Heartbreaker (3 page)

The thought of being the one who provided her
with those things, and the one who had certain rights over her because of it,
teased his mind with disturbing persistence. No matter how angry, irritated or
disgusted he felt toward her, he couldn't control his physical response to her.
There was something about her that made him want to reach out and take her. She
looked, sounded and smelled expensive; he wanted to know if she tasted
expensive, too, if her skin was as silky as it looked. He wanted to bury his
hands in her sunlit hair, taste her wide, soft mouth, and trace his fingertips
across the chiseled perfection of her cheekbones, inhale the gut-tightening
fragrance of her skin. He'd smelled her the day they'd first met, the perfume
in her hair and on her skin, and the sweetness of her flesh beneath it. She was
expensive all right, too expensive for Mike Webster, and for the poor sap she'd
married and then left, certainly too expensive for her father. Rafferty wanted
to lose himself in all that richness. It was a pure, primitive male instinct,
the reaction of the male to a ready female. Maybe Michelle was a tease, but she
gave out all the right signals to bring the men running, like bees to the
sweetest flower.

Right now Michelle was between supporters,
but he knew it wouldn't be long before she had another man lined up. Why
shouldn't he be that man? He was tired of wanting her and watching her turn her
snooty little nose up at him. She wouldn't be able to wrap him around her finger
as she was used to doing, but that would be the price she had to pay for her
expensive tastes. Rafferty narrowed his eyes against the rain that began to
splat against the windshield, thinking about the satisfaction of having
Michelle dependent on him for everything she ate and wore. It was a hard,
primitive satisfaction. He would use her to satisfy his burning physical hunger
for her, but he wouldn't let her get close enough to cloud his mind and
judgment.

He'd never paid for a woman before, never been
a sugar daddy, but if that was what it took to get Michelle Cabot, he'd do it.
He'd never wanted another woman the way he wanted her, so he guessed it evened
out.

The threatening storm suddenly broke, sending
a sheet of rain sluicing down the windshield to obscure his vision despite the
wipers' best efforts. Gusts of wind shoved at the truck, making him fight to
hold it steady on the road. Visibility was so bad that he almost missed the
turn to the Cabot ranch even though he knew these roads as well as he knew his
own face.

His features were dark with ill-temper when
he drove up to the Cabot house, and his disgust increased as he looked around.
Even through the rain, he could tell the place had gone to hell. The yard was
full of weeds, the barn and stables had the forlorn look of emptiness and
neglect, and the pastures that had once been dotted with prime Brahman cattle
were empty now. The little society queen's kingdom had dissolved around her.

Though he'd pulled the truck up close to the
house, it was raining so hard that he was drenched to the skin by the time he
sprinted to the porch. He slapped his straw hat against his leg to get most of
the water off it, but didn't replace it on his head. He raised his hand to
knock, but the door opened before he had a chance. Michelle stood there looking
at him with the familiar disdain in her cool, green eyes. She hesitated for
just a moment, as if reluctant to let him drip water on the carpet; then she
pushed the screen door open and said, "Come in." He imagined it ate
at her guts to have to be nice to him because she owed him a hundred thousand
dollars.

He walked past her, noting the way she moved
back so he wouldn't brush against her. Just wait, he thought savagely. Soon
he'd do more than just
brush
against her, and he'd make damned certain
she liked it. She might turn her nose up at him now, but things would be
different when she was naked under him, her legs wrapped around his waist while
she writhed in ecstasy. He didn't just want the use of her body; he wanted her
to want him in return, to feel as hungry and obsessed as he did. It would be
poetic justice, after all the men she'd used. He almost wanted her to say
something snide, so he'd have a reason to put his hands on her, even in anger.
He wanted to touch her, no matter what the reason; he wanted to feel her warm
and soft in his hands; he wanted to make her respond to him.

But she didn't cut at him with her tongue as
she usually did. Instead she said, "Let's go into Dad's office," and
led the way down the hall with her perfume drifting behind her to tease him.
She looked untouchable in crisp white slacks and a white silk shirt that flowed
lovingly over her curvy form, but he itched to touch her anyway. Her sunny
pale-gold hair was pulled back and held at the nape of her neck with a wide
gold clip.

Her fastidious perfection was in direct
contrast to his own rough appearance, and he wondered what she'd do if he
touched her, if he pulled her against him and got her silk shirt wet and
stained. He was dirty and sweaty and smelled of cattle and horses, and now he
was wet into the bargain; no, there was no way she'd accept his touch.

"Please sit down," she said, waving
her hand at one of the leather chairs in the office. ''I imagine you know why I
called."

His expression became even more sardonic.
"I imagine I do."

"I found the loan paper when I was going
through Daddy's desk the night before last. I don't want you to think that I'm
trying to weasel out of paying it, but I don't have the money right
now—"

"Don't waste my time," he advised,
interrupting.

She stared up at him. He hadn't taken the
chair she'd offered; he was standing too close, towering over her, and the look
in his black eyes made her shiver.

