Miss Greenhorn (5 page)

“Hi, pretty girl,” he said. “Care to dance?”

“No, thank you,” she said, smiling back. “I'm with someone.”

“Hell, so am I, but that's okay. We're friendly here.” He moved a little closer, and looked as if he didn't mean to take “no” for an answer. “Just one dance, and I'll bring you right back.”

She didn't want to dance with him, but it didn't look as if she could find a way out without causing a scene.

Just then, Nate came back with two glasses of ginger ale and moved deliberately between Christy, who was still seated, and the cowboy, who wasn't.

He put the glasses down and straightened to face the cowboy, who looked a little less confident. Talk about body language, Christy thought dazedly, watching. Nate's was emphatic and frankly threatening, especially the way he stood, legs slightly apart, both hands by his sides. He was smiling, but it was not a polite smile. This was a side of Nate that Christy hadn't seen before, and she began to understand that ranching wouldn't be a job for a city cowboy. Neither would mining. Nate had mostly been pleasant and easygoing with her, but there was a toughness in him that she was seeing for the first time.

The young cowboy looked a little nervous now. He could see, as Christy could, that Nate was half a head taller than he was and a good bit more muscular, and had an arrogance and authority that the younger man lacked.

“We came here to dance and have a good time,” Nate told the cowboy. “But her idea of a good time and mine are a little different. Now, me, I like a good fight, and I really enjoy making holes in glass. In fact, you're just the right size to make a nice big hole in that plate glass window out front…”

“I see my girl over there,” the cowboy said suddenly, making as if to look over Nate's shoulder. “Hi, hon!” he called. “Sorry, but I'd better go now,” he told Christy. He tilted the brim of his hat respectfully, looked at Nate and cleared his throat, and made a quick exit.

Christy blew out the breath she'd been holding. “I didn't know what to do,” she said as he sat down. Her face was red and she was almost babbling with nerves. “He asked me to dance. He wasn't insulting or anything, but he just wouldn't go away.”

“Can't say I blame him,” Nate said, smiling gently. “You're a dish.”

Her face grew radiant. “I am?” she asked shyly.

That attitude amused him. She was good, he'd give her that. The way she'd refused the cowboy and pretended to be frightened was a nice touch. Not that it worked. He'd seen other women use the same tactic. In fact, he was a veteran. One too many sophisticated Eastern women had come out here pretending to be innocent for his benefit. He was too worldly wise to be taken in, unfortunately for Christy.

“Come here.” He stood up and pulled her into his arms, moving her out onto the dance floor to the rhythm of a slow love song. “Relax, honey,” he said gently when he felt her slender body tense, going along with the deception to put her at ease.

She bit her lip. “I haven't danced much…”

Sure, he thought cynically. “You'll get the hang of it. Here, put both arms around me. Just like this.” He pushed her arms under his and around him and slid his own arms around her shoulders, riveting her body to his so that the only space between them was at the hips. He chuckled at the shiver that went through her, his breath warm and amused at her ear. “Don't you like dancing close? I do.” He wondered why she insisted on pretending to be shy and innocent, but perhaps it was part of her act. He didn't care. She was like all the other women who came on to him, this was just a different ploy. It wouldn't matter in the long run. She'd be gone soon, so he was going to enjoy her while he could. She appealed to his senses in a shockingly fierce way. He wanted her as he'd never wanted anyone else.

Christy felt his arms contract and her knees threatened to give way beneath her. Nate smelled spicy and manly and she loved the warmth of his lean body and the hard, heavy beat of his heart at her ear. He was so much taller than she was that her cheek lay against his breastbone. He felt like hard muscle all over and she loved the safety and excitement of his arms. Her eyes closed and she relaxed all at once, letting him take her weight.

He let out a breath himself when he felt her breasts soften against him as she let go. He tugged her a little closer, lifting her into a warmer embrace as he moved her to the music. It had been a long time since he'd felt so exhilarated from a simple dance.

