by Lisa Jackson
He’d used every bit of his energy to walk quickly back down the hall and stand for twenty minutes under the sharp needles of a cold shower.
Now, his legs holding her prisoner, her body warm against his thighs, his cheek still smarting, he shuddered, fighting the urge to undress her, make love to her—and suffer the consequences if she scorned him. Slowly he withdrew his hand.
Tessa willed her eyes open. Staring up at him, she caught a glimmer of pain in his eyes—or was it only her imagination? His face was in shadow and she tried to convince herself that he appeared sinister. But she knew better. Deep in her heart, she believed there was still some tenderness in Denver McLean. Buried beneath a charred layer of cynicism, this was the same man she’d loved with every breath in her body.
“Is this why you came out here, Denver?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “To prove that you’re stronger than I am, to show me that you could have your way with me if you wanted to? To humiliate me?”
“What do you think?” he asked, but all the sarcasm had left his voice, and his jaw slackened.
“I hope to God that you didn’t follow me to degrade me. I hope there’s some shred of decency left in you.”
He laughed hollowly. “Not much.” But he swung his leg off of her and stretched out beside her on the grass.
She didn’t move away. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking she was afraid of him. “That was a childish thing to do.”
“And this wasn’t?” he asked, rubbing the red mark on the side of his chin.
She sighed. “You deserved it.”
“So did you.”
“It wasn’t the same thing. I just reacted.”
“So did I.”
“You tried to frighten me,” she said. “But it didn’t work. I’m not afraid of you, Denver, and you can growl and bluster and try to humiliate me all you want. I still won’t be afraid of you!”
With a groan, he rolled onto his back and stared at the sky. The first winking stars blinked high in the heavens. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Tessa,” he conceded.
“You have a strange way of showing it.”
Closing his eyes, he whispered, “I wasn’t even going to come back, you know. John’s attorney talked me into it.” He shifted his gaze back to her face. “Then I thought I’d show up here, stay a couple of days and take off for L.A. again.”
Tessa’s heart began to pound so loudly it drowned the tiny gurgle of water in the stream. “And now?”
“God only knows,” he muttered, staring at her as if he were memorizing her every feature. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
“Because I know you, Denver.”
“I’ve changed.”
“Not as much as you’d like me to believe.”
He eyed her skeptically, one dark brow arched.
“Okay, you’ve changed a lot,” she admitted, “but basically you’re the same man you were that afternoon on the ridge.”
He sighed. “If you only knew,” he muttered, picking at a dry blade of grass and watching it float on the breeze. “Nothing’s the same, Tessa. Nothing will ever be.” He sat up then, dusting his knees. “We both better face it.”
But she wasn’t through. She had to settle things with him. Reaching forward, she caught the front of his shirt, crushing the fabric in her fingers. “I’ll never be afraid of you. You could have stripped off all my clothes and forced yourself on me, and I wouldn’t have been scared.”
His head snapped around quickly, his eyes filled with self-loathing. “Don’t you know what just happened, Tess? Couldn’t you feel it?” Trembling, he held up his hand, his finger and thumb close together. “I was this far from raping you.”
“No!” She shook her head violently. “You would never force me.”
His jaw set in revulsion, he muttered, “I guess we’ll never know, will we?” Rolling to his feet, he reached for the reins dangling from his horse’s bridle, then climbed into the saddle.
Digging his heels mercilessly into the gelding’s sides, he leaned forward. The gray leaped away, leaving a plume of dust that sparkled in the moonlight as horse and rider disappeared.
Tessa wrapped her arms around her knees and refused to cry. What had happened to her? Why couldn’t she tell Denver the truth about her relationship with John, that she’d only been his nurse after his heart condition had been diagnosed?
“Because he wouldn’t believe you anyway,” she whispered, kicking disgustedly at a clod of dirt with the toe of her boot. Denver didn’t trust her. He wanted to believe the worst of her, and her pride had held her tongue.
She could argue her virtue until she was blue in the face and Denver wouldn’t listen. “Think what you want,” she muttered, as if he could still hear her. She grabbed the reins and swung onto Brigadier’s broad back. “Go right ahead!”
By the time she’d ridden back to the ranch and cooled Brigadier, Denver was gone. His rental car wasn’t parked near the garage and the house was empty. She should have been relieved, but she wasn’t. There were still a few things she’d like to set straight with him, one of which was that she intended to buy the ranch. She’d already started the wheels in motion. She had an appointment with the loan officer at the bank the following morning, and she planned to stop by the Edwards ranch. Nate Edwards, the owner, had always been interested in Brigadier, and he’d once told her to contact him first if she ever wanted to sell the stallion. Tomorrow, she thought sadly as she climbed the stairs to the second floor, she’d take Nate up on his offer.
Once in her bedroom, she stripped out of her clothes and tossed her blouse and jeans into a hamper near the bureau. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, her lean, strong limbs, slender hips and waist, small, high breasts. Her hair was a wild cloud of untamed strawberry-blond curls that fell past her shoulders.
How did she compare to the women Denver usually saw, the sophisticated women in Los Angeles? she wondered.
