Secrets, Lies & Loves

by Judy Duarte

  His question must have surprised her, because her lips parted and her eyes widened before she responded. “Thanks for asking. But I’m not up for dinner in a restaurant.”

  He could certainly see where Pete and Aggie had gotten the idea that Louanne didn’t like going into town. But Rowan didn’t want to take no for an answer. “Then would you mind if I borrowed the truck and brought dinner to you?”

  She paused, as though taken aback by his question, then glanced down at the empty skillet and the butcher-wrapped package. “Sure, if you want to. I can put the hamburger back in the fridge and fix it tomorrow night.”

  “Great. How about we have dinner somewhere away from the house? We’ll stay on the Lazy B property, if that makes you feel better.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What do you have in mind?”

  “A nighttime picnic.”

  She cocked her head to the side and, although the hint of a grin surfaced, she eyed him suspiciously. “In the dark?”

  He figured a little starlight and candles ought to offer enough visibility. And if not? “We can always use the headlamps of the pickup, if necessary.”

  Her face scrunched in an adorable little girl ex-pression—like the one his younger sister Jessica had worn whenever Rowan teased her while they were growing up. “Are you serious about this?”

  He nodded, unable to keep his lips from quirking in a silly, uncontrollable grin or his hormones from kicking into overdrive. “I figured we could both use a change of scenery.” Not to mention a night alone.

  She seemed to ponder his words, but not for very long. “All right. I have to admit, I don’t have much opportunity for adventure anymore.”

  Well, he hoped she was up for a romantic adventure, because that’s what he had in mind.

  “There’s one more thing,” he said. “Let’s get dressed up for the evening.”

  She crossed her arms, the yellow-and-green material of her blouse stretching snug, revealing the swell of her breasts, something he missed seeing when she wore loose-fitting work shirts. Would she choose the green slinky dress he’d bought her? Would she let her hair down?

  It didn’t matter, he supposed. As long as she agreed to the out-of-the-ordinary date, she could wear what she had on now.

  “You want me to get all dressed up for a picnic?” she asked.

  “Nighttime picnics are pretty formal.” He tossed a smile her way. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a shower first. Then I’ll head into town.”

  She placed her hands on her denim-clad hips and studied him carefully. Those golden-brown eyes glimmered with what looked like excitement.

  Good. He was excited, too.

  She opened a cupboard by the refrigerator, pulled a leather-fobbed key ring from a hook on the inside of the door and handed it to him. “Here are the keys to the truck, just in case I’m not out of the bath when you’re ready to leave.”

  It took all Rowan had not to sweep her into his arms and give her a hot, star-spinning, knee-weakening kiss as a prelude to what he had planned. But he would wait until the time was right. If they made love tonight, and he hoped they would, the suggestion would come from her.

  He lifted the keys to the truck. “Thanks, Louanne. You won’t be disappointed.”

  And he wasn’t just talking about tonight’s menu or the romantic setting.

  Louanne sat on the quilted blanket Rowan had placed on a grassy knoll not far from the creek. The sun had long since dropped out of sight. And they’d eaten the last morsel of the roast beef dinner from the Bluebonnet Café, but she was in no hurry to go home.

  Rowan Parks was amazing. Not just because of his devilish good looks and witty conversation, but because he’d gone out of his way to make the evening more than special.

  His efforts might be a bit rustic, but they were very romantic. He’d taken an old wooden crate out of the truck and turned it over to use as a table. He’d gathered the paper plates they’d used and put them in a trash bag, but the makeshift dining table still held a half-empty bottle of merlot, three paper cups—one sporting a single red rose—and a candle that cast an enchanting aura on the evening.

  The flickering candlelight merely added to the ambiance already cast by the magical glimmer of a star-studded sky.

  Crickets chirped, and a barn owl hooted. Down by the creek, bullfrogs croaked in lure of a mate, harmonizing in what surely was God’s idea of a lover’s concerto.

