Fire Brand (13 page)

Bowie was called to the phone during the meal. He discovered he had to fly out to Canada suddenly to take a look at his project, which had developed a hitch. After everyone was finished, he drew Gaby outside with him to the Scorpio he drove.

“Keep an eye on them,” he told her, nodding toward the house. “Don't let them out of your sight for a minute.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Not even to go to the bathroom?”

He glowered at her. “Don't be absurd.” He checked his watch. “I've got to run. I won't be back until Friday afternoon, but I'll do my best to be here by the time the party gets under way.”

“Okay.”

He tilted her chin up to his and searched her olive eyes. “You've been trying to avoid me since this morning,” he said quietly. “Why?”

Her face colored. “It's too soon,” she blurted out.

“No. You've just got to have a little time to get used to me in a different light.” He bent and brushed his hard lips slowly across hers. “Don't close your mouth like that, baby,” he whispered. “Open it and let me kiss you properly.”

“Someone might see...!”

“To hell with that,” he whispered. “Open your mouth, Gaby.”

She did. His lips parted against hers, and pushed down. She reached up to hold him hungrily, as his mouth worked on hers, hard and warm. He dropped his briefcase, and his big arms swallowed her against him while the kiss grew harder and rougher in the stillness of late afternoon light.

“You taste sweet,” he whispered. “I think I'm going to get addicted to your mouth.”

“I'm plain,” she whispered back, her mind in limbo. “And there are things you don't know...”

He kissed her again, more tenderly this time. “You'll tell me what I want to know one day. I can wait. And I won't rush you any more than I already have.” He smiled wickedly. “As for rushing you,” he mused, looking down at the high, square bodice of her sundress, “you don't have a single cause for complaint. Yet.”

She felt the heat sing through her at the way he was looking at her body.

“I don't go around showing myself to men,” she said with a lightness she had to force.

“Yes, I know. I don't go around showing myself to women. Only to you,” he added with a wry smile, delighted at the color that rose suddenly in her cheeks. “You needn't blush. You didn't look away all that quickly, as I remember.”

“Bowie!”

He laughed softly. “I'll stop. Goodbye, Gaby.”

He let her go, picked up his briefcase, and got into the car without another word or a backward glance. She stood watching him drive off, wondering how much more complicated things were going to get.

Aggie and Courtland were sitting on the living room sofa together watching a television special when Gaby excused herself and went to bed. Their heads were close together, their hands linked. They looked almost like one person in the pose, and when Aggie lifted her eyes to his, his whole face softened magically. If Aggie was besotted, so was the mysterious Mr. Courtland. She hoped Bowie got lucky in Jackson. If he didn't, they had no hope of postponing the wedding. Poor Aggie. Gaby really hoped Mr. Courtland was a good guy.

Gaby tried to contact Mr. Samuels with Bio-Ag the next day, but she was told by his secretary that he was out of town until the following Tuesday, so she settled down to helping Aggie finalize the catering and music for the party and making decorations with Tía Elena to brighten up the patio, where most of it would be held.

She hadn't realized how much she needed a vacation until she was at Casa Río. The past few months had been hectic, and the shooting she'd covered before she left Phoenix had dwelled on her mind. It was a relief to be away from work temporarily, even though Bowie's disturbing presence and Aggie's explosive engagement could yet threaten her peace of mind.

Ned Courtland slowly became less reserved when Gaby was around. He had a dry wit, and he spoke his mind with unaffected honesty. Gaby was beginning to see why he appealed so much to Aggie. He was a strong man, and he had some fine qualities.

Friday was a long day, fraught with preparation. Gaby chose a simple, Mexican-styled white dress with exquisitely colorful embroidery down its bodice and around the hem of its full skirt. She tied her hair back with a ribbon and decided that it wasn't so bad, looking feminine. But she knew that it was only because Bowie was around that it didn't bother her as it had in the old days.