“Who cares?” she muttered, angry at herself. She found her robe and dashed toward the bathroom. Intending to sit in a hot bath until the water turned tepid, she turned on the spigots and started brushing the tangles from her hair. With swift strokes, she tugged the brush through the twisted strands and tried not to think about Denver and how much she’d wanted him to kiss her—to make love to her. The urge had been undeniable, and even though he’d intended to degrade her, she’d wanted him.
“You don’t love him,” she told her hazel-eyed reflection. “You can’t!”
Still arguing with herself, she lowered herself into the tub, sucking in her breath as her rear touched the hot water. Closing her eyes, she sank even deeper, still trying to convince herself that her feelings for Denver had died with the years.
* * *
Three Falls, Montana, wasn’t much of a town in comparison with the cities and towns fanning out from Los Angeles. Denver drove down the main street, past a small college campus and into the business district. Most of the buildings were one or two stories, with neon lights blazing against the darkness.
The town had grown, he decided, noting a bank, motel, strip mall and two fast food restaurants that hadn’t been around when he’d lived at the ranch.
He pulled into the rutted parking lot of a tavern on the south end of town. The weathered plank building looked the same as it had years before. Once a livery stable, it was now the local watering hole and boasted a live band on the weekends.
The interior was dark. A smoky haze lingered over the crowd despite the noisy attempts of an old air conditioner to recirculate and freshen the air.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked. A burly man with a ruddy complexion, flat nose and world-weary expression, he stared straight at Denver, then grinned. “McLean?” he asked, his sandy brows lifting. “Well, I’ll be damned!”
Denver recognized him as soon as he spoke. He’d gone to school with Ben Haley. “How’re you?”
“Can’t complain. And yourself?” Ben’s gaze narrow
ed, as if he were looking for the scars from the fire.
“I’m all right.”
“What’ll it be?”
“A draft.”
Ben poured quickly and slid the mug over to Denver. “On the house. I own the place these days.” He swiped at the scratched bar with a white towel. “I heard you were back at the ranch.”
“Just for a week or two.”
“Rumor has it that you intend to sell.”
“Soon as I can,” Denver admitted, sipping from his glass. “Know anyone who’s interested?”
“Just Tessa Kramer,” Ben replied as he caught a shapely redhead’s eye at the end of the bar. She signaled and he poured her another drink. When he’d finished refilling her glass, Ben returned.
Denver twisted his glass in his hands. “Did Tessa tell you she wanted to buy me out?”
“No,” Ben said, pouring another drink. “Tessa’s brother, Mitch, he comes in here quite a bit. He mentioned something about it.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing much,” Ben hedged. “Just that John was gonna make some provision for Tessa in his will—make sure she could buy the place.” He frowned and looked away, almost guiltily. “She was awfully good to him.”
“Was she?”
Ben shrugged his big shoulders. “Maybe he changed his mind.”
“Maybe,” Denver agreed as Ben was called into the kitchen. Denver studied the foam dispersing from his drink. He felt the familiar coil of jealousy tighten in his gut and told himself it didn’t matter. What Tessa and John had meant to each other was none of his business. Still the idea of his uncle and Tessa together stuck in Denver’s craw. And no amount of beer could wash it away.
Chapter Five
She heard Denver return. Lying on her bed, ears straining, Tessa heard the scrape of his boots on the stairs and listened as he stumbled at the top step, swearing loudly.
He started down the hall, but paused at her door.
Tessa sucked in her breath, her every nerve end tingling. What now? The knob turned, the door opened. Denver stood on the threshold. Light from the hall threw the lean lines of his body into stark relief. His broad shoulders nearly touched each side of the frame. His hair fell over his eyes and the smell of liquor wafted into the room. “Tessa?”
“I’m awake.” Her nerves were stretched tight as bowstrings. Sitting up, she clutched the sheet to her breasts and shoved a handful of thick hair from her eyes. “What do you want?”
“I wish I knew, Tessa. I wish to God Almighty I knew.” Rubbing one tanned hand tiredly over his shoulders, he expelled a long breath. “I made a mistake today at the creek.”
“Is this an apology?”
“Of sorts.” He frowned and leaned one shoulder against the molding. “This afternoon—I just wanted to talk to you. You’d been avoiding me, and I really didn’t blame you, but I figured it was time we got a few things straight. I saw you ride to the creek, so I followed.”
“To talk.”
“Right. But I blew it.”
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see that one side of his mouth had curved in self-mockery.
“What ‘things’ did you want to get straight?” she asked, wishing she had the nerve to throw him out.
His eyes bored into hers. “Us.”
“There was no ‘us.’ Remember?” She couldn’t help wanting to hurt him—just as he’d wounded her.
“I guess that’s what I said.”
“And you were right.”
“Of course I was.” Still, he didn’t leave.
Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. Here he was in her bedroom, for crying out loud, in the middle of the night, trying to apologize. Her mind was spinning and she was caught in the trap between trusting him and knowing that he was lying. “Then why are you here? Have you changed your mind?” she whispered, dreading the answer. “I mean, about ‘us.’”
