Friends and Lovers (2 page)

That had pricked her temper. His harsh words had hurt, but being accused of enticing his ranch hands was more than she could stand.

“It’ll be a pleasure to stay off your ranch, John Cameron Durango,” she’d flung at him, her green eyes spitting sparks. “You’ve been the very devil to get along with lately, anyhow. And I wasn’t trying to wrap you around my finger, I was trying to thank you!”

Without another word, she’d stomped off toward her car. And they hadn’t spoken since.

Now she was feeling repentant and she wanted to make up. But that money-hungry little blonde made it impossible to approach him, and John wasn’t even trying to ward her off.

The worst of it all was that she recognized the blonde, now that she’d gotten a good look at her. Her name was Melody something-or-other, and she was well-known in Houston circles for her habit of stalking wealthy older men. Her name had been linked with two Houston businessmen in the past year, and not in a nice way. For heaven’s sake, didn’t John know what kind of company he was keeping? Couldn’t he see through that facade of kittenlike sweetness? Madeline scowled at the sight of the dark head bent so close to the blond one, aware of an ache deep inside her that she couldn’t quite identify.

“Don’t look now, sweetheart, but you’re glaring,” came the sound of a familiar voice at her shoulder.

She half turned, smiling at Donald Durango, whose boyish face was wearing a look of pure mischief.

“Is that what it’s called?” she asked in mock amazement.

“You wouldn’t be jealous of her?” he murmured dryly.

She felt herself bristling. “John and I are friends—nothing more,” she said curtly.

“So you keep telling me,” he agreed pleasantly. “And a gorgeous creature like you wouldn’t lie.”

“My, but you’re good for my ego,” she murmured with a forgiving smile. She couldn’t help thinking how little he resembled his cousin. Where John was tall and big and powerfully built, Donald was slight and bordering on thin. John was darkly tanned and had those piercing silver eyes and hair that was almost black. Donald’s hair was blond and his eyes were a pure blue.

The two cousins didn’t bear the slightest physical resemblance, but both were good businessmen and both could be ruthless when the occasion called for it. There were never two fiercer rivals. Some deeply personal conflict had kept them at each other’s throats for years. Donald could be faintly malicious with the tricks he pulled on John; yet surprisingly, John’s attitude was more defensive than offensive. After his father’s death, Donald had led a vicious proxy fight against his cousin when John inherited a large block of preferred stock in Durango Oil. Donald’s father—John’s uncle, who helped raise him—had surprised a good many people with that move. But John had been the stronger of the two and had the better business sense. He’d won that proxy fight by a staggering majority, and the sword had been drawn between the two cousins ever since. Donald never missed the smallest opportunity to needle John, right down to cultivating Madeline’s friendship.

“Care to hang around with me for the rest of the evening?” Donald asked with a grin. “I’ll save you from the lecherous advances and false praise.”

“And who’ll save me from you?” she countered with a meaningful smile. Her eyes had drifted back to John and Melody and she was scowling again. “If that girl gets any closer, she’s going to melt all over his suit,” she murmured.

“Rich bachelors aren’t that thick on the ground these days,” he offered. “And she is an eyeful.”

Madeline barely heard him. She wanted to take the punch bowl and dump its red contents right on top of that bleached blond head.

“I’ve got to save him,” she murmured. “It’s my duty as a former Girl Scout to rescue your cousin from the lecherous clutches of that money-hungry blonde.”

Without another word, she started toward the two of them. As luck would have it, Melody must have asked for something to drink because at that moment, with a smile and a wink, John left her and headed for the punch bowl. Madeline, seeing her chance, waylaid him there.

“Are we speaking?” Madeline asked, peering up at him deadpan. “If not, just nod your head and I’ll slink away into a corner and pretend I don’t know you.”

Once that would have made him laugh. But his face didn’t soften at all, and his eyes were cold, like iced silver.

“I’m amazed that you could tear yourself away from my cousin,” he said in a deep, cool drawl.

“His name is Donald,” she reminded him, looking up. Despite her above average height and spiked heels, he still towered over her. “I’ve never heard you call him by name, but that’s what it is. And I don’t make a habit of ignoring people when they speak to me. You didn’t even bother,” she added venomously.

