World's Most Eligible Texan (12 page)

He searched his own feelings for her. Was it sex as she accused? He tried to study his feelings impartially, tried to sort out what he felt from what his body desired. And the more he thought about it and considered and remembered, the more he determined that he was deeply, irrevocably in love with his West Texas lady.

“Lady, I love you,” he whispered into the darkness, turning to look at the door and thinking about her in the next bedroom.

He did love her. The more he searched his feelings, the more certain he became. He was head over heels, unable to get her out of his thoughts, heart-pounding in love with her. She filled this great aching emptiness in him that had grown worse the past couple of years. When he was around her, his life had purpose. Even now, with all the disagreements and turmoil between them, he didn't have that chilling desolation that filled him most of the time in the recent past. And she was so much that he admired—good with children, intelligent, sexy, caring, fun.

She would have to come to realize the depth of his feelings for her. He thought about five years from now, ten years—and he knew if it was five or a lifetime, she was truly the woman for him.

“I really love you with a love that's bigger than Texas, and, whether you let me show you or not, my love will last,” he said in the darkness, and his resolve to convince her of his feelings grew.

Their first and only night together, he had taken her virginity and gotten her pregnant. From what all his friends had told him about her, she had never really dated anyone. Which meant she had never really been courted by anyone. She deserved that much. He sat up, thinking about what he could do and mapping out his plans just as he had mapped out every important move in his life.

He switched on a light and moved to his desk to jot down things he wanted to do first thing in the morning. When he was back in bed in the dark, he mulled over everything that had happened and he looked again at the closed bedroom door, thinking about her so near and yet so impossibly far. “You're my lady, and I'm not letting you and our baby go out of my life. I love you, Pamela,” he said, and searched his own feelings. Would he feel the same if there were no baby?

He realized that that was the critical question. He had to get all thoughts of their baby out of his mind and look at his emotions and feelings. For the next half hour he lay in the dark, mulling over every moment with her, all his feelings, his longings. What would he feel if she wasn't pregnant?

His conclusion was the same. The more he was around her, the more he was certain he truly loved her, and the more he wanted her. No woman had ever had that effect on him. And first thing in the morning he would try to show her every way possible how much she meant to him.

He slept little and was up so early, he dressed in sweats and jogged, circling his block for half an hour so he would never be far from the house and watching to see if he could spot anyone lurking in the area. He returned, showered, dressed in jeans and a wool shirt and saw that her bedroom door was still closed. He paused beside it and didn't hear a sound, so guessed she was sleeping. Taunting images of silky long legs and luscious curves floated in his mind and, without thinking, his hand closed around the doorknob. Reluctantly, he released the knob, turned and went downstairs to start breakfast, wondering what she could eat that wouldn't cause morning sickness. It was still early, but his housekeeper usually arrived at half-past six, so he called her and made arrangements for her to come only once a week. He called the family cook with the same instructions. He wanted Pamela to himself as much as possible.

The moment the clock struck half-past seven he called the local florist at home. Since the turn of the century, the Handleys had been in the flower business in Royal, and Aaron had
gone to school with Rufus Handley who ran the Handley Floral Shop now. In minutes he had ordered three dozen red roses to be delivered today.

Impatiently, he waited until eight and then made more calls while he moved around the kitchen finishing breakfast preparations.

“Good morning,” Pamela said.

He turned and his insides clenched. She wore his robe and was barefoot, her skin glowing and her hair still damp. He dropped whatever he was holding, unaware of what he was doing except moving toward her. He couldn't resist going to her. He had to touch and hold her and he knew he was absolutely, irrevocably in love with her.

I
mmobilized by the intensity of his gaze, Pamela could barely catch her breath and every thought flew out of her mind. He narrowed the space between them and a thrill curled down through her to the center of her being. There was no question he desired her, but there was a quality of something else in his expression—tenderness? Love?

It couldn't be, she reminded herself, but her pulse raced as he closed the distance and his arm went around her to pull her against him.

“Oh, Aaron, don't do this to us. It—”

There were no more words because his mouth covered hers, and he kissed her long and deep with a soul-searching passion. His hands moved beneath the robe and T-shirt until she caught his wrists and leaned away.

“Aaron, don't keep doing this to us!” she pleaded again, gasping for breath, trying to do what she knew she should do.

“I love you.”

“Shh. Stop saying words you didn't say until you knew you should marry me!”

He framed her face with his hands. “I love you and I won't stop saying it because it's true. I was awake hours last night, and I searched my feelings.”

“Stop saying things you don't really mean, or I'm moving out of your house. I have a friend in Midland and—”

“I'll stop,” he interrupted grimly. “You stay right here at my house where it's safe.”

She caught a whiff of an acrid smell. Smoke curled over the burners and a dreadful smell assaulted her, sending her stomach rolling.

“Something's burning!” As her stomach heaved, she fled. She heard swearing behind her and a clatter of utensils. She hoped he hadn't set his house on fire, but she had to run for the bathroom.