  Lovers?

  She and Rowan weren’t lovers.

  But it felt as though they were. And the night Rowan had created for her, or rather for them, was more romantic than Louanne had ever imagined, setting a warm glow in her heart and arousing more than a little sexual interest.

  “Would you like to dance?” Rowan asked.

  She lifted a brow and slid him an easy smile. “To the sounds of Mother Nature?”

  He rose from the quilt, then pulled the keys from his pocket as he strode for the truck. He opened the door, reached for the ignition and the radio, fiddling with the dial until he found a station out of Austin that played soft rock. A sultry love song soon filled the night air, and Rowan returned to where she sat and extended a hand.

  This was crazy. Silly. But too darn tempting to resist. Louanne took his hand and got to her feet. His arms slipped around her, and she leaned into his embrace, laid her head against his cheek, inhaled his musky scent. She closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment.

  They swayed like that for the longest time, letting the words and melody take them to a special place—a place she’d never been. A place she didn’t want to leave.

  “Rowan?”

  His steps slowed, and he loosened his hold long enough to look her in the eye, to listen to what she had to say.

  He’d been so gentlemanly, so considerate, so darn attractive and appealing, that the heat brewing in his eyes came as a welcome surprise and set off a surge of desire and need.

  For reasons she wouldn’t ponder now, she pulled his mouth to hers.

  Rowan had wondered whether Louanne would ever make the first move, but he’d been determined to let her call the shots. After all, she had the most to lose if things didn’t work out between them. But this was more than a date, more than a seduction. And he hoped she wanted to make love as badly as he did.

  Without any conscious effort on his part, their kiss deepened, breaths mingled and hands caressed. Blood pumped in all the right places, causing more than a growing arousal. It stirred a desperate need that ought to scare the heck out of him. But it didn’t.

  The only thing he feared was having her pull away, having her put a stop to their foreplay, because he didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want things to remain platonic between them.

  But he refused to think about anything other than this kiss, this evening and pleasuring the lady in his arms.

  Their tongues danced in a slow, primal mating ritual, taking and giving, in a rhythm set by beating hearts and surging hormones.

  He couldn’t imagine anything he wanted more than to make love with Louanne, out here under the watchful eye of the moon and stars. Alone with nature and free of constraints.

  But he wanted their lovemaking to be her idea.

  And heaven help him if she didn’t want him as badly as he wanted her.

  Louanne threaded her fingers through Rowan’s hair, drawing closer to him, deepening the kiss and stoking the fire that blazed between them. She leaned into his arousal, felt the hard evidence of his need for her, while increasing her own need for him.

  She hadn’t meant to kiss Rowan again, to let things take a sexual turn. But in spite of her reservations and her fears, she wanted to take all he had to offer and give everything she had to share.

  Whether it was the romantic spell of a Texas summer night or the dark-haired rebel whose kiss drove her wild, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she wanted him. Wanted this.

  Louanne yearned to feel his skin against hers, to explore his body with her hands and her
mouth, while he explored hers. And she yearned to feel him slip deep inside of her.

  She broke the kiss and caught his gaze. “Do you want this as badly as I do?”

  He nodded. “Probably more so.”

  “Here?” she asked, nodding toward the blanket that awaited them.

  He smiled, sending a flush of warm shivers through her veins, then took her hand and led her back to the quilt.

  He didn’t kiss her again, didn’t lay her down. He merely watched her, appreciation burning in his eyes. The stars seemed brighter than they had only moments ago, the night more alive. Her senses were more alert, her desire more intense.

  She kicked off her shoes and dropped to her knees on the blanket. He joined her, eyes locked, hearts undoubtedly beating in unison.

  If it were possible, now that she’d set things in motion, she wanted him all the more.

