Fire Brand (7 page)

He moved toward her, big and confident and a little frightening because of the sheer size of him. She had to look up to see his eyes, and all the while she was aware of the hard muscle of his body, the broadness of his chest, the masculine beauty of the darkly tanned hands holding the towel as he patted his chest with it absently to absorb the moisture.

“I don't think of you as an outsider, despite the fact that we don't see much of each other,” he said quietly. “And I don't resent what Aggie feels for you—not anymore.”

“Oh, I know that, but it should be yours. You love it more than I ever could. Someday you'll marry and have sons to inherit it...” She stopped because the thought of Bowie marrying someone and having children upset her.

“Oddly enough, Gaby, I don't get along very well with most women,” he told her honestly. “I don't flatter, I say what I think, and I expect intelligent conversation.” He smiled lazily. “Shall I tell you what most of my escorts expect from me, or are you sophisticated enough to guess?”

She was and she could. “You can hardly blame them,” she said defensively, and her eyes ran over him softly, making fires where they touched. “My gosh...!” She averted her eyes from his chest and shoulders.

He felt the impact of her eyes like brands on his skin. He moved a step closer, so that with one more step he could have stood against her. The nearness of her slender body, even in its habitual camouflage, made his breathing rough. He looked at her soft mouth and wondered again how it would taste under his in passion. He wondered if Gaby had ever known passion.

“That wasn't what I meant,” he said deeply. “I meant, my escorts expect some tangible evidence of my regard: a diamond necklace, roses at breakfast—that sort of thing.”

She lifted her eyes to his hard mouth and forced them all the way to his black eyes. “What a pity they don't know you,” she murmured. “You aren't at all the kind of person who deals in buying and selling bodies.”

He felt his body go taut and hoped to God she didn't notice what was happening to him. Her unexpected perception aroused him totally. “How do you know that?” he asked.

She smiled softly. “I don't know. Aggie talks about you a lot, and so do other people. I've learned a lot about you that way.”

He didn't have room to talk. He'd learned a lot about her the same way. He liked very much what he saw. She had a lovely figure, and a sexy, soft mouth. Besides that, she had a big heart, plenty of spirit, and an impish sense of humor. He'd never really known anyone like her.

“I've got to get dressed,” he said, forcing himself to think sensibly and not give in to the urge to make a grab for her. “Montoya said that Aggie was on the way.”

“And you want to be ready—lying in wait to ambush them, right?” she teased, wondering why it felt so natural to play with Bowie.

He smiled back. “That's the general idea.”

“It's never wise to mix in other people's business.” She sighed.

“I know that, too,” he told her. “Get going. I'll be along in a minute or two.” He would, when he got himself under control again, he thought ruefully. He was reacting to her in a totally unexpected way. He had to curb his instincts before he frightened her.

“Okay.”

It was almost a relief to get away for a few minutes and gather her shattered nerves. Being close to him produced the most incredibly sweet sensations. She wondered how it would have felt if she'd gone in the pool with him—if he'd held her while they were both barely dressed. She wondered if his hands were as capable and expert as they looked, and how it would be if she let him touch her with them. The most erotic images danced in her brain—Bowie towering over her in the shallow area of the pool; his hands peeling away the top of her swimsuit, baring her to his eyes; bending, putting his hot mouth over her soft skin...

Blushing furiously, she moved quickly out of the pool area, her legs feeling like rubber beneath her.

She'd only gotten as far as the hall when a commotion outside caught her attention. She went quickly to the front porch, just in time to see Montoya embracing a radiant Aggie. And a few steps behind her was the source of all the excitement at Casa Río—a tall, lean figure of a man about Aggie's age, looking perfectly at home, his eyes, steady and adoring, on Agatha McCayde.