He was no fancy Dan on the floor, but he wasn't bad, and Christy laughed as he whirled her around to the music. She'd been lonely for so long. It was incredible to be here with this man, to feel like a woman, to be free of all the old restraints. This holiday was worth every penny it had cost, and it still would be when she went back home to Florida, back to her old life. She pushed away the thought of leaving Nate, because it stung. She closed her eyes and pressed closer into his hard arms, oblivious to everything except the music and the man.

He felt that tiny movement and his arms tightened protectively. She appealed to everything masculine in him. It was like an avalanche; he was in half over his head already. He couldn't stop what was happening, and he didn't want to, anyway. What harm could there be in another holiday romance?

“Having fun?” he murmured.

“Oh, yes!” She sighed and nuzzled her cheek against his chest, faintly curious about the way he stiffened when she did it.

He stopped in the middle of the dance floor and lifted his head, looking down at her regardless of the amused glances from passing dancers.

“What is it?” she asked.

He wasn't smiling. He looked somber and very adult as he held her eyes. “Nothing,” he said after a minute.

He swung her back into the dance, but his behavior had unsettled her. She stumbled and he caught her, the action bringing one of his long legs briefly between both of hers. She clutched at his arms and gasped out loud at the intimate contact.

He stopped dancing again and stared into her soft eyes, holding her shocked gaze while the throng of dancers around them passed by in a blaze of colorful movement.

“Christy,” he said huskily.

With fascinated disbelief she watched his dark head bend. He couldn't; he wouldn't! Not here!

But he could, and he did. His thin, hard lips touched hers in a soft, searching kiss while his eyes held hers and the world seemed to spin away.

“You taste sweet,” he murmured deeply. His mouth found hers again and this time his arm came up behind her head to force her lips into his. The kiss became swiftly intimate and intense and she moaned with the warm crush of it. “It's all right,” he bit off against her lips. “I feel it just that strongly…”. The pressure of his mouth increased and she gasped under it.

He lifted his head, leaving the taste of ginger ale and mint on her lips as he looked down at her. His eyes had darkened and his face was totally without expression.

“I want more than a kiss on a dance floor. I'd rather park the car on a ridge and make a little love to you than shuffle around here all night. How about you?” he asked tersely.

She couldn't believe what he was saying, and her face registered that. “I… I…” was all she could get out, when she wanted to tell him that she'd go anywhere, do anything he asked of her. That slow kiss had knocked the resistance right out of her, and he had to know it. His eyes told her that he did, that he knew and understood everything she was feeling, including her faint apprehension.

“I won't rush you,” he said. His voice sounded deeper and a little husky. His hands tightened on her upper arms. “Come on, Christy.”

He took the decision out of her hands, which was just as well, because she was in no condition to make one. She followed him like a lamb out to the Mercedes, not protesting when he drove quickly and silently out of town and up a winding mountain road to stop eventually by a rock wall overlooking the city.

He cut off the engine and turned to her, his face quiet and somber in the faint light that drifted up from the city streets far below.

“Come here, honey,” he said gently. And he reached for her.

She felt the cool mountain breeze drift over her face while he kissed her, savoring the mingled scents of clean air and Nate's spicy cologne as his lips brushed leisurely all over her face. She lay in his arms, across his lap, with his breath sighing out heavily through his nose while his mouth began to possess hers with relentless intent. She tangled her fingers in the thick, cool hair at his nape with more instinct than experience, her nails faintly abrasive.

“I like that,” he said under his breath. He lifted his head and studied her rapt face. His lean fingers traced the soft lines of her chin and throat, making her tingle with new sensations. “I'm glad you came to Arizona, Christy.”

“So am I.” Her pale eyes searched his dark ones in the faint light. “Kiss me, Nate,” she whispered unsteadily.

His blood surged in his veins like a tidal wave. His lean hand lifted her head and he bent, crushing her mouth under his in little, biting kisses that made her gasp, arching her body against his as she gave in to the experienced caresses.

