
faintly of her unique brand of shampoo, imagining dim lights, a king-size bed, Becca turning her back to him, his fingers finding the tiny zipper pull at the back of her dress and...
"I've only been on-line a
few times," she continued. "Is it really possible to do that kind of a property search?"
Mish nodded. "Yeah, I think so. We'd just need to use a search engine. Plug in the information we're looking for and..."
She was looking at him curiously. "Where did you learn about the Internet?"
Um. Good question. It was just one of those things he knew, like the waist size of his jeans. He shrugged. "I don't know. I just...picked it up here and there, I guess."
"Would you mind coming up and..." She broke off. "I'm sorry. This can wait for tomorrow." She looked chagrined. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"If you like," Mish said, "I can come up for a few minutes—help you get signed on and started." But then he would leave.
"This isn't just a ploy to get you up to my room," she told him earnestly.
Mish laughed. "I know." He—and she—would be safe as long as he didn't kiss her. And he wasn't going to kiss her. "I won't stay long."
Chapter
vJkay," Mish said, "here we go. This looks more like the kind of place you're looking for."
Becca inched her chair even closer to the computer screen. She'd long since kicked off her shoes, and she curled her feet and legs underneath her long skirt.
Mish had thrown his jacket onto the bed at least forty-five minutes ago, and had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows.
It was amazing. He worked the keyboard and mouse of her computer the way Becca handled horses. It was as if the computer were a part of him, a permanent attachment.
She had to laugh. Her new ranch hand was a secret computer nerd.
"Look," he said, doing something with the mouse and making new pictures flash on the screen. "This one looks really great. The price seems right. It doesn't have a whole lot of acreage, but it borders a state park, so—''
.
"It's in California," Becca realized as she leaned even closer. "Down near San Diego."
"It's beautiful down there," Mish told her, doing something with the mouse and the computer to mark the site so that she could find it again.
"God, but California...?" Becca shook her head. "Everyone I know is here in New Mexico. I don't know anyone who lives in California."
"I live in California," he said. His hands suddenly stilled on the keyboard and he looked up at her. "I'm from California." He laughed.
What was he telling her? That he wanted her to move to California to be near him? It didn't make sense. He didn't even want to kiss her. Why would he want her to live near him?
"San Diego," he told her. "I lived there when I was a kid. We had a beach house. It was..." He laughed again. "I actually remember this. The ocean's so beautiful and..."
He was gazing at her, but he quickly looked away, returning his attention to the computer screen as if he'd just realized how close together they were sitting.
"I should go," he said quietly. "I've already stayed too long."
"You know, I think that was the first time I've ever heard you volunteer information about yourself," Becca mused.
He shrugged, forced a smile. "I don't have a whole lot to tell." He rubbed his forehead as if he suddenly had a headache.
"I've been trying to guess," she said, resting her chin in her hand. "What exactly did you do, Mish? Something you're still paying penance for? Is that why you turned down Ted Alden's check? You don't drink—at least not
heavily. I've never seen you drink more than a single beer. Tonight you only had soda even though there was an open bar. And you've made no attempt at all to replace your stolen driver's license. I don't know a single man who wouldn't have put a priority on getting his license back. Unless he didn't have one. Unless it had been revoked. Maybe for D.U.I. Am I getting warm?"
Mish sighed. "Becca—"
She touched him. She put her hand on the taut muscle of his suntanned forearm, wanting to touch him despite the fact that he'd pushed her away every other time she'd reached out for him.
"It doesn't matter to me," she told him quietly. "Wherever you've been, whatever you've done, it's irrelevant. Whatever mistakes you've made, they're in the past. I like who you are right now, Mish. I don't care where you went to college, or if you dropped out of high school, or got left back in second grade. I'd love to know those things about you, sure, but only if you want to share them with me. If not, that's okay, too."
She slid her hand down to his, and Mish turned his arm over so that their fingers could interlock. He stared down at their two hands, knowing the inevitable. He and Becca had been barreling toward this moment from the instant he'd agreed to attend the fund-raising dinner with her. Despite everything he'd told himself, he'd known it from the start. He was here, in Becca's room, because he couldn't stay away.
"I don't know many men—or women—who would've jumped into that river after that boy. It was dangerous as hell, and you didn't even hesitate."
"I'm a strong swimmer."
"You're a good man."
