Shameless (4 page)

“Phillip?” she called again just so he wouldn't stomp out into the hall naked.

“Just a minute.”

His deep, sexy baritone sent a shiver down her back, and that was before he stepped out of his bedroom into the hall in skintight, faded jeans that weren't zipped all the way up, rubbing his thick, dark hair with a white towel.

Oh, dear, he looked so good, and she was so grimy. She wished her mouth didn't taste so stale.

He tossed the towel back into his bedroom. She'd forgotten that when his dark hair was wet, it had a tendency to curl.

Her eyes fastened on his brown, muscular chest and flat belly, on the whorls of black hair running up and down his lean frame, before roving hungrily back to his rugged face.

Oh, dear. He'd stayed in shape. But, of course, he would. Phillip had the Marine Corps can-do, will-do, damn-it-to-hell-and-back attitude. He was disciplined, focused. He could make a plan and stick to it.

Not like her, who dreamed and wanted and then sometimes got lost in the day-to-day problems that came with living. Things that needed doing didn't always get done, and things she enjoyed doing were savored instead. She tended to drift and get nowhere or go hysterical and do nothing to solve her problem. She could waste days par
alyzed by a mood. Which was why she'd landed on his doorstep without a dime of her own and looking even cheaper than the first night they'd met.

Some homecoming.

And Phillip? He was as handsome as ever, dangerously so. His mouth was wide and hard, his lower lip as sensuously kissable as ever. Oh, dear, she felt the old familiar ache to press her lips to his. He'd been so good at kissing, too. Too good.

Seven years on the ranch working outside had hardened his face and etched lines beneath his eyes and around his shapely mouth. He looked older, harsher, and yet…and yet he was still her Phillip.

Her
Phillip? Don't be ridiculous!

He hadn't shaved yet, so his square jaw was covered with black bristles that made him look tough and virile and good enough to eat. Used to, he'd let her shave him in the shower before they'd made love.

Quit thinking about “used to.”

When her eyes rose to his, he flushed. She felt her own skin heat when she realized he was staring at her breasts.

“I—I didn't have time to buy new clothes.”

“How come you left Vegas in such a hurry?”

Her eyes widened in blank shock. The last thing she could tell him was the truth. He'd really despise her. Oh, why hadn't she checked into a motel and freshened up? Why hadn't she given herself a day to get her story together, a day to buy clothes and makeup?

Because unlike him, she wasn't a planner. Besides, she'd been too hysterical.

Instantly his silver eyes went opaque, and he met hers unsmilingly as he waited for her answer that didn't come. Suspicious, his carved face was a mask of mili
tary, tough-guy expressionlessness. Not by so much as a flicker of a black eyelash did he reveal that the sight of her in his hall looking weak and helpless and yet sexy and wild in a slinky black gown ripped to the thigh might disturb him.

His hard gaze returned to her breasts. The fact that he couldn't take his eyes off her body made her feel a little better. Even though she felt shyly nervous that he still found her desirable—she still felt better. Which was ridiculous. She wasn't here for sex or love or anything like that. She didn't want him wanting her. She didn't!

Liar.

“I must look a terrible mess,” she said with an air of innocence that was completely false. Idly she fluffed her hair. “You look good,” was all he said. But his voice was bitter.

He stepped into the light and she saw the deep cut on his cheek.

“You're hurt.” She slid across the hall and raised her hand, intending to touch him.

“It's nothing,” he snapped.

Still, she came closer. Before he could move, she had her hand on the hot, rough skin near the ugly wound, her fingers tracing its edges tenderly.

“Oh, Phillip….” There were tears in her voice. “What happened?”

“Don't!”

“Did you go off on some silly mission again?” she asked.

“As if you give a damn— I could've died for all you'd care.”

She had cared, but better not to go there, she thought.

He grabbed her hand, intending to push her away, but
the minute he touched her, she went strangely breathless. So did he.

Their eyes met, locked. On a raw, tortured note he whispered her name and she whispered his back, her voice as tremulous and lost as his.