"What?"

"This song and dance; don't waste my
time doing the whole bit. I know what you're going to offer, and I'm willing.
I've been wanting to get in your pants for a long time, honey; just don't make
the mistake of thinking a few quickies will make us even, because they won't. I
believe in getting my money's worth."

Shock froze her in place and leeched the
color from her upturned face until it was as pale as ivory. She felt
disoriented; for a moment his words refused to make sense, rotating in her mind
like so many unconnected pieces of a puzzle. He was looming over her, his
height and muscularity making her feel as insignificant as always, while the
heat and scent of his body overwhelmed her senses, confusing her. He was too
close! Then the words realigned themselves, and their meaning slapped her in
the face. Panic and fury took the place of shock. Without thinking she drew
back from him and snapped, "You must be joking!"

It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it as
soon as she'd said it. Now wasn't the time to insult him, not when she needed
his cooperation if she wanted to have a prayer of keeping the ranch going, but
both pride and habit made her lash back at him. She could feel her stomach
tighten even as she lifted her chin to give him a haughty stare, waiting for
the reaction that was sure to come after the inadvertent challenge she'd thrown
in his teeth. It wasn't safe to challenge Rafferty at all, and now she'd done
it in the most elemental way possible.

His face was hard and still, his eyes
narrowed and burning as he watched her. Michelle could feel the iron control he
exerted to keep himself from moving. "Do I look like I'm joking?" he
asked in a soft, dangerous tone. "You've always had some poor sucker
supporting you; why shouldn't it be my turn? You can't lead me around by the
nose the way you have every other man, but the way I see it, you can't afford
to be too choosy right now."

"What would
you
know about
being choosy?" She went even whiter, retreating from him a few more steps;
she could almost feel his impact on her skin, and he hadn't even moved. He'd had
so many women that she didn't even want to think about it, because thinking
about it made her hurt deep inside. Had those other women felt this helpless,
this overwhelmed by his heat and sexuality? She couldn't control her inborn
instincts and responses; she had always sensed her own weakness where he was
concerned, and that was what frightened her, what had kept her fighting him all
these years. She simply couldn't face being used by him as casually as a
stallion would service a mare; it would mean too much to her, and too little to
him.

"Don't pull away from me," he said,
his voice going even softer, deeper, stroking her senses like dark velvet. It
was the voice he would use in the night, she thought dazedly, her mind filled
with the image of him covering a woman with his lean, powerful body while he
murmured rawly sexual things in her ear. John wouldn't be a subtle lover; he
would be strong and elemental, overwhelming a woman's senses. Wildly she
blanked the image from her mind, turning her head away so she couldn't see him.

Rage lashed at him when she turned away as if
she couldn't bear the sight of him; she couldn't have made it any plainer that
she couldn't bear the idea of sleeping with him, either. With three long
strides he circled the desk and caught her upper arms in his lean, sinewy
hands, pulling her hard against him. Even in his fury he realized that this was
the first time he'd touched her, felt her softness and the fragility of her
bones. His hands completely encircled her arms, and his fingers wanted to
linger, to stroke. Hunger rose again, pushing aside some of the anger.
"Don't turn your nose up at me like some Ice Princess," he ordered
roughly. "Your little kingdom has gone to hell, honey, in case you haven't
noticed. Those fancy playmates of yours don't know you from Adam's house-cat
now that you can't afford to play. They sure haven't offered to help, have
they?"

Michelle pushed against his chest, but it was
like trying to move a wall. "I haven't asked them to help!" she
cried, goaded. "I haven't asked anyone for help, least of all
you!”

"Why not me?" He shook her lightly,
his eyes narrowed and fierce. "I can afford you, honey."

"I'm not for sale!" She tried to
pull back, but the effort was useless; though he wasn't holding her tightly enough
to hurt, she was helpless against his steely strength.

"I'm not interested in buying," he
murmured as he dipped his head. "Only in renting you for a while."
Michelle made an inarticulate sound of protest and tried to turn her head away,
but he simply closed his fist in her hair and held her still for his mouth.
Just for a moment she saw his black eyes, burning with hunger, then his mouth
was on hers, and she quivered in his arms like a frightened animal. Her
eyelashes fluttered shut and she sank against him. For years she'd wondered
about his mouth, his taste, if his lips would be firm or soft, if his mustache
would scratch. Pleasure exploded in her like a fireball, flooding her with
heat. Now she knew. Now she knew the warm, heady taste of his mouth, the firm
fullness of his lips, the soft prickle of his mustache, the sure way his tongue
moved into her mouth as if it were his right to be so intimate. Somehow her
arms were around his shoulders, her nails digging through the wet fabric of his
shirt to the hard muscle beneath. Somehow she was arched against him, his arms
locked tight as he held her and took her mouth so deeply, over and over again.
She didn't feel the moisture from his clothing seeping into hers; she felt only
his heat and hardness, and dimly she knew that if she didn't stop soon,
he
wouldn't stop at all.