by Ann Major
He lost himself in the fire of Megan’s jewel-green eyes. The world seemed new. He felt wild and alive, and totally unlike himself.
“What do you want?” she whispered.
“Dangerous question.” He looked at her with a fresh ache in his gut. His eyes burned, touching her intimately. He wanted to slide his hands down her spine and over her hips and pull her body close so that it curved tightly into his.
He caught a sharp breath. “Where’s Kirk?”
She took a faltering step back. The light flowed out of her eyes and drained from her cheeks. She looked exactly as she had the night her father had run off.
She was afraid, in a way Jeb hadn’t often seen her afraid, and the fear no longer had to do only with him. He felt himself softening toward her.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, looking away into a dark corner.
Jeb sighed. “I can see this is a battle that could go on all night.” He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and shook one into his palm.
“You know I don’t like smoking in my house.”
He shrugged, but he put his cigarettes back in his pocket.
“You don’t like me, period,” he said. “Would you mind making me a cup of coffee?”
“I’m not one of your servants at the Big House.”
His eyes skimmed over her. He smiled sardonically. “You can say that again,”
A swift, hot flush rose in her cheeks. He took his hat off and tossed it on her couch. She frowned at the cloud of dust that burst forth from the Stetson. Then he marched to her kitchen and began to throw open cabinet doors and rummage through the contents of her drawers. The house had been shut up, so she opened two windows, and the sweet night smells of mesquite and the range drifted inside.
Arms stiffly folded over her breasts, she watched him in mulish, stormy silence. At last she could stand it no longer.
“You could at least wash your hands. I’m going to have to scrub the woodwork for hours.”
“That’s a problem you could have avoided.” He threw a wad of herbal tea bags onto the counter.
She dug her nails into her elbows.
“I’d forgotten you were a health nut,” he growled.
“Just because I don’t believe in killing myself with nicotine, caffeine, and liquor the way you do—that makes me a health nut?”
He shot her a charming, lopsided grin. “Damn right.”
As he searched through her pantry, three cans fell off a shelf onto the linoleum floor.
“You can’t just go through my things,” she sputtered, stopping a rolling can with her bare toe.
“I’ll quit, if you’ll just show me where Kirk keeps his coffee.”
Studying a black handprint on her yellow cupboard, Megan surrendered. Silently she opened the refrigerator, pulled out a fresh can and set it down with a clank beside the can opener. Jeb picked up the can and smiled broadly into her scowling face. With swift, silent expertise he opened the coffee and started it perking.
“You have no right to come into my house.”
“Technically your house is my house,” he murmured silkily. “Remember?” His eyes raked over her. “Everything on this ranch belongs to me.” Just the smell of the coffee perking rejuvenated him. He focused his full attention on Megan. “Where were you tonight?” he demanded softly.
“I guess that’s my business.”
“Maybe. Maybe it’s my business, too.”
Her eyes met his briefly. “You may own this house, but you don’t own me.”
He smiled at her. “You’re always saying things like that. You like to taunt me with your independence. Sometimes I wonder why. Is it because you don’t quite believe in it?”
“N-no.”
He laughed softly, liking the way the desire-tinged sound threatened her. She was trembling, clinging to the refrigerator door handle, letting it go, backing into the darkness, not wanting him to see her reaction.
He moved toward her, cornering her in the dark pocket behind the refrigerator. She was a tall woman, but his immense, muscled body dwarfed hers. He liked feeling her so close just as he liked feeling that she was trapped unless he chose to let her go. The passionate fire in her eyes burned him, excited him. She seemed soft and delicate and feminine, but at the same time wild. He held back from touching her, but only because he wanted to so badly.
He felt the nearness of her, the heat of her skin that burned a degree or two hotter than other women’s, the warmth of her breath stirring the air. She aroused him as no woman ever had.
“There’s some around here who’d say you were mine,” he murmured. “I remember the time even you thought so.”
Jeb didn’t know why he was deliberately rankling her. He was only making trouble for himself. But some demon in him wanted passion from her tonight, even if it was nothing more than anger.
“You never intend to let me forget that night, do you?”
“It was quite a night. A night like that is hard for a man to forget,” he said huskily. “How many times are there in a man’s life that he wins a ranch and a woman, too, in a game of five-card stud?”
“Damn you.” She closed her eyes as if to hide from the bitter memory. Then they flashed open once more. “You tricked my father into gambling with you that night.”
Jeb chuckled softly. “No, honey. I just beat him.”
“I was barely sixteen.”
“You were all woman. Sometimes I think you were born that way.”
“I was asleep, and you let Daddy gamble away the ranch.”
“He knew what he was doing.”
“When I woke up you had the deed as well as guardianship papers for me. Daddy was gone. You drove him away.”
Jeb’s black eyes were stony in his set face. “You’re wrong about that.”
“Kirk should have killed you when he came back from the Middle East. I don’t know why he didn’t.”
“Because he likes me. Because he likes working for me. Because he knew I’d take better care of you than your own family ever did.”
“That’s a lie.”
“You only wish it was!”
“You’re a bastard, Jeb Jackson, for not letting that memory die.”