CHAPTER FIVE

N
ED
C
OURTLAND
WASN
'
T
as big as Bowie. He was lean and fairly tall, with dark eyes and skin and silver-streaked black hair. He looked pleasant enough, but there were hard lines in his face and a stubborn set to his chin. Gaby, who'd had years of practice sizing up potential interviewees, would have pegged him as a man who presented a calm front but had a strong will and a formidable temper. He had the look of authority that usually came with money. But all that, she reminded herself, could be part of his act if he was looking to deceive Aggie.

“Hello, darling,” Aggie said, laughing as she hugged Gaby. “What in the world brings you down here?”

“A two-week vacation that Johnny talked me out of last year,” she said with commendable acting ability. “And I seem to have arrived at a very bad time...” Her eyes went past Aggie to Ned Courtland.

“Not at all!” Aggie scoffed, although the man behind her didn't seem overjoyed to find a resident house guest. “Ned, come here and meet Gaby. She's the next best thing to a daughter in my life. I've told you all about her. Gaby, this is Ned Courtland from Wyoming.”

“I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Courtland,” Gaby said politely, and shook hands with him. He had a strong grip, and his eyes didn't waver as they met hers. Good traits, she thought absently.

“Same here, Miss Cane,” he replied. “I've been looking forward to meeting you.”

“I could postpone my vacation,” Gaby offered, feeling guilty and half mad at Bowie for dragging her into this.

Aggie made a familiar gesture with her hand. Her salt-and-pepper hair was cut short, with bangs, and she was wearing a red pantsuit that emphasized her olive complexion and dark, snapping eyes. She was still a pretty woman, and as capable in business as her late husband had been. She was not an easy woman to fool. Of course, she had been lonely, Gaby recalled.

“You aren't about to postpone your vacation,” Aggie said firmly. “We'll enjoy having you around while Ned gets an eyeful of the Arizona cattle business. He has cattle of his own, you know,” she added, and glanced up at the tall man with pure adoration in her eyes.

He smiled at her just faintly. “Just a few head, Aggie,” he murmured. “Don't make me into a cattle baron.”

He didn't look like one, Gaby had to agree. He was wearing a simple gray suit, which looked very nice on him, but it wasn't an expensive suit. With it he wore cowboy boots and an inexpensive felt cowboy hat. The hat was cocked at a jaunty angle, but that seemed to suit him. Gaby wondered what secrets lurked in that calm, quiet face. Mr. Courtland didn't look like a gigolo, whatever he really was.

“I have just this minute told Tía Elena to start setting the table for lunch.” Montoya grinned. “I will help her get the food to the table. Uh, shall I call Señor Bowie?”

Aggie blinked. “Call him in Tucson, you mean?”

“Actually, he's in the swimming pool,” Gaby said, grimacing at Aggie's rapidly changing expression. “He got here just after I did.”

“How sweet of the dear boy to come down to meet his tired old gray-haired mother, fresh from the cruise ship in Miami and the plane at the Tucson airport,” Aggie said through her teeth and a forced smile. “Do run and have him join us, Gaby.”

“I'll do that very thing,” Gaby promised. She grinned at Mr. Courtland. “Bowie's nice; you'll like him,” she added, ignoring Aggie's raised eyebrows and popping eyes.

“Nice? We
are
speaking of my son?” Aggie prompted.

“The big blond one.” Gaby nodded. She cleared her throat and moved toward the house. “I'll go and get him. Excuse me, won't you?”

She whirled and ran like wild for the pool area out back. Now Bowie had done it! It would take Aggie about ten seconds to put the whole plot together, and she was going to be out for blood when she realized what they were up to. She wouldn't consider that they were trying to protect her. She'd think of it as meddling, and what's more, she'd be right!

Gaby opened the door and scanned the pool, but Bowie was nowhere in sight. Perhaps, she thought, he'd already dressed and gone back into the house. But on an impulse, she went to the shower room and pushed open the door, not really expecting to find him there.

It was a mistake not to knock—she realized that immediately. He'd obviously just come out of the shower, because he was drying his hair. He lifted an amused eyebrow at her shocked stance and red face. He was totally nude from head to toe.