  He took her hand and kissed it as if she were a princess and not a ranch hand with chapped hands. But she couldn’t fall into the Lord and Lady roles as easily as that. She made a fist, trying to hide the red, roughened skin, and pulled her hand free.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” She glanced at the blanket, then back at him. “Self-conscious, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  “My hands used to be soft. And my nails were longer, filed evenly. And now?” She shook her head.

  He took her hand again and slowly unfurled the fingers, kissing each one. “You’re beautiful to me. Inside and out.”

  The sincerity of his gaze validated his words, touching something deep in her heart. She reached for him, and they came together in a lover’s quest, searching, seeking. Prolonging each touch, each taste.

  He reached for the hem of her cotton sundress, and she moved with him to help lift it over her head, leaving her wearing only a pair of white panties and a bra. He brushed his mouth against hers, then kissed her throat, leaving hot, breathy kisses along her skin.

  Her nipples hardened, and she unhooked her bra, letting it drop to the ground.

  “Ah, honey.” His voice was low and husky, laden with desire and filled with appreciation. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs taunting her responsive nipples and nearly sending her over the edge.

  “I’m not sure how long I can wait,” she told him. “I want you inside me.”

  He must have heard her, but he lowered his head, kissing her breasts, laving one nipple and then the other until she whimpered with need.

  When he looked up and caught her eye, desire flashed between them.

  She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, until he began to help, then she reached for the top metal button of his pants. Moments later, they were both naked, lying on the quilt, caught up in a fire that raged out of control.

  Rowan rolled to the side, reached into the pocket of his discarded jeans and withdrew a foil packet. He put on a condom, then hovered over her, eyes glazed with passion.

  Louanne didn’t think she could wait a moment longer before feeling him inside her. “I’m aching for you.”

  As he entered her, she rose to meet each thrust until the stars spun out of control. She cried out with her climax, a primal response she’d never had before.

  Her cry merely drove him on, sending him over the same peak. He shuddered with the strength of his own release, and she pulled him close, content to bask in the afterglow of an incredibly sweet joining.

  As they lay on the blanket, wrapped in each others’ arms, harmonious waves of pleasure soothed them both.

  Sated for the time being and feeling more fulfilled than ever before, Louanne lay still, afraid to blink, to speak, to break the magic of what they’d shared.

  Rowan rolled slowly to the side, taking her with him. When their eyes met, something passed between them. Something that filled her heart and nearly took her breath away.

  She didn’t mention it though. Didn’t dare throw the heady thought of love into the newness of a mind-swirling mix of emotions. She placed her hand upon his cheek, felt the light bristle of his beard.

  He smiled, sending her heart topsy-turvy again. But rather than let go and roll with the feeling, she struggled with the intimacy, with trusting someone enough to let him into a heart that had once been betrayed.

  Or was it too late?

  Had she already fallen head over heels for a hellbent rebel who’d just taken her to heaven and back?

  When Rowan and Louanne returned to the house, neither of them mentioned sleeping in the same bed, but that’s what Rowan had in mind. He wanted to hold Louanne all night long, loving her again and again.

  They hadn’t talked about tomorrow. About what the future held for either of them when morning dawned. And Rowan wasn’t sure he wanted to. Not yet. Not while his body was still resonating from the best sex he’d ever had.

  But it was just as well. He was still tiptoeing around his feelings, trying to figure out what kind of hold Louanne had on him.

  She excused herself and went into the bathroom, while he took a seat in the living room. He supposed they would talk about sleeping arrangements when she returned.

  The telephone rang, and he glanced at his watch. It was nearly eleven.

  “Can you please answer that for me?” Louanne called out. “It might be Aggie.”

  “Sure.” He snatched the receiver. “Hello.”

  No answer.

  “Hello?”

  Still no answer. A heavy click sounded on the other end, disconnecting the line. A wrong number, he supposed.

  Moments later, the phone rang again.

  This time, Rowan answered in a clipped voice. “Hello.”

  Still no response. Was the caller’s telephone on the blink? Or was this a prank call?