“I don’t know.” His jaw tensed. “I’ve never been so damned indecisive in my life. I hate it.”
“And that’s what you wanted to tell me?” Convinced that he was holding something back, she arched an eyebrow skeptically.
“There was another reason,” he admitted, his eyes narrowing on the bed.
Tessa’s throat constricted. “And that is?”
“Because I want you, damn it!” he admitted angrily. His fingers curled into a tight, impotent fist. “God knows I’ve tried to fight it, but the truth of the matter is, I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you in the barn.”
“Because I’m here. Because I’m convenient,” she bit out, angry with herself and with him.
“Because you’re you,” he said heavily.
If she’d expected anything, it wasn’t this kind of confession, and though a part of her longed desperately to hear just those words, the more rational side of her mind told her it was the liquor talking—not the man.
Dropping the sheet, she slid to the side of the bed. His eyes followed her every move as she grabbed her robe and shoved her arms down the sleeves.
“Don’t,” he said, when she tried to tie the belt at her waist. “Leave it open.”
Jaw taut, she cinched the belt as hard as she could and swept across the room. “What do you really want from me, Denver?” she demanded, wishing he were stone-cold sober. “An affair? A quick roll in the hay? A little more ‘experimenting’—isn’t that what you called it—like we did when we were younger?”
He winced. “Of course not.” His gaze drilled into hers. “I just want you.”
Tessa’s heart beat a quick double time, but she didn’t trust him—couldn’t. Not after her humiliation at the creek. Not after seven years of being treated as if she didn’t exist. “The way you wanted me earlier?” she asked, feeling a hot flush of indignation steal up her neck.
“I said I was sorry—”
“I heard you.” She inched her chin upward. “But I don’t trust you, Denver. You’ve come back here practically accusing every member of my family of trying to rob or steal from you. You think we’re all a pack of arsonists, embezzlers and liars. And you think I was your uncle’s mistress.” She could feel the flames leaping to her eyes, the anger burning brightly in her soul. Just because he wanted her was no reason to believe that he had ever loved her. So furious that her breasts were heaving, she placed her palms firmly on his chest and pushed. “I think you’d better leave.”
His hands flew from his sides, capturing each of her wrists. They tightened possessively and his nostrils flared. “If you’re through destroying my character—”
“Not quite,” she retorted. “And now you have the audacity—the unmitigated gall—to think you can waltz into my bedroom, claim that you want me and think I’ll fall into bed with you just because you’re sorry!”
“Oh, no, Tessa. I’ve never thought you could be pressured into doing anything you didn’t want to do.” A furious muscle worked in his jaw, but his thumbs rubbed in slow circles along the insides of her wrists, and his smoldering gaze never left hers.
“Then what?” she demanded, trying to ignore the erotic feel of his gentle fingers.
“You’ve always given me a fight—a run for my money. But always before you’ve been honest with yourself.”
“I am,” she insisted, though her voice faltered a bit. If he’d only quit touching her, then maybe she could think!
“I don’t think so.”
“And what about you? Have you been honest with yourself?” she threw back, but his arms surrounded her and he kissed her fiercely. His lips were hard and sensual, and she could taste the liquor lingering on them. Her heart pounded erratically, beating like the wings of a frightened bird, thudding wildly against her ribs. All the taunts forming on her tongue disappeared into the shadowy corners of the room.
Though she tried to push away, he held her close, hands splayed across her back, forcing her to curve against him, hips and thighs pressed tight, the thrust of his desire hard against her abdomen.
&n
bsp; “Get out,” she commanded, but even as the words passed her lips, she’d circled his neck with her arms, her mouth returning all too eagerly to him. Heat, liquid and dangerous, began to curl within her, and she had trouble breathing, couldn’t think. “Don’t—”
“Don’t what?” he whispered across her ear, and she shivered with the ache that was building out of control.
“D-don’t touch me—oohh.” She felt his hand move forward along her belt, untying the knot. The terry fabric parted and his hands delved inside, long fingers searching.
“You want me to stop?”
“Y-yes. Oh, Denver, please!” She shuddered when he touched the firm point of one hard nipple and could barely hold back a cry when he bent his head and took that hard little button, hidden in the folds of soft cotton, in his warm mouth.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, she held him close, and her legs seemed to turn to water. She felt each tiny button of her nightgown as it slipped through its hole, knew when the yoke had parted and the cool night air touched her breast. Still he toyed with her through the cloth, the fabric wet and hot as his tongue searched for and laved her nipple.
“Please?” he repeated, his voice hoarse.
Moaning softly, she tried to fight the tide of desire that kept pulling her under its warm, liquid depths. Her head was swimming, her breath trapped deep in her lungs, but one tiny scrap of her pride surfaced. “Please, don’t—don’t—try to humiliate me again. Don’t use me.”
He stopped then, his muscles instantly rigid. “Never,” he whispered, straightening, his hands moving swiftly to her chin, forcing her to look deep into his eyes. “I am sorry, Tessa,” he vowed, his voice filled with regret. “I’ve never meant to hurt you.”