Bowie had called from Tucson just after five, to tell them he was on his way down. He arrived as the buffet table was laid, wearing a handsome tan suit, his blond hair clean and neatly combed despite his long trip.

“I'm on time, I suppose,” he said as Gaby greeted him at the door, her eyes bright and soft.

“Exactly. People should be getting here any minute. How was your trip?”

“Busy,” he said. He glanced around at the piñatas, colored lanterns, and streamers. “Nice. Did you and Aggie do it all?”

“Tiá Elena and her sisters helped. You look tired, Bowie.”

“I am.” He stared at her for a long moment. “I stopped over in Jackson on the way home.”

She moved closer, glancing warily around them, but Aggie and Ned still hadn't come in from the patio. “And?”

“I drew a blank,” he said. “There are no Courtlands where he said he hailed from. There used to be,” he added with narrowed black eyes. “But that was almost a hundred years ago. I don't know who Aggie's suitor is, but he's sold her a pack of goods. I've got to talk to her.”

“Not now,” she pleaded. “Let her have the party.”

He glared down at her. “What will that accomplish? She's got to know about this man.”

She didn't know why she argued. Perhaps it was because she'd never seen Aggie so happy. What would a few more hours hurt, after all?

“Humor me. Just for tonight, let her be the belle of the ball and don't cast shadows,” she pleaded.

“I gather there's a reason for your intervention?”

She smiled dryly. “I'm not defecting to the enemy camp, but I do like Mr. Courtland.”

“Traitor,” he accused.

“I know.” Her olive eyes studied his handsome face, taking in the new lines. He worked so hard, and he never seemed to slow down. It bothered her that he was looking so worn.

“I like the dress,” he murmured, letting his eyes slide down it. “You've never worn anything quite so colorful before.”

“It's a festive night,” she said, and worried about how he was going to react when he discovered what Aggie and Ned Courtland were really up to. She should have told him. But Aggie would—she'd promised.

“I'd better go and change. This is a bit too formal.” He indicated his suit. “John Hammock is coming?” he asked.

Gaby smiled. “Yes.”

His dark blond brows drew together. “But...?”

She laughed. “But, nothing. He's coming. Honest.”

“All right, then.” He moved closer to her, stopping her smile with just the heady threat of his big, muscular body. “Did you miss me?”

“You weren't gone long enough to be missed, and I was busy.”

“That's right. Busy missing me,” he said, and smiled wickedly. His black eyes danced. “Aggie hired a band, I see,” he said, nodding toward the cowboy quartet tuning up on the patio. “Good. You can dance with me.”

She met his eyes curiously. “I can't dance,” she confessed.

“You what?”

“I told you before—I can't dance.” She smiled shyly. “I never liked it, so I never learned. You said you'd teach me.”

“I can teach you a lot of other things, too,” he said. He touched her hair, running his hand along a silky strand of it. “I'd like very much to drag you off into a corner right now and kiss the breath out of you.”

She wanted that, too, but it wasn't the time. “You'd better change,” she said nervously.

He sighed. “I suppose so.” He tugged her hair and smiled as he let it go. “Watch out for Ted and Mike. I've got plans for them.”

“Don't you dare try to mess up Aggie's evening with those two clowns,” she said.

“I'd never do that to Aggie,” he said, and then his eyes twinkled with pure mischief. “Of course, Ted and Mike might.”

“I'll tell on you,” she threatened.

He only laughed. “No, you won't.” He winked at her lazily, making her heart race, and started through the house to the staircase, whistling something under his breath.

Gaby watched him go. She'd been right. This was going to be one long, miserable evening. And when Aggie and Ned made their announcement, she hoped that Bowie didn't go through the roof.

CHAPTER NINE

A
GGIE
CAME
IN
from the patio wearing a long white caftan with gold braid on one sleeve—a designer gown that suited her dark tan and eyes and her gray-streaked black hair. Ned Courtland was wearing dark slacks with an open-necked white shirt and a parchment-colored jacket with black threads in it. He looked elegant himself, and his arm never left Aggie's waist. Gaby sighed at the oneness they radiated. It was something she'd never known with anyone, except for that brief interlude with Bowie in the garage.

