Shameless (11 page)

“Here we go again. I was in trouble, okay? I did the smart thing and left.”

He shot her a contemptuous look. “Can you be more specific?”

“It's all over now.”

“All over? So why did the bastard call you?”

“So why does it matter so much to you?”

“Maybe because you matter to me.” He paused. “Your friend, or whatever he is, sounded scared. I want to know why. Are you in danger?”

“Why don't you worry about your cows and gunrunners?”

“Are you in danger?”

“No,” she lied. “I fired him, okay? And he's the last thing from a friend. I was young and trusting and naive in a word—stupid. He's a snake and a con artist and an out-of-control gambler. He used me. He was no good.”

“I'm glad you figured that one out.”

“Can we talk about something besides that human rat who can't resist a pair of hot dice?”

“Like what?”

“Like those dead cows and what happened in Mezcaya?”

“Maybe I didn't want to worry you.”

“Maybe I don't want to worry you, either,” she said softly.

“That's different. I don't need protecting.”

“Always, always Mr. Big, Tough Hero? Get real, Phillip. Mercado said you nearly died in Mezcaya. You're human, you know. Bullets don't bounce off you any more than they bounced off those two dead cows of yours.” She paused. “I know what it's like to lose someone—”

“And you think I don't—” Phillip snapped. He sucked in a savage breath. “Your friend—I mean, the human rat sounded scared. Real scared.”

“Whatever it is, it's his problem.”

Phillip rolled up his window and turned off the radio. “Is it?”

She bit her lip and swallowed. “I'm not going to discuss this…until I'm ready.”

“When will that be?”

“I don't know, okay?”

He sighed. “Okay.”

They drove in silence for a while. Her muscles felt so tense, she ached all over.

It was one of those perfect summer mornings in south Texas. The big sky was blue and so bright she couldn't look at it without blinking, but the heat made everything hazy around the edges, especially at the horizon. A buck and a doe sprang across the road. The southeasterly breezes were playing in the oak and mesquite. Pastures stretched endlessly.

It was such wide-open country that it made their quarrel seem small and insignificant. Gradually, she began to relax.

At exactly the same moment they turned, their eyes locking on each other's faces.

“I—I…”

They both spoke in unison.

“It's beautiful out here,” she said.

“Yes.”

Before she thought, she smiled at him. To her surprise, his expression softened. When his gaze fell to her lips, her heartbeat came to a shattering halt.

“I've been pretty awful to you this past week,” he said, leaning closer.

“Watch the road,” she whispered.

“I'm sorry, Celeste.”

“An apology?” Another awkward stillness descended upon both of them. “I—I can't believe I'm hearing this.”

When his eyes seared her face, she felt an even greater connection.

“Neither the hell can I. Do you have any idea what surrendering costs me?”

She sighed deeply. She knew that tone. A jolt of sheer excitement lit every nerve in her body. Her heart drummed in her ears.

He concentrated on the road again.

“I'm sorry, too,” she finally admitted in a rush of elation.

“I've gotta pull over, woman,” he growled.

He swerved to a standstill under the deep dark shade of a spreading live oak. He took his time shutting off the engine. As his brown hand fiddled with the ignition, Celeste thought she'd never been so aware of a man.

“You found the only shady place for miles,” she said.

“I want to drive home and strip you naked.”

A foolish tingle shivered down her spine. The last of her self-control dissolved. “I've got an even sexier idea—”

“If it's better than mine, I can't wait to hear it.”

She darted a quick, shy glance at him. When she whispered it in his ear, he laughed. In that instant their quar
rel was over. Even before the whorls of dust settled on the cacti and huisache, even before he unfastened her seat belt and pulled her into his lap, it was as if she had slipped out of her skin and into his and they were already one.

His gaze both tender and fierce, he stared at her face silently until everything inside her went still. She ran a fingertip down the length of his aquiline nose. Then she pushed a lock of dark hair from his dirty brow. All she could hear was his breath coming quick and rasping and her own heart beating like a savage tattoo.

“You shouldn't work so hard,” she whispered.

When she moved, his eyes fell to her nipples that thrust against her T-shirt.

A little clock on the dash ticked. The sunlight shone on his carved cheek and black lashes. He was beautiful, hard, masculine and dangerously virile. And he was hers, all hers.

No…

“You have sissy eyelashes,” she whispered as he grinned and brushed his calloused fingers through her hair. “You're not the first girl to say that, so don't get yourself all conceited.”

“Trying to make me jealous?”

He chuckled. “I'll make it up to you later.” Then he batted his long lashes at her.

A jolt of desire swept through her. Catching her breath, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his. “Oh, Phillip—”

The week of doing without made it impossible for a girl with her raging hormones to play hard to get. Even before he kissed her, even before he drove home and
stripped her, she could already smell and taste the sex that was to come. She couldn't wait.

