Rawhide and Lace (9 page)

She held him by the arms and actually shook him. "The car came at me around a curve, head on," she said, frustrated into telling him the truth about the wreck. "Nobody could have avoided it, upset or not!"

He watched her without speaking for a long moment. "Is that the truth?"

"Yes! And it was in New York State, just minutes from home, Ty. I could have been driving out of the city to an assignment and had it happen." She held his eyes with her own, adding slowly, "You didn't cause it."

He shook his head and smiled grimly. "Didn't I?" He took a slow breath and seemed to notice her hands for the first time. "Would you have had the baby?"

"Of course," she said without thinking.

He reached out and touched her cheek where the hairline scar ran just beside her ear. "Someone would have told me, eventually," he said quietly. "I'd have come to you. I'd have married you."

"What kind of life would that have been?" she asked sadly, searching the hard lines of his face. "You'd never have accepted what I did for a living, or even the way I was. You didn't want a butterfly-you even said so. And modeling was my whole life. I loved it; I loved the bright lights and the people and the delight of showing off pretty clothes." The smile that had animated her face faded as she remembered the wreck. "I lost all that. I can't go back to it, not like this. I can learn another kind of work, but nothing will ever replace modeling." Except you, she wanted to say. But she couldn't. She couldn't lower her pride enough to tell him that living with him and being loved by him would have been more than enough recompense for the career she'd lost.

She turned back toward the sofa, stumbling a little.

"Oh, damn this leg!" she burst out, near tears.

"If you don't like it, suppose you fix it," he said. "Exercise it, like the doctor told you. If you want your career back, earn it!"

She couldn't know that her remark about her career had caught him on the raw, that he was hurting because she'd as much as told him that he didn't matter. He deserved it, he knew he did, but it cut all the same.

"Okay," she told him defiantly. "I will!"

He smiled. "Good. Now go get on something you can exercise in and I'll coach you. We can have coffee later."

She hobbled down the hall to her room without a backward glance. And she told herself she hated him more than ever.

The first session was more painful than she'd anticipated. She did the exercises described on the sheet, with Ty looming over her, demanding more than she thought she was capable of.

"You can push harder than that, for God's sake," he said when she slackened.

"I'm not a man!"

He looked pointedly at her firm, full breasts under the revealing fabric of her body leotard, and a faint smile touched his mouth. "I'll drink to that."

"Stop looking at me there," she told him haughtily.

"Wear a bra next time," he countered, watching her from his armchair as she stretched on the carpet. "I can't help it if I get disturbed by hard nipples."

She gasped, flushed, and sat up in one sharp movement. "Tyson!" she burst out.

His eyebrows arched, and he looked as hopelessly the dominant male as any movie sex symbol. "Why the red-rose blush, honey?" he asked innocently. "Or don't you remember that you had sex with me on this very carpet?"

"Oh, I hate you!" she cried, eyes flaring, cheeks flaming, hair disordered and wild around her oval face. The leotard emphasized her thinness, but it also lovingly outlined a body so exquisite that lingerie companies had bid for her services as a model.

"No you don't; you just hate sex," he replied. "And that's my fault. But one of these days, I may change your mind about that."

"Hold your breath," she challenged.

"Daring me, Erin?" he asked, and his smile held shades of meaning as his silver eyes glittered over her body.

Watching those eyes, she began to tingle from head to toe. Her hip was throbbing, but she felt reckless all the same. She wanted to wipe that arrogant smile off his face. She wanted to make him vulnerable, wanted to watch the walls come down.

She arched her back, just a little, just enough to make the hard tips of her breasts blatantly visible. "Maybe I am," she whispered huskily. "So what are you going to do about it, cattle king?"

He was smoking a cigarette, but at her words he deliberately crushed it out in the ashtray. "I hope your hip's up to some additional exercise," he drawled.

And with a movement so fast it blurred, he slid down over her body and pinned her there, arching above her with one lean, muscular leg thrown heavily over both of hers.

"Okay, honey, now what do we do?" he said softly. "Is this what you had in mind?" And looking down, he blatantly slid one lean hand directly over a full breast, cupping it.

She felt her breath catch. Watching him earlier-and now-a lot of things were becoming clear to her. The way he'd been in the car, hungry but not practiced; the way he was cupping her now, blatantly, without any preliminaries: she had a deep hunch that he knew less about women than he was pretending to. Male pride obviously ran deep. Well, two could play at this game. She didn't know a lot, either, but she'd heard women talk....

"Not like that," she whispered, lifting his hand. "Like...this."

She showed him how to trace the softness, to tease the tip until her body stiffened and trembled with the need to be touched. She drew his fingers against her until he understood and began to do it without coaching.

"You like it that way?" he asked under his breath, searching her eyes for an instant before they went back to the softness of her body under his hand.

"Yes," she whispered shakily. "It arouses me."

His breath shuddered out of him. He could hardly believe it, that she was willing to show him what she liked, that she wasn't complaining about his lack of finesse or laughing at him. All at once he wondered if Bruce had been lying after all, about that. She didn't seem the kind of woman to laugh at inexperience...especially now.