Bowie was almost rubbing his hands with glee, when John Hammock walked through the door. He shook hands with the white-haired man, all smiles.

Gaby joined them, privately thinking that Mr. Hammock wouldn't suit Aggie in a million years. He was an agricultural equipment salesman with a paunch in front, and he liked nothing better than football, which Aggie hated.

“How are you, Mr. Hammock? Good to see you again,” Gaby said, smiling as she shook the man's pudgy hand.

“It's nice to see you, too, Gaby.” Mr. Hammock grinned. “Who's that man with Aggie?”

“Just some man she met on the cruise ship,” Bowie said shortly. “He'll be leaving in a day or so.”

“He looks familiar.” Mr. Hammock frowned.

Bowie was immediately all ears. He'd changed out of his suit into tan slacks and a white silk shirt with rolled up sleeves. He looked casually elegant, and to Gaby's eyes, the handsomest man in the room.

“You know him?” Bowie asked, lowering his voice. “He says his name is Ned Courtland and he's from Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Courtland. Courtland.” Hammock shook his head. “No, I don't know the name. I meet so many people, you see, it's kind of hard to keep the names and faces straight!” He grinned. “Bowie, Gaby, I want you to meet someone. Ellen, come here.” He drew a handsome older woman to his side. “This is Ellen Thurmond White. She's my fiancée.”

Bowie looked crestfallen, but he regrouped instantly and smiled at the lady. “Nice to meet you. Both of you, have some hors d'oeuvres and punch. The table's right over there, where Aggie and Courtland are standing.”

“Thanks, Bowie, don't mind if we do,” Hammock said, nodding. He escorted Ellen away and Bowie gave Gaby a hot glare.

“Did you know about that?” he demanded.

She nodded. “Montoya told me. He hears all the local gossip, you know.”

“Why didn't you say something?” he persisted.

“You wouldn't have believed me. Don't you want some punch?”

“No.” He glared toward Courtland, who was shaking hands with Mr. Hammock. His black eyes flashed. “She can't be serious about him.”

“Bowie...”

At that very moment, Aggie was holding up a crystal glass and tapping it with a teaspoon.

“I'd like to make an announcement,” Aggie called in her musical voice. She held up a glass of punch. “I want you all to meet Ned Courtland. He's from Wyoming...and I'm going to marry him.”

There was a shocked silence. Bowie didn't say a word. He stared at Aggie, taking in her defiant but hopeful glance and Courtland's dark scowl at Aggie without reacting to either. He turned on his heel and went out the door without a word, giving the assembled guests some juicy gossip to chew on.

“You promised you'd tell him before the party,” Courtland said to Aggie, his voice deep and slow.

“He was late,” Aggie faltered. She colored. “And anyway, it was safer this way—I told you it would be.”

“Aggie, I'm not afraid of him,” he said quietly. “It was his right to be told first.”

“I'll smooth it over later. Right now, there are some people I want you to meet.” She clung to his hand and tugged him along with her, her face still flushed and nervous.

Gaby followed Bowie out into the darkness, watching him light a cigarette as he strode angrily toward the corral, his bare head catching the faint glimmer from the windows and patio of the house.

He leaned against the corral fence. He couldn't believe what he'd heard. Aggie was going crazy, that was it, marrying a total stranger—a man about whom they knew absolutely nothing. He didn't know how he was going to survive having a new man in his father's house, using his father's things, living with his mother.

A light touch on his forearm made his head jerk up. He stared at Gaby without expression.

“You knew,” he said accusingly.

His pain was so intense that she could almost feel it, and her tender heart ached for him. He didn't show it, but she knew that he felt things deeply. “I wanted to tell you, but it wasn't my secret. It was hers.” She sighed. “Besides, I didn't know how to tell you.”