“Yes?” he asked in a perfectly normal tone.

Gaby knew that most twenty-four-year-old women had seen men like this. She had, in pictures, once or twice. But in the flesh, it was different, and especially when the man was Bowie. Without the civilizing veneer of clothes, he was devastating. He was tanned all over—lean muscle from head to toe, perfect symmetry, fine lines, blatant masculinity in every ripple and curve. She stared because she couldn't help it. He was magnificent, in every sense of the word.

“I'm...sorry,” she croaked, trying to avert her eyes. “I didn't think you were in here, so I didn't knock. I should have...!”

“It's all right,” he said softly. He tossed the towel aside and moved toward her, conscious of her jerky stance, her quick backward step. But he didn't stop until he was towering over her. “There's no need to run, Gaby,” he said. “I'm not dangerous.”

“Oh, I know that,” she wailed. “But Bowie...!”

“You've never seen a man like this,” he finished for her. “Okay. Now you have. It's no big deal, honey. Even if I'm not in the habit of stripping in front of women, I guess I don't really mind letting you look at me. What's so important that it brought you flying in here?”

She knew her mind had stopped working. He made it sound matter-of-fact, but hadn't he mentioned something about not letting other women see him this way? She was too confused to pick up on that.

“It's Aggie,” she said, hot in the cheeks as she tried not to look.

His big hand tilted her eyes up to his black ones. “Aggie and her friend?”

She nodded. “Ned Courtland.”

His face went hard and his eyes began to glitter. “So he's here. What's he like?”

“He's tall and rather intimidating, really,” she faltered. “Like you,” she added with forced laughter.

His fingers touched her cheek and he smiled at her. “Am I? In that case, I suppose I'd better put some clothes on. Hand me my jeans, honey, will you?”

He was getting really free with that endearment, and the thought sent tingling waves of feeling through her slender body. She searched around until she found his jeans, and by the time she had, he was wearing white briefs and shouldering into his blue plaid shirt.

She handed him the jeans with fingers that trembled. They were heavy, sporting the picture jasper belt buckle that Aggie had given him for Christmas last year.

As he took the jeans his free hand touched hers, curling around it. He eyed her with quiet concern. “It's over. Nothing happened. You got an eyeful, but you're old enough. No harm done.”

“Except to my nerves,” she said with a shy smile. “I'm sorry I came running in like that.”

“And I've already told you, I didn't mind. Or would it make you feel better to know that if you'd been any other woman, I would have minded?”

She lifted her eyes, frowning. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I've got my own hangups.” He pulled on the jeans and fastened them with quick, deft movements. His lean fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, concealing the thick hair and hard muscles of his chest while he studied Gaby's frankly curious eyes.

“Then I'm flattered,” she said, and tried to appear less embarrassed than she was.

He tucked his shirt into his jeans, and his black eyes held hers. “I've never made love to a woman, except in the dark.”

“Oh.” She shifted restlessly. Now that she'd seen him, all sorts of thoughts were flailing about in her brain—shocking things. She turned away while he got into his socks and boots.

“How did Aggie take your arrival?”

“Fine—until Montoya told her you were here,” she told him, glancing back with a nervous but mischievous smile.

“She's livid. I think we're both going to be on the lunch menu as entrées.”

“Think so?” He got up, pausing to run his comb through his thick, straight hair in the mirror. It looked like burnished gold, and he kept it conventionally short and neatly trimmed. She loved the very way he moved, with such elegance and grace.

“I offered to go back to Phoenix, but she wouldn't hear of it,” she said, searching for something to break the silence.

“You can't go back to Phoenix and leave me here to deal with this,” he said shortly. He pocketed the comb and turned, looming over her. “Aggie's obviously in the throes of infatuation, and God knows what kind of man he is.”

“You might give him the benefit of the doubt,” she suggested, brushing back an irritating strand of black hair.