He guided her arms around his neck and his warm hands stroked up and down her back while he deepened the kiss in a way that brought a shocked gasp from her. He could almost feel the surprise in her, as if a kiss had never affected her so strongly. But after a minute, she relaxed and her lips began to respond, shyly, to his.

The response went to his head. He had a pretty good idea that she was feeling a desire for him that she'd never felt for anyone else. Perhaps even sophisticated women were vulnerable once in a while, but he didn't want love from her. He didn't want forever. He only wanted a night. He looked down at her with a deep scowl. She was still and shaken, her eyes enormous in her pale face, looking back at him with a curious kind of expression. He wondered if it would be too soon to make a move on her, and decided that it would. She didn't seem like the kind of woman who made quick decisions about a man. Just as well, he assured himself. He didn't want to start something until she was almost ready to leave for home. It would be easier for both of them if it was a brief affair, quickly over.

She didn't know what he was planning. She saw a dark, intent look in his eyes that thrilled her, because she mistook it for the beginnings of love. She knew that she was falling in love with him. It could have been because no other man had ever paid her any real attention. Well, except for Harry, she thought ruefully. She wondered what he'd say if she told him that there was a widower named Harry with three kids who wanted to marry her? He needed a mother for his sons more than he needed a wife, and he was about as exciting as a worn pair of sneakers. But he was a teacher with a stable income, he had a nice house, and the kids weren't bad. She'd have a comfortable life. Except that she didn't love Harry, and she was beginning to love Nate. Despite the differences between them, his wealth and her lack of it, his Western heritage and her Eastern one, she thought there might be a chance for them. And heaven knew, he did seem to want her desperately, if that expression on his face was any indication of what he was feeling.

Even as she thought it, he was easing her back into her own seat, fastening her seat belt.

“We'd better get back,” he said quietly. He started the car and they turned toward the ranch.

He didn't speak as he drove. She was getting to him. Now that he'd had a taste of her, he knew he was going to want more. She delighted his senses, but he had to be careful not to let himself be taken in. She was just a tourist, he reminded himself, and not a permanent resident. She could be a big headache if he didn't handle this right. Sometimes that act of hers almost fooled him, but no woman her age could be that innocent and ignorant of men. He had to keep that in mind.

Christy felt as if she'd done something unforgiveable. She wondered what had disturbed him, because she could feel him drawing away from her. She wrapped her arms across her breasts and stared quietly out the window all the way back.

He walked her to her cottage with a minimum of conversation, as silent as the palo verde trees that lined the walk.

She unlocked her door and turned on the light inside, turning to Nate with a question in her eyes.

“I'll see you in the morning,” he remarked. He touched her cheek with his fingers and abruptly turned and walked away.

Christy went inside and closed the door. She felt as if he'd already closed one in her face, and she didn't even understand why.

* * *

George hovered at breakfast the next morning until she had to invite him to sit with her. At least he was consistent, she thought bitterly. Nate had gone out earlier on his way to work, apparently, and he'd spared her no more than a glance and a curt nod. His behavior was the most puzzling she'd ever seen.

“Did you have a good time with Mr. Lang last night?” George asked, a little too casually.

“It was all right,” she said, downplaying it. She smiled at George over a forkful of scrambled eggs. “How was the chess game?”

“I won.” He laughed. “First time, too. Mrs. Lang played several games with me. She's very nice.”

“Yes, I like her, too. What are we going to do today?”

“More of the same thing we did yesterday,” George said. “Archaeology is a very exacting science. I used to think it would be glamorous and adventurous to go searching for ancient ruins. Now that I've discovered you do most of the work with a sifting box and a toothbrush, it's lost a lot of its appeal. I think I'll stick to anthropology.”

“Isn't that the same kind of thing?”

“Basically, but an anthropologist can go and live in Third World cultures that have their roots in the past. He can experience first-hand the kind of lives they live. Remember reading about Margaret Mead and all the exciting places she went? That's what I'd like to do.”