“Am I?” he purred, closing in on her. “I’ve always wondered which made you madder—me winning you, or me turning you down that night when you offered yourself to me? Maybe you were only sixteen, but you damn sure knew how to seduce a man.”
She drew back her hand to slap him, but he grabbed both wrists and yanked her closer.
She struggled breathlessly. “I hate you.”
“But did you then?” He chuckled. She was on fire, and he was consumed by her. “I thought of you as my little sister back then, but it was no secret that you’d had a high-school crush on me for years. Maybe that was my fault. I kept coming around because you reminded me of Julia. I thought it was cute the way you tried to flirt with me.”
*
Every word he said infuriated Megan. She’d hated him for years, and he was teasing her, making fun of her, taking away the one thing he had never fully robbed her of before—her pride.
Her fingers curved into the hard muscles of his chest, and had his hands not tightened on her wrists, she would have sunk her nails into his flesh.
“No, my little wildcat,” he whispered, bending her body closer against his huge length. “I’ll not endure your scratches, too.”
She twisted against him, but her every movement only made her body slide more sensually against his. He was hot and tired and dirty, but he was all man. She had grown up on a ranch, and the smell of tobacco and leather and horses, sweat and dust, were powerful masculine scents to her. Wide-shouldered and lean even in his filthy work clothes, his rugged features made handsome by his rakish and slightly crooked grin...
Megan felt herself melting and becoming even hotter against him. He felt it, too, and his touch gentled. Though he still held her locked to his sleek, hot body, he did so effortlessly
, tracing her backbone with his fingertips. At last she lay against him quietly, defeated.
A vast silence stretched between them.
Damn. He felt craven. She was almost his height, and through his cotton shirt he felt the faint pressure of her nipples tightening against his own. Her heart pounded against his heart with the same too-rapid rhythm. He felt her heat flowing into him and knew the hunger he felt was in her, too.
Coltishly her hands came up and she let her fingers glide in wonder over his shoulders and his chest and down to his waist, exploring the sinewy, male muscles of his arms, and the hardness and massive width of his chest. She stopped at his waistband, realizing the enormity of what she had done, and yanked her hands to her side.
“Sometimes I think I should have taken you that night even though you were just a half-grown kid,” he rasped thickly into her hair. “I think I could have won you more easily in the bedroom than I’ve ever been able to by offering you friendship.”
She tried to push him away, and he loosened his hold but didn’t let her go entirely.
“Friendship?” She arched her brows. “Is that what you call it? You were a tyrant.”
His hands were in her hair, trying to smooth it, discovering it couldn’t be smoothed. “Because I wouldn’t let you run away. Because I made you go to school. Because I wouldn’t let you date just anybody. Because I wouldn’t let you marry that bum. I was your legal guardian. It was my responsibility to try to straighten you out.”
“And you take all your responsibilities so seriously.”
“Like I just said, maybe I should have taken you to bed.”
“I would have only hated you more.”
He laughed. “So what?” His fingers touched her beneath her chin, trailed down her throat until she shivered. “Hatred is a fascinating emotion in you, almost an attractive one. Why, you’re trembling.”
“With disgust,” she whispered, frantic.
A callused fingertip touched her again, lightly tracing the pulse that throbbed with the fever of her heart. A tremor raced through her. He watched the quick, hot blood of shame seep into her cheeks.
“I’m not so sure. Do the men you date make you tremble and blush just by touching you?” His hand tightened possessively. He could feel her pulse ticking more erratically. The thought of other men putting their hands on the satin gold of her skin was distinctly unpleasant. Suddenly Jeb understood the swift, hot urge that could compel jealous men to murder.
“Of course not!” she replied, deeply shocked. “I don’t hate them like I hate you.”
He smiled, a slow, subtle movement that curved his lips but did not disturb the hard steel of his eyes. “I’m beginning to think the reason you date so many different men is because you’ve never dated one that makes you feel like a woman.”
“My love life is none of your business,” she whispered.
“I’ve decided to make it my business.” His voice hardened. “That new Dr. Ferguson comes around a lot.”
“I’m not going to discuss Byrom with you. Just because you’re the boss of Jackson Ranch, you think you’re king of the county.”
“So it’s Byrom.” Jeb forced a laugh. “And it’s five counties, honey.”
She glared at him with eyes as bright as gemstones. “Well, the king part was right,” she muttered bitterly. “Only I should have said bully.”
“Why do you persist in hating me, Megan? No weakling could run a ranch like this. And a real bastard would have taken advantage of you even if you were just a raw kid that night. You were cute, and you’d been chasing me for years. A bastard wouldn’t have brought you to his home, endured your tantrums and sulky moods for ten years, educated you, paid for your flying lessons, hired you as the ranch’s pilot. I treated you like a sister. Your own flesh and blood never did half for you what I’ve done.”
“Whatever you did, Jeb Jackson, you owed me. You stole my father’s ranch. You even had the gall to turn it into a game ranch.”
“That’s the only way I could figure to make that miserable scrap of heavily mortgaged land pay.”
“That miserable scrap of land was my home,” she snapped.
“I’ve given you a home.”
“That was little enough since it was you who drove my father off!”