Then it was as if they were caught in a spell. Some power outside of them and yet a part of them took over. Before she could stop herself, or he could push her away, she flung herself toward his hard, powerful body. Then she was in his arms, hugging him, clinging with a strength she hadn't known she possessed.

She felt so safe in his arms, so safe and protected after being so afraid. She melted against him like a frightened kitten shaping itself into a warm lap.

His skin was hot, so hot, burning up, and he smelled deliciously of shampoo and soap and yet of real man, too. Again, she remembered those long-ago romps in the shower.

“Hold me,” she whispered. “Just hold me. It's been way too long.”

He hesitated. Then he groaned and his arms wrapped her in a fierce embrace.

“How did I ever leave you? How?” she whispered. “How? Oh, Phillip, I thought you were—”

“Don't!”

He stiffened. Beneath her ear, his heart slammed in hard, furious strokes. The violent thudding thrilled her. So he wasn't immune to her any more than she was immune to him. He wasn't.

Not that she cared. Not that she could let herself care. She wanted to be a star. Not some rancher's wife in this hellish desert where it almost never rained unless a hurricane roared across the Gulf. Not the wife of some ex-
Marine who might go away to fight and die. Yet she clung to him and kissed his throat.

The kiss proved to be too much for him. The minute her mouth touched his skin, he let out a savage rasp and pushed her away.

“Don't try that again,” he said hoarsely in his cruelest Marine Corps voice. “Unless you intend to deliver the goods.” His silver eyes stripped her.

“Oh….” She gasped.

He was breathing hard, too.

“Westin, you always wanted me as much as I wanted you, so why does that make me some cheap, sexy tart in your mind?”

“You know the rules. It's not like I made them up.”

“What rules? Oh….” Her heart was pounding so fast she could barely breathe, and not from passion now.

“Men can screw around,” he said. “Women can't.”

“Oh…. I don't… That's a horrible thing to say…in general…and about me. I haven't…”

“You arrive at my doorstep half-naked…in a provocative gown somebody—let's cut the bull, a man probably—tried to tear off you in a bar.”

“That's not what—”

“You throw yourself on me, using every cheap trick in the book, and you expect me to believe…”

“I tore my skirt on a window frame.”

“Sneaking out of some man's bedroom?”

“Think that if you want to! You're as impossible as ever. As pigheaded…as…as… You don't listen. You think you know everything.”

“I know you—Biblically.” He laughed. “You're just the same, too.”

If that remark made her even madder, his next comment was like a torch thrown onto a pool of gasoline.

“I picked you up in a barroom brawl. I should've known what you were like then. But you came on so soft and sweet and helpless, you fooled me.”

“And because of that first night, you think you're better than I am. You always have, and you always will.”

“What if I do?”

“I don't know why I came back here.”

“Let me guess. You're in some kind of a jam. You probably need money.”

“I need a decent job.”

“Ha! Dressed like that?”

“Listen to me…please. Just listen.”

“You thought I'd be easy pickin's, didn't you? Living out here? Alone? No woman? Well, you were right about one thing, honey. I still want you.”

His voice was so hard and filled with hate, she gasped.

“Look at me,” he said.

Unwillingly, she met his shrewd gaze and instantly felt stripped to the marrow. Oh, dear. She was afraid she was transparent as glass.

“You feel the same way. So, do you want to stand here and argue, or would you rather just cut this nonsense, and go to bed? But don't flatter yourself. This isn't about love. It's about sex. And money. I'll pay—” He flung her his sexiest, male grin.

Maybe he was a whole lot cuter, but in some ways he was as bad as Nero and The Pope!

But he was her last chance! She clenched her fists and bit her tongue until it bled. Killers, real killers, were after her. She had to focus on why she'd come to see this impossible man she'd once been so foolish to love. Her fury made it hard to remember that besides being an egotistical, macho, oversexed idiot, Westin had a good, dependable, fierce side, too.