“Not before I size him up.” He looked down at her for a long, tense moment, until her knees felt rubbery all over again. “Don't start avoiding me now,” he said unexpectedly. “I'm not embarrassed, and there's no reason for you to be. Okay?”

She nibbled her lower lip. “Okay.” Her eyes fell to his polished boots. “You have this way of making the most extraordinary things seem perfectly natural.”

“I don't think I've ever been called extraordinary before.”

She glanced up, laughing, because his tone had been droll and dry. His eyes were twinkling with humor. All the tension left her. “Pity,” she murmured and turned away quickly.

He chuckled, moving to open the door for her. “Next time, go swimming when I ask you to,” he said at her temple when she passed him, “and you'll know when I'm in the shower.”

She met his eyes briefly. “I haven't been swimming in years, you know,” she said abruptly, without even meaning to. “I don't own a bathing suit.”

His eyes lost their amused glow and narrowed, searching hers in a silence that took fire. “Don't you think it's time you stopped hiding your body and took a woman's natural pride in it, little one?” he asked quietly. “Wearing a sexy outfit isn't going to put you in danger with me. And I'll fight off the rest of the male population for you, if that's what frightens you.”

For once she was without her customary defenses. “You would?” she asked hesitantly, her olive eyes wide and unblinking.

That gaze knocked him in the stomach. She had eyes that seduced. She probably didn't even know it, but she was working on him in ways he hadn't expected.

“Yes,” he said, answering her at last. “I would. I might take you out to dinner and dancing one night.”

Her breath stilled and then became quick and sharp. “You might?”

His lips parted. He was talking to her, but the words were superfluous. The real communication was between his black eyes and her olive ones, and the tension was beginning to build in a feverish way.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice becoming deep and slow, like dark velvet. “Do you dance?”

“Not really. Don't you remember? At that dance in college, I stumbled all over you and finally gave up.”

He did remember, all too well.

“You might try teaching me again,” she ventured.

He felt his body going taut. The effect of the words was visible and he thanked his lucky stars that she was too green to see it. “Yes. I could teach you.” It wasn't dancing he was thinking about. His eyes dropped to her soft mouth and lingered there. He could teach her passion. It was there, inside her, he knew it. All it would take was a little tenderness...

“Bowie?” she whispered.

His eyes lifted slowly to hold hers. He was close enough that she felt the warmth of his body striking into her, and she could feel the coiled strength in him as his hand came up very slowly to her upper arm. His fingers spread over it, encompassing it, testing its silky warmth.

“I want your mouth,” he whispered. His hand pulled her gently toward him, moving her inches closer, so that they were almost touching.

She let him. The sensations she was feeling were new and overwhelming. It was like being drugged, she thought, and the dragging sensation in her stomach and upper thighs was oddly crippling. She was trembling inside, in a way she'd never expected. Her breasts ached. It was as if just the feel of those black eyes on her mouth had made some basic change in her chemistry. She felt the threat of his great strength at the same time she wanted to feel his body against the length of hers. She wanted to put her arms around him and be hugged until her breasts ached, kissed until her mouth was swollen and sore. She went pale. Was she going to be able to face the past at last and move into womanhood?

It almost seemed so. Her lips parted on a shaky breath, and her eyes searched Bowie's fierce ones.

“Do you want my mouth on yours, Gaby?” he asked huskily, and his head started to bend. His gaze fell to her parted lips. “Do you want to feel me kissing you?”

“Oh... God,” she groaned, her legs going weak as the passionate need snapped in her. “Bowie...!”

She was reaching up to him, shaking with anticipation. And that was when the voice, stark and bleak, shattered the fever that was building in the pool house.

“Sẽnor Bowie!”

Bowie's hands contracted sharply on Gaby's arms, almost bruising. His eyes met hers, black with frustration and shocked fury. Then she was free and he was striding out into the hall.

“What is it, Montoya?” he asked in a steely but perfectly normal tone.

“Lunch is served, sẽnor,” Montoya called, grinning at the end of the hall. “Is Gaby with you?”