“My God.” He took a draw from his cigarette and stared out into the darkness. “My God. I don't think I can stand it.”

“You may like him when you get to know him,” she said, her voice hushed and caring. “I do.”

“He isn't marrying your mother.”

“Well, I never really knew my mother. Aggie is special to me. I wouldn't want her to make a terrible mistake, either. But Mr. Courtland, if that's his real name, is still very much an unknown quantity. He wanted to tell you about the engagement two days ago.”

“He could be anybody.”

“I can't argue with that,” she said. “But wouldn't you be distrustful of any man Aggie brought home?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “But I'd feel a lot better if I knew him myself. And if my mother had known him longer than a couple of weeks,” he added darkly. “The plain fact is, I don't want him here.”

“He knows that, but he's staying anyway. Doesn't that tell you anything?”

“It tells me he doesn't know what he's getting into. I won't have it, I tell you,” he began, his voice like a whip. “No way on God's green earth is my mother going to marry some damned gigolo and put Casa Río in his hands! I'll see him in hell first—I swear I will!”

“Bowie...”

“Damned Wyoming import,” he muttered. “I've got half a mind to go back in there and plant one right in his mug.” His dark eyes glittered dangerously. “In fact, that's the best idea I've had all night.”

He meant it. Gaby bit her lower lip, trying to think of something to say that might stop him. On the other hand, it was a much better time for action. She didn't have time to think about what she was going to do, because he was already grinding out his cigarette.

She jumped up on the lowest rung of the corral fence and slid her hands nervously around Bowie's neck, feeling him tense with surprise.

“What are you doing?” he asked. He turned to catch her waist and keep her from pitching headfirst off the fence as she lost her balance. Her mouth was just under his, and proximity solved all her problems at once.

“You can't punch out Mr. Courtland,” she said in a breathless tone. “He looks the type of man who'll punch right back. You can't let Aggie's party turn into a brawl.”

“Can't I?” he asked, but his eyes were on her mouth now.

With her last shred of nerve, she moved the scant inches necessary to bring her soft lips over his hard ones. Her hands clung to the nape of his neck, and she opened her mouth the way he had in the garage when he'd kissed her, pressing her body hard against his and moving it with what she thought was gentle sensuality.

To Bowie, it was something else again. He shuddered at the unexpected movement that roused him beyond thought, and he moved toward her without a single hesitation. “Gaby!” he bit off against her mouth, his body rippling with shocked hunger.

“Yes,” she whispered, enticing him. This would get his mind off Courtland, and she did love kissing him. “Teach me how to kiss, Bowie,” she breathed into his mouth.

He wanted to teach her a lot more than that. The feel of her soft body moving against him so sensually had shattered his control. He wondered if she knew how fiercely she was arousing him, and why. But his mind wasn't working properly, and he couldn't fight it. He'd barely slept since the morning in the garage, his mind full of Gaby, his body aching for hers. He'd never wanted anyone so much.

His big hands spanned her waist and jerked her closer as his mouth pressed down hard over hers and grew slowly, steadily more demanding. The darkness closed in on them. She felt his breath going roughly into her open mouth as his tongue teased her lips, tracing them until they parted in faint protest. And suddenly, without warning, his tongue pushed past them and deep into her mouth in a hard, slow thrust that made her legs shudder.

She made a tiny sound deep in her throat, because he'd kissed her that way in the garage, and it was fiercely stimulating. But the hunger in it made her nervous, and when she felt his body begin to tremble faintly against hers, she started freezing up. He didn't seem to notice, and that worried her. She put her hands against his broad chest. His lean fingers began to stroke upwards from her waist and toward the upward thrust of her firm breasts, until she panicked.

This was the one thing she hadn't counted on—that he might want more than a kiss. The feel of his hands against the sides of her breasts frightened her.