Nauseated, embarrassed again, and unable to stop thinking about the past few moments, she rushed to a downstairs bathroom. After her stomach stopped heaving, she took a clean washcloth from the linen cabinet and sponged her face with cold water.

No man had ever looked at her the way Aaron had. Just the memory heated her and took her breath. In agony, she closed her eyes and placed her fist against her heart. Why was he making this so difficult!

“Get out of his house,” she told herself, but then she remembered her trashed apartment and knew she couldn't go back to it. Her stomach settled, and she belted her robe and went back to the kitchen, promising herself that she would resist him. Embarrassed by her morning sickness, she entered the kitchen cautiously. The smells had gone; a fan whirred softly above the burners, and Aaron had his back to her as he reached into the refrigerator.

Watching him, she looked at his thick brown hair, her gaze drifting down across his broad shoulders, sliding lower to his narrow waist and slim hips. He wore faded jeans and once again looked like a lot of local cowboys except that he was
Aaron. There was no way she could ever look at him and see Aaron as an ordinary man. Not once, not from that first moment of looking into his eyes across the Texas Cattleman's Club ballroom, had she ever been able to view him with the same objective manner she did all other men. And she knew she never would.

As if he sensed she was there, he turned. He held a pitcher of orange juice and he studied her. “All right now?” he asked gently.

“Yes. You're very nice about my morning sickness. I'd think it would send most guys running.”

He shoved the refrigerator door shut and shrugged. “I grew up on a ranch and you see a lot of things. Birth, death, mating, fighting—it's all there and it's part of living. Sure you're all right now?”

“I'm fine. Did you burn something?”

“Yes, but fortunately, it was contained in a skillet. I tried to get all of the smells out of the room. Now, what can you eat?”

“Actually, that orange juice looks good. Sometimes this hits and then it passes and then other times, I can't eat anything until afternoon. And sometimes food looks so good, I eat and then I lose it.”

“Come sit down and try out my cooking,” he said, smiling with a flash of white teeth, and once again becoming his irresistible, irrepressible self.

The round oak table was set and looked inviting with cheerful bright blue place mats and colorful china. She took a tentative sip of her orange juice, aware of Aaron seated across the table from her and watching her with a faint smile.

“What do you have to do today?” he asked.

“I have an appointment with the obstetrician. I told his nurse about my morning sickness, but I don't think he can do much for it. My appointment is at eleven. Then I'll go to my apartment and see what I can do there.”

Aaron shook his head. “I'll take you to the doctor's, and then we can have lunch together. I hired a cleaning crew to
work on your apartment as soon as the police will let anyone go back inside.”

She lowered the glass of cold juice to the table and memories swirled in her mind of gifts men showered on her mother and her and how much she had hated having to accept them.

“Aaron, I don't want you to hire someone to clean my apartment. You don't have to do things like that for me.” She knew she was overreacting, but she was too conscious of being pregnant and unwed, too conscious of Dr. Woodbury's reaction that lumped her together with her mother. “I don't want you to do that for me,” she snapped.

His smile vanished and he studied her, reaching across the table to take her hand. She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly.

“What is it?” he asked. “You're not giving me a polite ‘oh, you shouldn't have' objection. I've upset you, but why? What is it?”

“I can take care of myself,” she said stiffly, withdrawing her hand from his.

With a scrape, he pushed back his chair and came around the table. She watched him as he paused beside her and held out his hand. “Come here.”

“Aaron, we'll end up in each other's arms and at a stalemate.”

“I just want to talk. I think we need to talk because I don't understand why you're upset.”

When she stood, he picked her up, sitting in her chair and holding her on his lap. Her heart raced as she looked into his eyes. She was only inches from him and could smell his aftershave, see his clean-shaven jaw that was smooth and tan. His lashes were unbelievably thick and gave him sexy, bedroom eyes that were irresistible.

“I don't think this is a good way to have a reasonable discussion,” she said, barely able to get her breath, too conscious of him to think straight.

“I think it's the best way,” he said easily as if they were in an office and seated across the room from each other. He
seemed undisturbed by her closeness until she looked into his eyes, and the longing she saw there was unmistakable. “My hiring help for you really disturbs you. Why?”

“I can take care of my apartment. I'm used to taking care of myself. I took care of my mother all the last years of her life and I was only in high school. I don't want you doing things like that for me.”

Aaron pushed locks of her hair away from her face, tucking them behind her ear and letting his fingers trail over her ear. “I want to do things like that for you. Please let me.”

She shook her head, not trusting her voice to speak. She thought of how much like her mother she had been, tumbling into bed with Aaron the first night she met him.

“Mellie,” he said softly. “That's a good nickname. I'll commandeer that from the little girls. What's bothering you?”

“Nothing,” she replied stiffly, aware when he drawled the nickname it sounded infinitely more personal than when it was said by the children.

“Good, then you'll let me do these things for you.”

“No, I won't!” she answered fiercely. “I'll be just like my mother, sleeping with someone and then taking gifts—” She bit her lip and looked away.

“Ahh, here's what's disturbing you,” he said so gently her insides wrenched. “You're not like your mother. No one could possibly think that.”