  Breathing sounded on the other end. Damn. He hated when that happened. Speak up or hang up.

  Fed up and not willing to mess around with a jerk, Rowan plopped the receiver down on the cradle. In his haste, he bumped the heavy, ornate picture frame of that smiling older couple—Louanne’s parents, he assumed—and nearly knocked it to the floor.

  Five minutes later, the telephone rang again. He had half a notion to ignore the damn thing, but it wasn’t his house, his phone. Or his decision. So, in no mood for games, he grabbed the receiver again. “Who the hell is this?”

  “Rowan?” his older sister’s voice asked.

  “Emily?”

  “Yes, it’s me. What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, Em. We’ve had a couple of prank calls. I thought yours might be another one.”

  “How are you doing?” Her voice sounded strained. Tentative. Awkward.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Louanne said you had an accident.”

  “My bike was banged up.” He didn’t tell her that he’d been banged up, too. Emily always did worry about him. Sometimes too much. “I’m doing all right.”

  “Good. I…uh…called to check on you.”

  “I appreciate your concern.” And he did. His problem was with his father, not his brother and sisters. But returning to the family fold wasn’t an option.

  “Dad shouldn’t have made that accusation. And I understand why you were angry.”

  He didn’t respond. Emily knew as well as he did that the final accusation had merely been the last straw.

  “I wish there was something I could do to make things right.”

  “You can’t, Emily. No one can.” No one but Walter Parks, and it was too late for that.

  “I also called to tell you some news.”

  “What kind of news?”

  “Conrad and Tyler Carlton claim that our father had an affair with their mother.”

  So what? It didn’t surprise Rowan to hear something like that. He’d never thought of his father as an honorable man. And when Walter Parks wanted something, he went after it. If the wife of a business associate had caught Walter’s eye, Rowan suspected the jewelry baron wouldn’t have let something like a marriage vow stand in his way. “Are the Carlt
ons asking for money?”

  “They’re demanding DNA testing.”

  From what Rowan remembered, Marla Carlton had given birth to the twins months after her husband’s accidental drowning twenty-five years ago. Had Walter fathered her babies?

  Rowan didn’t doubt it. Was the extramarital affair the secret Walter had accused Rowan of revealing? Probably so, although who knew what kind of skeletons Walter had in his closet.

  A wry grin tugged at his lips. He actually relished the problems a paternity suit and the resulting publicity would cause his father. “If Conrad and Tyler try to claim a portion of the Parks Empire, good ol’ dad isn’t going to be too happy.”

  “He’s upset,” Emily said. “But there’s not much he can do about it. He received a subpoena for a blood test and complied. If the results prove he’s their father, it will be common knowledge soon.”

  “Well, for their sake,” Rowan said, “I hope the test comes back negative. I wouldn’t wish a father like Walter Parks on anyone.”

  The garbage from the past clogged the telephone line. But they didn’t discuss the wealth-and-power-driven patriarch any further than that.

  What was there to say? Emily knew how Rowan felt about the man. And there wasn’t much she could do to hold the family together now.

  If Rowan actually gave a rat’s ass about his standing in the family, he might wonder what a paternity revelation like that would do. But he didn’t give a damn anymore. He was beyond caring about anything that affected those caught up in the mighty Parks dynasty.

  Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t glad his sister had called. But he wanted nothing more to do with his family. He planned to rebuild his life, to succeed on his own. And Pebble Creek seemed like a good place to start over.

  “How long will you be in Texas?” Emily asked.

  Rowan supposed that was her way of skirting the real questions she had. Are you coming back home? Have you gotten over the blowup this time? Or did the old man finally drive you away for good?

  “I’m going to return to San Francisco,” he answered, “but only long enough to pack up and put my house on the market.”

  His sister didn’t respond. And he knew why. The ongoing rift had become too deep, and she knew how stubborn and adamant Rowan could be when prodded. And she knew better than to push him on the issue.