Pursuing this particular battle to its conclusion wasn't smart. After all, she had a plan this time. Somehow she had to convince him to help her get a real job. For once, she had to be smart and stick to her plan.

He broke the silence by laughing at her again. “There's no reason to play hard to get, honey. The sooner you go to bed with me, the sooner you get what you really want.”

She lifted her chin. His dark gaze made a connection that was way too powerful.

“So I amuse you?” she whispered. “The man I used to know helped people when they came to him in trouble. He didn't insult them and laugh at them and try to take advantage of them…sexually—”

“You conniving— Why are you really here? What do you really want?” he growled.

If only he'd stop looking at her like that. Her heart was still pounding. “Like I said, I need a decent job, a place to live,” she persisted.

“Decent?” He wasn't touching her, but his eyes pulled her erotically.

“Is that so hard to believe?” she whispered.

“Simple ambitions for a woman like you. Used to, you wanted fame and fortune.”

“Was that really so terrible, Phillip?”

“Do you still want to be a country-western star?”

She wasn't about to admit her dreams to him. In his awful mood, he'd just laugh at her again.

She notched her chin higher. “Would it make you happy to know I've had a few hard knocks and learned a few lessons?”

“Then? What do you want?”

In spite of herself, just being near him made her feel a deep aching need.

“You know people. Maybe you could get me on at the Lone Star Country Club. As a singer. Or even a hostess or a waitress. I need a job.”

“You want a job? I'll give you a job.”

“I won't go to bed with you for money! And that's final!” Her shaky voice probably gave her away. Was it just chemistry that pulled her to him?

“I need a housekeeper,” he stated flatly.

“I don't believe that's what you really—”

“Hear me out. You played Cinderella in all those foster homes. You can live here and do the same for me.”

“I don't think it's such a good idea—the two of us living here. Not when you just suggested we go to bed in such a sordid—”

“Don't act like you deserve better. Take it or leave it.”

“You didn't used to be this hard,” she said softly.

“Maybe I suffered a few hard knocks of my own. I nearly died in the Middle East.”

“Oh, Phillip—” Her voice broke.

“Then I came home to marry the woman I loved. Only she'd run off with another man.”

His gaze stayed on her face for a long, searching moment.

“I didn't run off with Johnny. It wasn't that way at all and you know it.”

“No, I don't know it. How was it, then?”

“You wouldn't listen then.”

“You were gone. That's all I know.”

“Yes….” She cleared her throat. “And…and I'm sorry if I hurt you.”

“You didn't— I don't give a damn about you anymore—understand.”

He looked away and she suddenly realized how profoundly she'd hurt him.

“Oh, Phillip—”

He'd cared too much. That's why he hadn't come after her. She'd been so caught up in her own dreams and pain and self-doubt, so sure she'd had to prove herself to him, she hadn't really thought that someone as tough as he was might be as vulnerable and needy as she was. Well, it was too late now. He was hard and cold, and so set against her he was treating her as though she was some trashy stranger.

“What really happened to your face?” she whispered.

“I had an accident. I wasn't wearing a seat belt.”

“You should be more careful.”

“You gonna stay here and take care of me?”

“Not a good idea. I'm beginning to see we weren't really very good for each other.”

“Yet you've come back?”

“Big mistake. I'll go. Forget I ever came….”

He didn't try to stop her when she turned to leave. At the door, she picked up her guitar, which felt as heavy as lead. As soon as she stepped off his front porch into the sun, she realized she was in the middle of nowhere. The sun was so hot, it felt about an inch off her bare shoulders. She felt weak and tired, so tired. So helpless and so hopeless.

With her turned ankle, she'd never be able to walk all the way back to town. Juan was nowhere in sight.

“How the hell do you think you'll get to town?”

She stiffened. No way was she going to beg. “I'll find Juan. He'll give me a ride back to town.”

“He's out back.”

When she headed out to the barn, she saw the buzzards, which meant there had to be a dead animal out in
the pasture. Curious, she let herself through a gate to check on whatever was wrong.