“Yes, they could. Dr. Woodbury did the moment he found out I was pregnant.”

“Then I'm damn glad you have another doctor,” Aaron said, his green eyes turning cold. “And it might have been your imagination. Darlin', I've talked to guys I know here. Your reputation is impeccable.”

“When they find out that I'm pregnant, they'll just see my mother in me. That sterling reputation will be tarnished forever,” She locked her fingers together in her lap while painful memories taunted her. “Aaron, the men that came to our house…they would bring presents to her. They gave her all kinds of gifts. And they brought gifts to me to try to please
her, and when I was small, she made me accept them.” She met his gaze and couldn't keep the anguish out of her voice, while hating herself for spilling so much of what she had always kept hidden. “That's where I got money for my clothes. That's how we got our furniture. That's where she got her cars. Kids would tell me she was the town tramp, and they were right. But now that's all people will think of when my pregnancy shows.” As old hurts welled up in her, her throat burned while she struggled with her emotions. “The first time you looked at me, I just fell into your arms and into your bed. Everyone will compare me to her and say I'm like her. I don't want your gifts!”

She started to get up, but his arms wrapped around her and he held her. “No, they won't,” he answered firmly.

“Let me go, Aaron. I've lived with this. I've lived with them calling my mother all kinds of ugly names and calling me trash and such.”

“That was a long time ago. You haven't heard anyone call you a name since you've grown up, have you?”

She didn't want to look at him. Embarrassment flooded her and she just wanted to be gone, out of his scrutiny, out of temptation, back to the security of her quiet life.

He put his finger beneath her chin and turned her to face him. “That was a long time ago and I'm not giving you gifts in payment for sex. I'm doing the things I want to do for my lady, the love of my heart.”

“Aaron, stop it. If I married you, you know what your family would think. They'd think I trapped you into it.” She wiped furiously at tears that brimmed over and spilled down her cheeks. “I can't control anything with you. Too many times now you've seen me at my worst.”

“And the worst looks pretty damn good to me,” he said quietly, giving another wrench to her heart.

“Stop being so adorable!” she cried, wriggling to get off his lap.

His arms tightened, holding her against him. “I want to do things for you, and wanting to doesn't have anything to do
with that night. Now let me. Guys all over the world do things they want to do for women in their lives. Let me do what I want for you. And I want you always to know that it's because I love you and not because we went to bed together.”

“I don't believe it.”

“Just give me a chance here. We haven't had sex since that first night. If having sex was why I want to shower you with things, do you think I'd continue? Of course, I wouldn't.”

“Aaron, the smooth-talking diplomat in you is showing,” she said, knowing she was going to give in, yet suddenly feeling better. “Everyone will think I'm like her.”

“No, they won't. For them to think bad things about you, there will have to be
men
in your life. Not just one particular man who wants to marry you. Believe me, you have a reputation for being very cool and collected.” He stroked her face lightly with his fingers and his voice was so tender, she knew some of her hurts were vanishing.

“Maybe I'm too sensitive about it, but I've spent most of my life struggling with insults and men making passes and being ostracized.”

“Oh, damn, darlin', I wish I could take away the hurt, but that was a long time ago and it has nothing to do with us.”

“I can't turn hurts from my past off, Aaron.”

“I know you can't. But what I feel and do has nothing to do with what happened when you were growing up.” He stroked her head, running his fingers through her hair while he held her close. Touching the strong column of his throat, still aware of his arm holding her tightly, she took his hand to hold it in hers.

“I've never told anyone all that.”

“I'm glad you told me. I've never told anyone how purposeless my life has become the past few years. But the desolation is gone when I'm with you.”

She searched his thickly lashed green eyes, and he met her gaze squarely. “When I think about your lifestyle,” she whispered, “I just can't believe you don't have everything you
could possibly want. And I can't believe I give meaning to your life.”

“I'll show you, lady. This is one Texan who knows what he wants, and I'm going to try to make it clear to you just how deep my feelings run. They're bigger than Texas, stronger than the Texas wind, as lasting as that hard-packed West Texas ground. I love you, Pamela Miles, and that's the only reason for the gifts from me.”

Golden and warm, his words washed over her, melting away her hurts, and she wanted to believe them. For the moment she did. She couldn't resist him.

“You sweet-talkin' charmer,” she whispered, and wound her arms around his neck, and knew he had won another round as she leaned forward to place her lips on his. She saw the one second of surprise that widened his eyes, and then his arm tightened around her, and he leaned over her to kiss her. His hand stroked her back and he wound his fingers through her hair, kissing her until she was gasping for breath and her hands were all over him. He was aroused; there was no mistaking he wanted her. And she wanted him, but she knew she shouldn't.

Aaron was the one who raised his head and shifted her away. “I want you.” He ground out the words in a husky voice. “And you're going to be mine, but it isn't because of sex that I want to do things for you.” He scooted her off his lap.

Standing, she pulled her robe together and realized he had stopped kissing her to try to prove to her his feelings weren't driven by sex. She suffered another twist to her heart.