He looked down his straight, arrogant nose at her; the thick black mustache made him look mature and virile. Which he was, of course.

“That works both ways,” he reminded her. “I don’t run after women. I don’t have to,” he added with faint malice and a glance toward Melody.

That made her furious, but Madeline clenched the brandy snifter and tried not to show it. “She has quite a reputation, you know,” she told him. “She’s just been jilted by her latest conquest, and I hear she’s looking for a greener wallet.”

He was watching her intently, a slight frown creasing the forehead over his deep-set eyes. “I don’t mind paying for what I want,” he said quietly. “I can afford it.”

The cynicism in that statement made her want to cry. He’d never believed that a woman could want him for himself; he seemed completely unaware of his own attractions. But Madeline, watching him, wasn’t. She studied his face as if she’d never seen it before: the thick, dark eyebrows, the silver eyes, the craggy contours, the hard yet sensuous mouth under its neat, bushy mustache…his mouth…Her lips parted involuntarily as she stared up at it unconsciously, and she wondered with a curiosity that shocked her how it would feel if she let him kiss her….

“You’re looking hard, Satin,” he said quietly. “Searching for chinks in my armor? You won’t find any.”

“Are you sure?” She deliberately moved closer, toying with a pearly shirt button. Under the thin, white silk, she could see the dark shadow of the mat of black hair that covered his massive chest and flat stomach, feel the warmth of his flesh. The sheer masculinity of him made her knees weak, and her own new reactions to him were staggering. Lately she’d wanted to touch him with a hunger that was totally unexpected. And it was increasingly obvious that he didn’t want her touching him in any way.

Even now, he caught her fingers and moved them gently away from his body. “Flirting with me?” he murmured shortly.

“Who, me?” She wrapped both hands around the snifter. “I don’t have a suicidal bone in my body.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t take you up on it,” he said in a deep, angry tone. “I’ve had two years of practice of keeping my distance.”

She met his cold eyes and felt the words go through her like needles. “You know how I feel….”

He drew an impatient breath. “My God, one bad experience isn’t any excuse for becoming a nun,” he growled.

She stiffened. Her full lower lip pouted at him. “You’re like a bear with a sore head lately, John Durango,” she glowered. “If you’re hungry, take a bit of the hors d’oeuvres; I don’t feel like being nibbled on tonight.”

She turned and started to walk away, but he caught her arm. As usual, the touch of his warm, strong fingers on her bare skin caused her heart to race, her breath to catch. It was a faintly alarming reaction, but she’d never dared wonder why he could cause it when no other man ever had.

“Don’t run from me,” he said at her ear. He was so close that she could feel the heat and power of his big body against the length of her back.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she said miserably. “You’re ice cold with me, you act as if you can’t bear to be around me and draw back every time I touch you….” Her troubled eyes met his. “I thought we were friends.”

His eyes wandered over her face. “We are. Bear with me.”

She saw the rigid lines in his face, the turbulence in his silver eyes, and she relented.

“I care about you,” she said gently. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Something’s bothering you. Can’t you tell me what it is?”

“You, least of all, my dear,” he said curtly. He reached out a careless hand and touched a wispy strand of reddish gold hair that had escaped her high coiffure. “Why do you twist your hair up like that? I hate it.”

“I’m not a gypsy,” she reminded him. “Long hair goes with bare feet, and our hostess would be shocked.”

“Shock her,” he murmured, and the mustache curled for the first time that night. “I dare you.”

“The last time you dared me to do anything, I jumped in the river fully clothed and astounded a carload of tourists,” she reminded him. She laughed softly. “Besides,” she added with a sigh, touching her temple, “I don’t feel like doing shocking things tonight. My head hurts; I’m so tired I can hardly stand, and all I want is to go home and go to sleep.”

“Then why don’t you?” he asked.

“Walk out on my own party when I’ve been here for less than an hour?” she asked. “Now wouldn’t that be polite, and after Elise has gone to so much trouble, too.”

“To hell with diplomacy,” he murmured curtly. His eyes searched her wan face. “I’ll drive you home.”

