Heartbreaker (9 page)

"No," she murmured, leaning her
head back. Some of her dates had driven fancy sports cars, some had driven
souped-up Fords and Chevys, but it hadn't made any difference what they'd
driven, because she hadn't made out with any of them. They had been nice boys,
most of them, but none of them had been John Rafferty, so it hadn't mattered.
He was the only man she'd ever wanted. Perhaps if she'd been older when she'd
met him, or if she'd been secure enough in her own sexuality, things might have
been different. What would have happened if she hadn't initiated those long
years of hostility in an effort to protect herself from an attraction too
strong for her to handle? What if she'd tried to get him interested in her,
instead of warding him off?

Nothing, she thought tiredly. John wouldn't
have wasted his time with a naive eighteen-year-old. Maybe later, when she'd
graduated from college, the situation might have changed, but instead of coming
home after graduation she had gone to
Philadelphia
… and met Roger.

They were out of the lawyer's office by
noon
; it hadn't been a long meeting. The land would be
surveyed, the deed drawn up, and John's ranch would increase by quite a bit,
while hers would shrink, but she was grateful that he'd come up with that
solution. At least now she still had a chance.

His hand curled warmly around her elbow as
they walked out to the car. "Let's have lunch. I'm too hungry to wait
until we get home."

She was hungry, too, and the searing heat
made her feel lethargic. She murmured in agreement as she fumbled for her
sunglasses, missing the satisfied smile that briefly curled his mouth. John
opened the car door and held it as she got in, his eyes lingering on the length
of silken leg exposed by the movement. She promptly restored her skirt to its
proper position and crossed her legs as she settled in the seat, giving him a
questioning glance when he continued to stand in the open door. "Is
something wrong?"

"No." He closed the door and walked
around the car. Not unless she counted the way looking at her made him so hot
that a deep ache settled in his loins. She couldn't move without making him
think of making love to her. When she crossed her legs, he thought of
uncrossing them. When she pulled her skirt down, he thought of pulling it up.
When she leaned back the movement thrust her breasts against her lapels, and he
wanted to tear the dress open. Damn, what a dress! It wrapped her modestly, but
the silk kissed every soft curve just the way he wanted to do, and all morning
long it had been teasing at him that the damned thing was fastened with only
those two buttons. Two buttons! He had to have her, he thought savagely. He
couldn't wait much longer. He'd already waited ten years, and his patience had
ended. It was time.

The restaurant he took her to was a posh
favorite of the city's business community, but he didn't worry about needing a
reservation. The maitre d' knew him, as did most of the people in the room, by
sight and reputation if not personally. They were led across the crowded room
to a select table by the window.

Michelle had noted the way so many people had
watched them. "Well, this is one," she said dryly.

He looked up from the menu. "One
what?"

"I've been seen in public with you once.
Gossip has it that any woman seen with you twice is automatically assumed to be
sleeping with you."

His mustache twitched as he frowned in
annoyance. "Gossip has a way of being exaggerated."

"Usually, yes."

"And in this case?"

"You tell me."

He put the menu aside, his eyes never leaving
her. "No matter what gossip says, you won't have to worry about being just
another member of a harem. While we're together, you'll be the only woman in my
bed."

Her hands shook, and Michelle quickly put her
menu on the table to hide that betraying quiver. "You're assuming a
lot," she said lightly in an effort to counteract the heat she could feel
radiating from him.

"I'm not assuming anything. I'm planning
on it." His voice was flat, filled with masculine certainty. He had reason
to be certain; how many women had ever refused him? He projected a sense of
overwhelming virility that was at least as seductive as the most expert
technique, and from what she'd heard, he had that, too. Just looking at him
made a woman wonder, made her begin dreaming about what it would be like to be
in bed with him.

"Michelle, darling!"

Michelle couldn't stop herself from flinching
at that particular phrase, even though it was spoken in a lilting female voice
rather than a man's deeper tones. Quickly she looked around, grateful for the
interruption despite the endearment she hated; when she recognized the speaker,
gratefulness turned to mere politeness, but her face was so schooled that the
approaching woman didn't catch the faint nuances of expression.

"Hello, Bitsy, how are you?" she
asked politely as John got to his feet. "This is John Rafferty, my
neighbor. John, this is Bitsy Sumner, from
Palm Beach
. We went to college together."

Bitsy's eyes gleamed as she looked at John,
and she held her hand out to him. "I'm so glad to meet you, Mr.
Rafferty."

Michelle knew Bitsy wouldn't pick it up, but
she saw the dark amusement in John's eyes as he gently took the woman's
faultlessly manicured and bejeweled hand in his. Naturally he'd seen the way
Bitsy was looking at
him
. It was a look he'd probably been getting
since puberty.

"Mrs. Sumner," he murmured, noting
the diamond-studded wedding band on her left hand. "Would you like to join
us?"

"Only for a moment," Bitsy sighed,
slipping into the chair he held out "My husband and I are here with some
business associates and their wives. He says it's good business to socialize
with them occasionally, so we flew in this morning. Michelle, dear, I haven't
seen you in so long! What are you doing on this side of the state?"

"I live north of here," Michelle
replied.

"You must come visit. Someone mentioned
just the other day that it had been forever since we'd seen you! We had the
most fantastic party at Howard Cassa's villa last month; you should have
come."

"I have too much work to do, but thank
you for the invitation." She managed to smile at Bitsy, but she understood
that Bitsy hadn't been inviting her to visit them personally; it was just
something that people said, and probably her old acquaintances were curious
about why she had left their circle.

