Heartbreaker (15 page)

"No one else is around to see." She
said the words against his throat, her lips moving over his hard flesh and
finding the vibrant hollow where his pulse throbbed.

Heat and desire wrapped around them,
sugar-sweet and mindless. From the moment he touched her, she'd wanted only to
lie down with him and sink into the textures and sensations of lovemaking. She
twisted in his arms, trying to press her breasts fully against him and
whimpering a protest as he prevented her from moving.

"This won't work," he said,
securing his hold on her and getting to his feet with her still in his arms.
"We'd better find a bed, because this chair won't hold up to what I have
in mind."

He carried her inside, and as he had done
before, he flipped the switch for the light in the entry, so he would be able
to see while going up the stairs. He paused when the light didn't come on.
"You've got a blown bulb."

Tension invaded her body again. "The
power's off."

He gave a low laugh. "Well, hell. Do you
have a flashlight? The last thing I want to do right now is trip on the stairs
and break our necks."

"There's a kerosene lamp on the
table." She wriggled in his arms, and he slowly let her slide to the
floor, reluctant to let her go even for a moment. She fumbled for the matches
and struck one, the bright glow guiding her hands as she removed the glass
chimney and held the flame to the wick. It caught, and the light grew when she
put the chimney back in place.

John took the lamp in his left hand, folding
her close to his side with his other arm as they started up the stairs.
"Have you called the power company to report it?"

She had to laugh. "They know."

"How long will it take them to get it
back on?"

Well, he might as well know now. Sighing, she
admitted, "The electricity's been cut off. I couldn't pay the bill."

He stopped, his brows drawing together in
increasing temper as he turned. "Damn it to hell! How long has it been
off?"

"Since yesterday morning."

He exhaled through his clenched teeth, making
a hissing sound. "You've been here without water and lights for a day and
a half? Of all the damned stubborn stunts… Why in hell didn't you give
the bill to me?" He yelled the last few words at her, his eyes snapping
black fury in the yellow light from the lamp.

"I don't want you paying my bills!"
she snapped, pulling away from him.

"Well, that's just tough!" Swearing
under his breath, he caught her hand and pulled her up the stairs, then into
her bedroom. He set the lamp on the bedside table and crossed to the closet,
opened the doors and began pulling her suitcases from the top shelf.

"What are you doing?" she cried,
wrenching the suitcase from him.

He lifted another case down. "Packing
your things," he replied shortly. "If you don't want to help, just
sit on the bed and stay out of the way."

"Stop it!" She tried to prevent him
from taking an armful of clothes from the closet, but he merely sidestepped her
and tossed the clothes onto the bed, then returned to the closet for another
armful.

"You're going with me," he said,
his voice steely. "This is Saturday; it'll be Monday before I can take
care of the bill. There's no way in hell I'm going to leave you here. God
Almighty, you don't even have water!"

Michelle pushed her hair from her eyes.
"I have water. I've been drawing it from the old well."

He began swearing again and turned from the
closet to the dresser. Before she could say anything her underwear was added to
the growing pile on the bed. "I can't stay with you," she said
desperately, knowing events were already far out of her control. "You know
how it'll look! I can manage another couple of days—"

"I don't give a damn how it looks!"
he snapped. "And just so you understand me, I'm going to give it to you in
plain English. You're going with me now, and you won't be coming back. This
isn't a two-day visit. I'm tired of worrying about you out here all by
yourself; this is the last straw. You're too damned proud to tell me when you
need help, so I'm going to take over and handle everything, the way I should
have in the beginning."

Michelle shivered, staring at him. It was
true that she shrank from the gossip she knew would run through the county like
wildfire, but that wasn't the main reason for her reluctance. Living with him
would destroy the last fragile buffers she had retained against being
overwhelmed by him in every respect. She wouldn't be able to keep any emotional
distance as a safety precaution, just as physical distance would be impossible.
She would be in his home, in his bed, eating his food, totally dependent on
him.

It frightened her so much that she found
herself backing away from him, as if by increasing the distance between them
she could weaken his force and fury. "I've been getting by without
you," she whispered.

"Is this what you call 'getting
by'?" he shouted, slinging the contents of another drawer onto the bed.
''You were working yourself half to death, and you're damned lucky you weren't
hurt trying to do a two-man job! You don't have any money. You don't have a
safe car to drive. You probably don't have enough to eat—and now you
don't have electricity."

"I know what I don't have!"

"Well, I'll tell you something else you
don't have: a choice. You're going. Now get dressed."