“And leave your conquest smoldering?” she asked with a pointed glance toward Melody, who was openly glaring at both of them while a man twenty years John’s junior was trying to get her attention. “No thanks. I’ll get Donald to take me.”

It was the wrong thing to say—she saw that at once. His eyes went from silver to slate in seconds. “Like sweet hell you will,” he growled.

Suddenly he bent and swung her easily up into his hard arms, a move so unexpected that she gasped.

“Close your eyes and moan,” he said curtly. His tone was so commanding that she forgot her independence for once and did as he told her. She felt his big arms around her, smelled the soap and cologne that clung to him, felt the warmth and strength of his magnificent body and wondered at the tiny little tremor that worked its way down to her toes.

“Why, John, what’s wrong with Madeline!” she heard Elise exclaim.

“Overwork,” he replied flatly, barely breaking stride. “I’m going to drive her home. I’ll send Josito over in the morning to get her car. Thanks, Elise, enjoyed it. Good night.”

“Uh, good night,” came the stammered reply. “I’ll call her tomorrow and check on her!”

John went straight out the door and Madeline heard him murmur something as someone opened and closed it for him. Then they were outside in the cool night air, and she was grateful for the warmth of his arms in the spring chill. Her wrap was back in the house, but fortunately she’d kept her dangling little purse on her arm.

“You can open your eyes now,” John murmured, a soft, teasing note in his voice.

She did, staring up at him. “You’re terribly strong.” The words slipped out involuntarily and embarrassed her.

He chuckled, an increasingly rare sound these days. “I’m not over the hill, honey,” he reminded her, “and nobody could call me a desk executive.”

That was the truth. He still worked around the ranch to keep fit, and he could outlast most of his cowboys.

She shifted her arms around his neck, feeling him stiffen as her breast brushed closer. “That was a novel idea you had,” she said with a smile. “Nobody could say anything about a woman fainting….” The smile vanished and she gaped up at him. “Oh, my God!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Everyone will think I’m pregnant!” she groaned.

Chapter Two

H
is shadowy eyes swept down her slender body as he paused by his black Ferrari and opened the door, propping her on a lifted thigh before lowering her inside.

“So?” he asked nonchalantly. “Writers are supposed to be unconventional.”

She glared at him as he went around the front of the sports car and got in beside her. “Who do I spend most of my spare time with?” she asked archly. “They’ll think it’s yours!”

He laughed softly as he started the car. “You can name it after me, too.”

The thought of having John’s child made her feel strange. She gazed at his profile with curiosity, trying to reconcile the way she was feeling with the old comradeship that seemed to be slipping away. What was happening to her?

He drove in silence to the 610 Loop that circled the city, and smoked his cigarette without moving his eyes from the traffic until he turned off at Montrose and wound down the street where Madeline’s small Victorian house was located.

It was an older section of the city, and a number of the houses had been beautifully renovated. Madeline had inherited hers from a great-aunt who’d preserved the little house with the protective instincts of a mother hen. It might be old, but it was well cared for, and Madeline had kept up the tradition; frugally at first, and then lavishly when she began to show a profit with her writing.

“How’s the new book going?” he asked as he pulled into her driveway.

“Slowly,” she murmured. “Did I tell you there’s actually talk of a movie contract on
The Grinding Tower
if it continues to pick up readers and critical acclaim?” she added with a flash of sweet triumph in her eyes. “I was so excited I could hardly believe it. And I wanted to call and tell you—but we weren’t speaking.”

He cut the Ferrari’s powerful engine and half turned in the bucket seat to study her in the glare of the porch light from Miss Rose’s house next door. Madeline knew Miss Rose kept an eye out for her when she was late getting home at night. “I lost my temper,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to cut you up that way.”

It was the closest he’d ever come to any apology, and she knew it. He wouldn’t have made the effort for most people.

She shrugged gently. “I really wasn’t leading him on, you know,” she murmured. She glanced at him. “Do I have to remind you how I feel about men?”

He searched her flushed face. “It might help if you go over it every fifteen minutes,” he said enigmatically. “Especially if you’re going to wear dresses like that.”