He levelly met her gaze. "If I were a good man, I'd say good-night right now and leave."
"I said you were good. I didn't say you were a saint/'
She was close enough to kiss, and he knew, unless he did or said something soon, that she was going to kiss him.
"I can't give you what you deserve," he whispered. And then he kissed her, because he couldn't wait for her to kiss him, not one second longer.
Her lips were as sweet as he remembered, her mouth eager, hungry. She melted against him, her arms slipping up around his neck, pulling him closer.
He'd meant to kiss her softly, sweetly. Instead he almost inhaled her, his hands sliding against the smooth fabric of her dress, against the soft warmth of her body beneath.
Her bed was three steps away. All he had to do was lift her up and...
He pulled free, breathing hard. "Becca..."
Her brown eyes held a clear echo of that powerful kiss's molten heat. "Stay with me tonight."
"Just tonight?" His voice sounded husky to his own ears. "Is that really what you want—a one-night stand?''
"I'm looking for a lover—and a friend—who'll stick around only until it's time to leave," she admitted. "But it's impossible to know when that time will be, especially when a relationship is just starting. Still, I would hope it wouldn't be after only one night."
"So you want a...relationship."
Becca laughed at that. "You say it as if it has a capital R. As if it's something enormous and terrifying."
He couldn't joke about it. "Isn't it?"
"No! I hate to break it to you," she said, "but we've already got a relationship. We've had one from the mo-
ment you walked onto the Lazy Eight and asked for Becca Keyes." She shifted impatiently in his arms, tightening her grip on him, moving closer when he would have set her aside. "All I want is to change the parameters of that relationship to include long stretches of time that we can spend naked together. But that time's not infinite. Frankly, I don't believe in forever."
She held his gaze as if she were trying to convince him of the truth she spoke by letting him see into her soul. "Honest, I'm not looking for true love, Mish. I promise you, when the time comes, I'll let you walk away." Her eyes were gentle then as she pushed his hair back from his face. "You don't have to worry about hurting me."
She kissed him. Softly, then harder and deeper, and he kissed her back until the room spun, until he couldn't breathe, until he thought his heart might explode in his chest. He should make a break for the door and not stop running until he hit the other side of town. Because he could taste forever in her kiss. Despite everything she'd said, it was back there. A hint of promise that made him want... Made him want...
It couldn't be... Was the bittersweet longing that he could practically taste his own? He nearly laughed aloud.
Wouldn't that be the ultimate in irony? Here was this fabulous woman giving him everything he could possibly want from a lover—including the serenity of knowing she had no expectations—and h
e was the fool who was falling hard.
Becca broke their kiss and pulled back to gaze search-ingly into his eyes. She shook her head at all the doubt and confusion he knew was swimming there.
"How can you possibly kiss me that way and still resist this?" she asked. She laughed in disbelief. "Maybe you are a saint."
•
He wasn't in love with her. He was infatuated, sure. He was wildly attracted, without a doubt. But love...? He barely knew her. No, this was about sex, about chemistry, about attraction. It had to be.
So why was he resisting?
"There's a lot I can't tell you, Bee," Mish confessed, torn between wanting to open up about his inability to remember his past, and that intense conviction deep in his gut that he shouldn't breathe a word about it to anyone. "About myself, I mean, but...I do know I'm no saint."
"Then stay," she whispered. "Please." Her gaze dropped to his lips, and for a fraction of a second, time hung.
Anticipation surrounded Mish breathlessly, heart-poundingly. She'd told him she didn't need to know more about him than she already knew. She'd told him she wasn't looking for more than a short-term lover. She'd given him permission to keep his secrets to himself, guilt-free.
And then she leaned forward and kissed him again.
And it was all over.
Even back when he'd first walked into the inn, there had probably only been a six-percent chance that he would walk back out of this hotel before dawn. But that chance just dropped to zero.
His willpower had been completely shattered.
He wasn't going anywhere.
Except maybe to heaven.
He pulled her hard against him, filling his hands with her softness, sliding his palms along the bare skin of her arms and back, breathing in the familiar, sweet scent of her hair as he kissed her again and again and again—deep, ravenous, soul-reaching kisses that shook him to his very
core. He felt her hands at his throat, unfastening his tie, pulling it free, then worrying the buttons of his shirt.
Suzanne Brockmann - Team Ten 08 - Identity Unknown Page 11