She stood against the wall on the other side
of the room, very still and straight. When she didn't move his head jerked up,
but something about her made his mouth soften. She looked defiant and stubborn,
but her eyes were frightened, and she looked so frail it was like a punch in
the gut, staggering him.

He crossed the room with quick strides and
hauled her into his arms, folding her against him as if he couldn't tolerate
another minute of not touching her. He buried his face in her hair, wanting to
sweep her up and keep her from ever being frightened again. "I won't let
you do it," he muttered in a raspy voice. "You're trying to keep me
at a distance, and I'll be damned if I'll let you do it. Does it matter so much
if people know about us? Are you ashamed because I'm not a member of your jet
set?"

She gave a shaky laugh, her fingers digging
into his back. "Of course not
I'm
not one of the jet set."
How could any woman ever be ashamed of him?

His lips brushed her forehead, leaving warmth
behind. "Then what is it?"

She bit her lip, her mind whirling with
images of the past and fears of the future. "The summer I was
nineteen…you called me a parasite." She had never forgotten the
words or the deep hurt they'd caused, and an echo of it was in her low, drifting
voice. "You were right."

"Wrong," he whispered, winding his
fingers through the strands of her bright hair. "A parasite doesn't give
anything, it only takes. I didn't understand, or maybe I was jealous because I
wanted it all. I have it all now, and I won't give it up. I've waited ten years
for you, baby; I'm not going to settle for half measures now."

He tilted her head back, and his mouth closed
warmly, hungrily, over hers, overwhelming any further protests. With a little
sigh Michelle gave in, going up on her tiptoes to press herself against him.

Regrets could wait; if this were all she
would have of heaven, she was going to grab it with both hands. He would
probably decide that she'd given in so she could have an easier life, but maybe
that was safer than for him to know she was head over heels in love with him.

She slipped out of his arms and quietly
changed into jeans and a silk tunic, then set about restoring order out of the
chaos he'd made of her clothes. Traveling had taught her to be a fast,
efficient packer. As she finished each case, he carried it out to the truck.
Finally only her makeup and toiletries were left.

"We'll come back tomorrow for anything
else you want," he promised, holding the lamp for the last trip down the
stairs. When she stepped outside he extinguished the lamp and placed it on the
table, then followed her and locked the door behind him.

"What will your housekeeper think?"
she blurted nervously as she got in the truck. It hurt to be leaving her home.
She had hidden herself away here, sinking deep roots into the ranch. She had
found peace and healing in the hard work.

"That I should have called to let her
know when I'd be home," he said, laughing as relief and anticipation
filled him. "I came here straight from the airport. My bag is in back with
yours." He couldn't wait to get home, to see Michelle's clothing hanging
next to his in the closet, to have her toiletries in his bathroom, to sleep
with her every night in his bed. He'd never before wanted to live with a woman,
but with Michelle it felt necessary. There was no way he would ever feel
content with less than everything she had to give.

It was midmorning when Michelle woke, and she
lay there for a moment alone in the big bed, trying to adjust to the change.
She was in John's house, in his bed. He had gotten up hours ago, before dawn,
and left her with a kiss on the forehead and an order to catch up on her sleep.
She stretched, becoming aware of both her nakedness and the ache in her
muscles. She didn't want to move, didn't want to leave the comforting cocoon of
sheets and pillows that carried John's scent. The memory of shattering pleasure
made her body tingle, and she moved restlessly. He hadn't slept much, hadn't
let her sleep until he'd finally left the bed to go about his normal day's
work.

If only he had taken her with him. She felt
awkward with Edie, the housekeeper. What must she be thinking? They had met
only briefly, because John had ushered Michelle upstairs with blatantly
indecent haste, but her impression had been of height, dignity and cool
control. The housekeeper wouldn't say anything if she disapproved, but then ,
she wouldn't have to; Michelle would know.

Finally she got out of bed and showered,
smiling wryly to herself as she realized she wouldn't have to skimp on hot
water. Central air-conditioning kept the house comfortably cool, which was
another comfort she had given up in an effort to reduce the bills. No matter
what her mental state, she would be physically comfortable here. It struck her
as odd that she'd never been to John's house before; she'd had no idea what to
expect. Perhaps another old ranch house like hers, though her father had
remodeled and modernized it completely on the inside before they had moved in,
and it was in fact as luxurious as the home she had been used to. But John's
house was Spanish in style, and was only eight years old. The cool adobe-colored
brick and high ceilings kept the heat at bay, and a colorful array of
houseplants brought freshness to the air. She'd been surprised at the greenery,
then decided that the plants were Edie's doing. The U-shaped house wrapped
around a pool landscaped to the point that it resembled a jungle lagoon more
than a pool, and every room had a view of the pool and patio.