"What else do you like?" he asked huskily.

It was like drinking wine. She felt drunk on him. Her hip was forgotten, every other thought drained away. She was woman enticing man. She was a siren trapping a sailor, giddy with her own power.

Her hands eased up to the shoulders of the leotard, and, holding his fascinated gaze, she drew it down and bared her taut breasts.

"Oh, God..." He shuddered as he saw their creamy fullness, the dark mauve points lifting gracefully toward him. "Oh, God, you're beautiful, baby...!"

She felt beautiful. She felt achingly hungry as well. She reached up with trembling hands to take his hard face and draw it toward her body.

"What do you want?" he whispered, frowning.

"I want you to put your lips...here." She touched her breasts lightly, caressing their swollen peaks.

He stopped breathing. "On your breasts?" he asked hesitantly. "I won't hurt them?"

She felt the smile in her eyes as she shook her head. "Oh, no," she promised. "You won't hurt them."

He eased his hands under her bare back to lift her, bending over her in spite of his reservations. But her body had a scent like roses, and when he touched his mouth to the curve of her soft breast, she stiffened and began to tremble like a rain-tossed leaf.

More confident now, he began to draw his lips around the very tip of her breast. And when that made her moan softly, he opened his mouth and took the nipple inside, warming it with his tongue. She cried out then, and just as he thought he'd hurt her and tried to move away, her hands dug into the nape of his neck and she arched her soft body up to him with a tiny whimpered plea.

He groaned himself at the surge of pleasure it gave him to know that she was enjoying it, too. His hands smoothed down her rib cage, savoring her warm, silky skin while his mouth fed on the unexpected sweetness of her breasts.

When he lifted his head, her expression shocked and delighted him. Her eyes were half closed, watching him, her lips parted over pearly teeth. Her face was alive with color, her hands caressing the hard muscle of his chest.

"Could you take off your shirt?" she asked drowsily.

He couldn't take it off fast enough, in fact. His hands fumbled because he was aroused-as he hadn't been since that night with her. But that night was nothing like this. He was on fire. Burning up.

He ripped off the shirt and shuddered a little with pride as her eyes ran over him with blatant appreciation. She reached up hesitantly, smoothing over the thick mat of hair that covered the warm, bronzed muscles, and at her touch he felt his heart running wild.

She lifted herself up gracefully and kneeled in front of him. Her eyes traced his torso, and she seemed to sway toward him. She dug her nails into his muscular arms and leaned a little against him, drawing the very tips of her breasts softly, abrasively, against the hardness of his chest.

He shuddered violently. "Erin!" he gasped.

"Oh, Ty..." It was as much a moan as a whisper. She put her mouth on his and kissed him hungrily, feeling his arms come around her, crushing her, trembling as they fit her exquisitely to the contours of his chest. The hair was cushy and thick, and she liked the feel of it against her soft breasts. She could feel his heartbeat shaking both of them. It was so sweet. So sweet...

The sudden intrusion of a knock on the front door made her almost sick with mingled frustration and shock.

She jerked back. He looked as dazed as she felt. He looked at her one last time and cursed under his breath as he helped her back into the leotard.

He got to his feet gracefully and was just shouldering into his shirt when they heard footsteps echoing down the hall. Erin looked toward the door-and realized they'd both forgotten to close it!

"I used to be levelheaded before you came along," Ty muttered, glaring at her as he fastened buttons. "My God, with the door standing wide open...! You little siren," he breathed, his eyes warm with memories as they held hers. "God, that was sweet!"

"Well, you're helping me get back on my feet," she murmured demurely. "I thought the least I could do was divert you a little."

"That was more seduction than diversion," he replied. He reached down a hand to help her up. But instead of letting her go, he held her just in front of him. "Erin, we've got to do something about this," he said solemnly. "You knock me off balance pretty bad. I could lose control, now more than ever. I...don't want to make you pregnant by accident." The thought seemed to torture him; his face hardened into grim lines, his eyes grew dark.

"I'm sorry," Erin said quietly. "I won't do it again. I don't know what got into me, Ty..."

"No," he whispered, touching her mouth with his forefinger. "No, don't apologize for it. You made me feel like a man again, like a whole man...." He hesitated uncharacteristically. "I want you." He said it in a whisper, as if it were some terrible secret.

She drew in a slow breath. "I know." She dropped her eyes to his chest. She could have said the same thing, but she was afraid to give him that kind of power over her. His hands gripped her arms painfully hard just as Jose came to the door.

"Senor, it is the foreman, Senor Grandy. A wild dog has brought down a calf. He says it is the same dog as before, that of Senor Jessup."

"Damn," Ty muttered. Instantly he was the powerful cattle baron again, cold, relentless, indomitable; a formidable adversary. And a stranger. "Get my .30-.30 and bring me a box of ammunition," he ordered Jose. "And tell Grandy to wait for me. Call Ed Johnson while I'm gone and tell him the situation. I may have a court suit over this."