He tongued her lower lip and every nerve ending in her body caught fire. She melted into him.

He laughed. He knew her that well. He knew her every thought and base desire and reveled in them.

“No goody-goody church girl for me,” he whispered eagerly, his eyes darkening.

A slow flush heated her cheeks, and he grinned.

“Oh, dear, you're so gorgeous,” she said too breathlessly.

“So are you.”

“What do you say we do something about these warm feelings—”

She hugged him. He felt so good, so warm and hard and muscular. And she felt so safe and adored.

A great tenderness welled in her heart as her soul rushed to his. Oh, dear. Not even her music was this essential. It was scary to surrender who she was to anybody, even to Phillip, even in the name of love.

“Do you want to go back to the house or do you want to do it here?” she whispered. “I can't wait much longer.”

“A church girl wouldn't say that unless all the lights were out.”

She cleared her throat and began to unbutton his shirt.

“I'll start the truck,” he rasped thickly when she got to the third button.

“Scared you, didn't I?” she giggled. “You thought I'd really do it out here on the highway, didn't you?”

He laughed. “Wouldn't you?”

It was her turn to laugh. No sooner were they home and inside the front door, than he locked it and started to strip her. When they were both naked, she flung her
self into his arms, jumped up, and circled his waist with her legs. He caught her and strutted around the house like a triumphant warrior striding home with his booty.

They never made it to the bedroom. In the hall he sank with her to the floor and kissed her, every part of her, his tongue filling her mouth and then her navel and other moist, intimate places, too, while his hands roamed. She lay still and let him do as he pleased.

When he was done he buried himself to the hilt. Then his huge, muscular body was rising and falling, carrying her with him to heights she'd never glimpsed, never dreamed were possible, and then both of them surrendered to an utter animal wildness that had her sobbing and shaking long after it was over. All the loneliness of their lives dissolved in the blistering explosions that came too quickly and yet seemed to go on and on. In the glorious aftermath she felt bathed in his love and secure; secure, and safe for the first time in her life. She was so happy, she began to cry, but he kissed away her tears and said things to make her laugh.

Afterward, when he helped her up and led her to his bed, he made time for gentle touches and tender words, but she knew that it was the shattering violence in the hall more than her tears or the sweetness in his bed that had wedded her soul to his.

Always, always she would be his no matter how she might dream of other roads to travel, no matter how much she might wish to deny it when her music carried her far away.

P
hillip bathed Celeste's face, which was still hot and flushed from their lovemaking. Squeezing out the sponge, he dribbled it over her breasts and golden hair. She was reclining in the bathtub which was ringed with dozens of low candles she'd lit to give the room a warm, cozy glow. She looked so beautiful, he could have stared at her forever.

“Who are you? Who are you running from?” he murmured, setting the sponge down on the side of the tub.

There was a long silence as she stared into the flickering glow of the candles.

She took a deep breath. “I can't even walk much less run.”

He encircled her wrists with his big brown hands. “Will you stay here forever…with me?”

As he gazed into her eyes, the pulse in her throat ticked nervously. “Does my answer matter to you so
much? We have this moment. Now. It seems scary to pin everything down Marine-fashion.”

Marine-fashion? What the hell did she mean by that? It required immense control to keep his voice level. He was used to being in charge, to mapping out strategies and seeing them through. Her temperament was more whimsical and artistic. It was the best thing and the worst thing about her.

“What about marriage…children?” he asked.

“I never had a real home. I can't imagine what all that would be like or if I'd be capable of being a good wife and mother.”

“Frankly, I don't know much about happy homes or happy marriages, either. We'd have to take it a day at a time, make it happen. We could do it, Celeste. I know we could…but we've got to try.”

“You want this perfect housewife.”

“I used to think so.” He gazed at her. “You've taught me a lot about what I want.”

“Ready for another lesson in love, Mr. Big, Tough Marine?” Her voice was soft and a little breathless.

He knew the conversation was making her uncomfortable, so she was seducing him. He should stop her. But it didn't matter what his logical mind knew. A few flicks of her talented fingertips drifting down the flat plain of his stomach and then stroking between his legs was all it took to unleash a floodtide of desire. A few teasing kisses in all the right places had him groaning out loud and begging for more. A few more kisses with a lot of tongue had him grabbing her by the waist and hauling her out of the tub to his bed.

Her skin was steamy warm from the tub, her breath soft and uneven as she lay beneath him, her golden hair fanning out upon the pillows.

“You smell like roses,” he growled.

“But I'm all wet. We should get a towel or something.”

“Let me look at you.”

For a long moment he reveled in her lush, opulent beauty, in her utter femininity. Dark, pointy nipples. Legs that went forever.