“Bowie?” His thumbs were suddenly touching the outside of her breasts with an erotic rhythm far beyond her experience. “No, Bowie, you mustn't!” she whispered, and began to twist in his embrace.

He moved, drowning in his anguished need for her. She'd thrown him off balance and he was ravenous to touch her, to feel her soft body under him. He pinned her to the fence—not roughly, but firmly—his arms against the fence at her sides, his hard-muscled body holding hers immobile while he kissed her with feverish hunger. His lean hips brushed against hers. And in that close embrace, she felt the full force of his arousal and realized how dangerous the situation had become. There was a deserted barn not twenty steps away...

“Bowie...please...no!”

Her frantic plea got through the sensuality that had fogged his mind. He lifted his head, his body still pinning her hips, and stared down into her eyes with frustrated acknowledgement. Her fear was clearly visible.

“Gaby,” he said gently. He forced his hips away from hers and leaned against his hands on the fence, taking deep, shuddering breaths while he fought for control. “It got away from me. I'm sorry.”

Her tense body began to relax. The quietness of his tone, his lack of anger, reassured her. She leaned back against the fence, trembling a little, and watched him.

“Have I...hurt you?” she whispered unsteadily.

He managed a wan smile. “I won't die,” he promised. He took another slow breath. “Don't look so guilty. It's a normal reaction to frustrated desire.”

She lowered her eyes to the mouth that had kissed hers with such aching hunger, and delicious sensations washed over her. “It's my fault. I didn't want you to hit Mr. Courtland. But I didn't realize that...that kissing you would,” she swallowed, “would do that to you.”

He actually laughed, very softly. “My God.”

“I don't know much about men.”

He laid a lean finger over her lips. “All you have to remember is that when you grind your hips against mine like that, you'd better want me on the spot, standing up,” he said, with a rueful smile at her blush. “I've been without a woman for a long time, and I have a rather potent reaction to you.”

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “I will be, in a minute.” He leaned his forehead against hers while he got his breath back. “What frightened you?” he asked.

She closed her eyes. “You pinned me against the fence,” she whispered, feeling the nightmares in the back of her mind. “I couldn't get away.”

He lifted his head and her eyes opened. He searched them quietly. “I won't make that mistake twice,” he replied. “There's nothing to be afraid of. I won't hurt you.”

“Oh, I know that,” she whispered tearfully. “I'm so sorry, Bowie!”

He gathered her close, leaving space between his hips and hers, his head bent protectively against her own. “We've got a long way to go, haven't we, honey?” he asked quietly. “Trust is going to take time.”

“It...it isn't you,” she whispered. “Really, it isn't. I have some old mental scars.”

“I realize that.” He brushed his mouth softly over hers. “We'll take it one day at a time. Don't start running.”

“I won't,” she sighed. She couldn't—he was already such a part of her life that it was painful to imagine his not being in it. She reached up and touched his hard mouth. “I've never been able to go that far with anyone else,” she told him, because it was important that he know.

He frowned and sighed heavily. “Gaby, was it only my strength that frightened you?” he asked intently.

She blushed, because she knew what he was asking. “Yes.”

“That response,” he said quietly, “is something a man can't help. It's automatic. I can keep from letting you feel it, but I can't stop it from happening.”

“I'm not afraid of you...like that,” she whispered huskily. “It's just that I don't know if I'm capable of intimacy.” Her eyes searched his worriedly. “You understand? It's the thought of giving in, of giving up control.”

He pushed the damp hair away from her face. “You can learn to want me,” he said quietly. “I'm in no flaming rush for it to happen. I can wait. Does that reassure you?”

“What if I can't, ever?” she groaned.

“Let's live one day at time, honey.” He caught her by the waist and lifted her clear off the ground, smiling as he brought her soft, swollen lips on a level with his. “Kiss me and go inside. I've got some plotting to do.”

“I won't hurt you again?” she whispered worriedly.

“Not if I know you're going to do it,” he murmured dryly. “Come on, come on, I don't have all night.”