“The hell I did! I...”
“Are you going to talk all night, Jeb? Or are you going to leave so I can get a decent night’s sleep?”
“I’m not going anywhere till you tell me where Kirk is.” Jeb’s voice was low, but dangerous.
Panic welled in her eyes.
He grabbed her by the arms and brought her face so near his own she flinched. “The sooner you tell me, the sooner you get rid of me.”
Her eyes widened, but she shook her head.
“You’re not just angry. You’re scared. And being scared always makes you madder. Kirk’s in trouble isn’t he?” Jeb paused. “And when Kirk finds trouble, he can get into one hell of a jam. Megan, honey...” Jeb’s voice gentled, and when it did, he felt her body soften in his arms. “I remember one time in Mexico...”
At the word “Mexico” her eyes grew even wilder and she jerked loose of his grip. “You’re having fun, aren’t you? Acting as if you like me. Playing with me.”
“I’m not playing.”
“Well, I can’t tell you. It doesn’t matter how you play with my emotions. Don’t you understand?” Her voice was raw and agonized. “Kirk’s life depends on my silence.”
His voice sharpened. “Megan, what the hell is going on?”
She shook her head silently.
“You little fool! You were out tonight, trying to save him! I heard the plane. I saw you driving home across the ranch without lights!”
She shook her head again, and when she did, he saw a crooked slash along her hairline that had been hidden by her hair. He pulled her closer, his brown fingers sifting through the fiery coils as he examined the jagged cut.
With a savage gesture, he let her go. “So that’s why your hair’s down. You were deliberately hiding this from me. What the hell happened to your face?”
Her eyes flickered fearfully across his hard, male features. “You can bully everybody else on this ranch, but not me.”
“Oh, that again.” His jaw tightened. The lines beside his lips grew taut and white. “Damn it. Can’t you see I want to help you?” He longed to shake her, to thrash her.
She smiled at the violence she read in his eyes. “Hit me! Go ahead. It’d be just like you!”
He drew a long breath and got a grip on his temper. “Megan, I know you’ve somehow gotten yourself involved in one of Kirk’s missions. You’re probably in way over your head. He’s an ex-CIA agent, one of the best there ever was. He can take care of himself. I’m not so sure you can, if things are as desperate as they are beginning to appear. Whatever you think of me, you know Kirk is my closest friend. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help him.”
“Jeb Jackson, you’re the last man on earth I’d come to if I were in trouble. The very last.”
The old hate and suspicion were in her eyes, and it hurt him somehow, more than it ever had.
“But you’re not the one in trouble, honey. Kirk is. And I’m the first man he’d come to. Remember that, Megan. I can fly damn nearly as well as you can. It’s stupid to go down there without a qualified copilot. If anything happens to him, you’ll have that on your conscience for the rest of your life.”
Megan shivered, shrinking from Jeb’s hard expression. Her gaze flew guiltily about the room and then back to him. “Look, there’s just no way I can trust you. Not after all you’ve done. And I’m not going to risk your trying to stop me. Just go.”
Jeb felt a cold, all-consuming fury toward her. Hell, he’d never known how to handle her.
“All right,” he muttered angrily. “For now. Since you’re getting more stubborn by the minute. But I’ll be back. You can count on it.”
Three
Saturday was another white
hot day, just as Jeb had known it would be, and it seemed to stick to him as he got out of his air-conditioned blue Cadillac. He strode across the slab of concrete outside the hangar where Megan’s yellow and white Piper Cub was tied down beside his Mooney and his Lear jet.
It was hours till noon, but the wind was already starting to come up. Megan was hosing her plane down, and for a second, before she saw him, he stopped and watched her. He was tired in every bone in his body, but she was a pretty sight with her thick, red hair bunched into a ponytail, with her slim body encased in faded jeans and a pink knit top.
For a skinny girl, she had a cute bottom.
Megan turned her back to him, and water splashed onto the pavement as she inspected her landing gear. Even from a distance he could see her bruised cheek and the vividly cruel scarlet slash against her hairline. He still wanted to know what in the name of hell had happened to her face.
He walked up quietly behind her. The hose was on the ground, precious well water staining the concrete a darker color as it gushed full blast. Megan was running her fingers carefully along a crooked strut. The paint was scratched and flaking, and there was gooey black clay on the landing gear.
What had happened to her plane?
He’d find out if it was the last thing he did.
Megan bent lower, and blue denim strained over her female shape. Suddenly Jeb wasn’t thinking about the damaged Piper or about his gushing well water or about Kirk. Instead, Jeb’s gaze was riveted to the curvaceous tilt of Megan’s shapely backside.
He had dreamed about her last night. Dreamed about having her naked in his bed between his sheets, dreamed about her crawling on top of him, dreamed of her kissing him passionately, dreamed about her going limp and quivering all over when he kissed her back. He had tasted her, made love to her, and she’d tasted like honeyed wine and burned like flame. He’d awakened in a cold sweat with an ache in his gut, and the ache had been very different from the usual knot of frustration she aroused in him. He’d lain in bed for hours after that, thinking about her, wanting her, and wishing he didn’t.