“You don't need makeup or flashy dresses. You're a natural beauty.”

“You look pretty good yourself—brown, hunky, big.”

He grinned. “Big—my favorite compliment.”

She'd changed his whole world and in such a short time. Even his room wasn't his anymore. She'd placed flowers and colorful pillows and pictures in every room. There were cumbersome, useless little knickknacks on every flat surface, pictures where once there had been blank spaces on his walls. She'd been here a mere month and already his ranch house felt like home instead of some bachelor's military boot camp.

Damn it. He wanted her. He wanted her here forever. But she had a point. What they had together would do…for now.

Desire burned through him, destroying every well-thought-out plan he had ever made. No perfect, well-bred, society, churchgoing woman, a woman anxious to have a man's ring on her finger and the security of marriage for him. He wanted Celeste—wild, artistic, whimsical, unrealistic Celeste. He wanted whoever or whatever she was. He wanted all of her, every part of her. And every time he had her in bed only made him want her more.

“Honey, you consume me.”

“Just love me,” she whispered. “I can't get enough of you, either.”

For now, he thought grimly. But, at least, he had her for now.

 

Mabel winked at Phillip as she set his second mug of coffee on the counter. Not that he was in the mood for her chatty attentions today. She was in between husbands, and she liked to gossip and flirt with any man who showed up at the café.

He stirred his coffee and yawned, trying to look bored.

Mabel wasn't fooled. “Missed you,” she said, leaning on the counter beside him to show off her ample curves. “You haven't been in to flirt much lately.”

“Missed you, too,” he replied dryly, but he kept stirring his coffee.

“I nearly called you yesterday,” she said.

“Why?”

When he looked up, she smiled slyly and ran a fingertip through her brown curls. “A pair of sleazes came in here asking about that greasy-haired sexpot with the guitar that came here in that ripped, black cocktail dress…. You know…the girl you hired as your maid.”

“You don't say.” His voice cut like dry ice.

“She still around?”

Mabel knew she was. The whole town knew. She was just fishing for more details, so she could feed the gossip mill.

“What'd you tell 'em?”

“That I never seen nobody like her in my café.”

“Thanks.”

“Bad-looking pair, if you ask me. Slick and mean. Both of them have snakes' eyes. What'd she do—kill
somebody? She's on the run, that's for sure. You'd better be careful.”

He thought about his dead, mutilated cattle. Xavier was after him. But who the hell was after her?

“What did they look like?”

“One's dark, and the other is sick and pasty-faced-looking. Oh, and he wears glasses. And they both have cruel, black eyes.”

“Their eyes obviously made an impression.”

She lifted a brow. “Y'all be careful out there, you here— If I were you, I'd strap on a gun when I left the house—”

“Thanks.”

Phillip finished the last of his coffee. Then he gave her a big smile and a tip that made her smile even bigger. Not that Phillip was smiling when he climbed in his truck.

What'd she do—kill somebody?

Phillip remembered Mendoza sailing off that jungle mountain road. Phillip knew what he'd done, but what the hell had she done?

Instead of going to the feed store as he'd planned, he stepped on the gas and rushed home to make sure Celeste was okay. It didn't take a genius to figure out those jerks had to be the reason she'd left Vegas. Phillip remembered Johnny Silver's frightened voice. The guy had panted between every word. He was up to his eyeballs in whatever this was, too. She said she wasn't involved with Silver, but she was.

She'd lied.

Why?

Damn it. She had to tell him what was going on—now. Today. Period.

But he never had the chance to ask her what had gone
down in Vegas because when he roared up to the porch, she ran out of his house in blood-splattered clothes. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she hurled herself into his arms before he could even climb the first stair.

“A-another cow,” she gasped brokenly. “Only whoever it was chopped the cow in several pieces in the corral. I—I tripped over…over a leg before I saw…Then I slipped in a pool of blood. Oh, it's all too awful… I—I found this—” She was holding a bloody piece of crumpled paper.

He ripped it out of her trembling hand.

“Oh, Phillip— The…the note's like the others.”

He read it out loud. “‘You hurt my family, so now I will hurt yours.'”

Celeste shuddered against him. She was so small and petite, so defenseless, really.

Snakes' eyes…?
Mabel had said.
What'd she do—kill somebody?

He pressed her closer. He didn't care what she'd done. If anybody so much as laid a finger on one shiny, golden hair, he'd kill them as coldly and as ruthlessly as he'd run Mendoza off the road.

“Oh, Phillip, I—I thought you were never coming home. I called your cell—”

“It's okay,” he whispered, stroking her hair as she shuddered against his chest. “Hey, hey. I was in a no-service area for a while, that's all.”