Bitsy shrugged elegantly. "Oh, work,
schmurk. Let someone else take care of it for a month or so. You need to have
some fun! Come to town, and bring Mr. Rafferty with you." Bitsy's gaze
slid back to John, and that unconsciously hungry look crawled into her eyes
again. "You'd enjoy it, Mr. Rafferty, I promise. Everyone needs a break
from work occasionally, don't you think?"

His brows lifted. "Occasionally."

"What sort of business are you in?"

"Cattle. My ranch adjoins
Michelle's."

"Oh, a
rancher!"

Michelle could tell by Bitsy's fatuous smile
that the other woman was lost in the romantic images of cowboys and horses that
so many people associated with ranching, ignoring or simply not imagining the
backbreaking hard work that went in to building a successful ranch. Or maybe it
was the rancher instead of the ranch that made Bitsy look so enraptured. She
was looking at John as if she could eat him alive. Michelle put her hands in
her lap to hide them because she had to clench her fists in order to resist
slapping Bitsy so hard she'd never even think of looking at John Rafferty
again.

Fortunately good manners drove Bitsy back to
her own table after a few moments. John watched her sway through the tangle of
tables, then looked at Michelle with amusement in his eyes. "Who in hell
would call a grown woman
Bitsy?
"

It was hard not to share his amusement.
"I think her real name is
Elizabeth
, so Bitsy is fairly reasonable as a nickname. Of
course, she was the ultimate preppy in college, so it fits.''

"I thought it might be an indication of
her brain power," he said caustically; then the waiter approached to take
their orders, and John turned his attention to the menu.

Michelle could only be grateful that Bitsy
hadn't been able to remain with them. The woman was one of the worst gossips
she'd ever met, and she didn't feel up to hearing the latest dirt on every
acquaintance they had in common. Bitsy's particular circle of friends were
rootless and a little savage in their pursuit of entertainment, and Michelle
had always made an effort to keep her distance from them. It hadn't always been
possible, but at least she had never been drawn into the center of the crowd.

After lunch John asked if she would mind
waiting while he contacted one of his business associates. She started to
protest, then remembered that his men were taking care of the cattle today; she
had no reason to hurry back, and, in truth, she could use the day off. The
physical strain had been telling on her. Besides, this was the most time she'd
ever spent in his company, and she was loathe to see the day end. They weren't
arguing, and if she ignored his arrogant certainty that they were going to
sleep together, the day had really been rather calm. "I don't have to be
back at any certain time," she said, willing to let him decide when they
would return.

As it happened, it was after dark before they
left
Tampa
. John's meeting had taken up more time than he'd
expected, but Michelle hadn't been bored, because he hadn't left her sitting in
the reception area. He'd taken her into the meeting with him, and it had been
so interesting that she hadn't been aware of the hours slipping past. It was
almost six when they finished, and by then John was hungry again; it was
another two hours before they were actually on their way.

Michelle sat beside him, relaxed and a little
drowsy. John had stayed with coffee, because he was driving, but she'd had two
glasses of wine with her meal, and her bones felt mellow. The car was dark,
illuminated only by the dash lights, which gave a satanic cast to his
hard-planed face, and the traffic on U.S. 19 was light. She snuggled down into
the seat, making a comment only when John said something that required an
answer.

Soon they ran into a steady rain, and the
rhythmic motion of the windshield wipers added to her drowsiness. The windows
began to fog, so John turned the air conditioning higher. Michelle sat up, hugging
her arms as the cooler air banished her drowsiness. Her silk dress didn't offer
much warmth. He glanced at her, then pulled to the side of the road.

"Why are we stopping?"

"Because you're cold." He shrugged
out of his suit jacket and draped it around her, enveloping her in the
transferred heat and the smell of his body. "We're almost two hours from
home, so why don't you take a nap? That wine's getting to you, isn't it?"

"Mmmm." The sound of agreement was
distinctly drowsy. John touched her cheek gently, watching as her eyelids
closed, as if her lashes were too heavy for her to hold them open a moment
longer. Let her sleep, he thought. She'd be recovered from the wine by the time
they got home. His loins tightened. He wanted her awake and responsive when he
took her to bed. There was no way he was going to sleep alone tonight. All day
long he'd been fighting the need to touch her, to feel her lying against him.
For ten years she'd been in his mind, and he wanted her. As difficult and
spoiled as she was, he wanted her. Now he understood what made men want to
pamper her, probably from the day she'd been placed in her cradle. He'd just
taken his place in line, and for his reward he'd have her in his bed, her slim,
silky body open for his pleasure. He knew she wanted him; she was resisting him
for some reason he couldn't decipher, perhaps only a woman's instinctive
hesitance.

Michelle usually didn't sleep well. Her
slumber was frequently disturbed by dreams, and she hadn't been able to nap
with even her father anywhere nearby. Her subconscious refused to relax if any
man was in the vicinity. Roger had once attacked her in the middle of the
night, when she'd been soundly asleep, and the trauma of being jerked from a
deep, peaceful sleep into a nightmare of violence had in some ways been worse
than the pain. Now, just before she slept, she realized with faint surprise
that the old uneasiness wasn't there tonight. Perhaps the time had come to heal
that particular hurt, too, or perhaps it was that she felt so unutterably safe
with John. His coat warmed her; his nearness surrounded her. He had touched her
in passion and in anger, but his touch had never brought pain. He tempered his
great strength to handle a woman's softness, and she slept, secure in the
instinctive knowledge that she was safe.

His deep, dark-velvet voice woke her.
"We're home, honey. Put your arms around my neck."

She opened her eyes to see him leaning in the
open door of the car, and she gave him a sleepy smile. "I slept all the
way, didn't I?"