“Does this have something to do with that El Jefe terrorist group?”

“Don't you worry about it. I'll handle it.”

He'd better. And fast.

“But…but… I—I'm so afraid…. I don't like the thought of people sneaking around here doing… Why
anybody… They could do anything. When I'm here alone….”

Phillip forgot all about the two sleazes in town. His only concern was for her. He had to call Wainwright and Cole Yardley, but that could wait.

“Nobody's going to hurt you,” he said gently. “Nobody. Not ever. Because I won't let them. Understand?”

“But what if they come and you aren't here?”

“I'll be here from now on until this blows over. Juan can do most of the errands. I can write lists. He can shop. My credit's good in town.”

“Oh, Phillip,” she breathed, hugging him closer. “It's you I'm worried about. I called Ricky Mercado and he told me everything that happened in Mezcaya. He told me all about that man you killed and how his son is after you—”

“That bastard.”

“Ricky—”

“Oh, so now it's Ricky—”

“He's your friend. He doesn't want you to die anymore than I do, and I don't want El Jefe's men to kill you. I couldn't live if anything happened to you.”

“I feel the same way about you. That's what I've been trying to tell you. That's why I asked you to marry me.” He waited until her racking sobs subsided and she stood still against him. “It's going to be okay. I swear I'll find out what's going on.”

“And you're going to tell the sheriff. You're not going to act like you're so big and tough you won't call the law. You're going to tell him about the cows, about all three cows.”

“I'll call him first thing. As soon as you're calm. Shh. Shh…” He stroked her back and her neck and then threaded his fingers into her hair.

When she quieted, he took her hand and led her inside the house. Then he picked up the phone.

“Sheriff…”

She sighed with obvious relief. But her fear didn't go away.

He called Yardley.

Her eyes grew huge when Phillip hung up and strapped on a gun. She followed him around even when he went out to the pastures.

That night he told her to dress up, that they were going out to dinner.

“What's the occasion?”

“No occasion. You'll feel braver somewhere else won't you?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

 

Again he took her to dinner and dancing at the Lone Star Country Club. Again she dressed in her flashy red dress. Only tonight they ate in the club's formal dining room, which was decorated in blue and white, and they had a candlelit corner all to themselves. They held hands. They danced again and again, putting on quite a show for the other diners. When their first course arrived, they returned to their table and talked just like an old married couple who were easy and sure of one another, but beneath their conversation, the atmosphere between them sizzled with excitement. Not to mention fear.

After dessert, which was some sort of cream topped with luscious raspberries that melted in his mouth, he blew out their candles. He slid a hand in his suit pocket and laid a small velvet box in front of her. When she gasped, his big brown hand nudged it toward her.

“Open it, darling.”

“Darling? I think I can guess what it is.” Her voice
was so soft and wistful, he had to lean forward to hear her.

Gingerly she flipped the lid a couple of times before he grabbed it and opened it for her. An enormous solitaire sparkled against black velvet, and she cupped her mouth and cried, “Oh!”

“What's wrong?”

“It's huge. Too huge.”

“I thought you liked flash. So, do you? Do you like it?” He took the sparkling gem out of the box and slid it onto her finger.

She flexed her hand. The gem shot fire.

“I—I can't believe this—” she began, fighting tears. “Nobody ever gave me…” Then she strangled on her words and the rest of her sentence was an incoherent jumble.

He looked at her, only at her, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs while he waited, his dread mushrooming when she lowered her eyes and couldn't seem to meet his gaze.

Her lips tightened. Then she began to bite them as if in confusion. Then very slowly she slid his ring off and gently laid it in his palm. Her fingers were shaking convulsively and tears were rolling down her white cheeks.

“Why not?” he rasped.

“I—I don't know, Phillip. It's too much…too soon. I mean…marriage…forever…you…me…Mission Creek…and children, too… Those cows…”

“We'll solve that mystery.”

“But—”

“Where do you see this relationship going?” he demanded, changing the subject.

“I…I… Why can't we just be?”

“I'd like to be able to count on…our future. Wouldn't you?”

“You want to plot the rest of our lives all out like a war or something?”

“No. Not like a war. War is hell. What are you running from, Celeste?”

“Nothing. Nobody.”

“Is it just me, then? Me that you don't really want?”

“Oh, Phillip, how can you even think such—”

“Or does it have something to do with the two guys that are asking questions about you? What do they have on you?”

“Two guys?” She pushed her chair back and would have raced away in a blind panic if he hadn't grabbed her wrist. “Who? What guys?”

“A couple of men have been asking about you in town. I would have mentioned them earlier, but we had to deal with the dead cow. Who are they?”

Again she struggled to push her chair back, but his grip on her wrist tightened. “Not so fast. There's something else I'm curious about.”