Reckless Promise (15 page)

Impatient even through the muzziness that
wrapped her mind, she scooted back against him and turned her face
up to his. His fingers closed hard on her breast and she arched
against him, feeling him erect, rigid and unyielding under the
flimsy shield of the sodden shorts, pulsing with each thump of his
heart. She moaned.

"Not tonight, dear." He echoed her words.

No fair. She'd said that before she'd melted
into a puddle of yes.

"You're not in shape for anything except a
massage tonight." He carried her out of the pool. She leaned
against him while he picked up the oversized bath sheet he'd left
ready and wrapped her against the chill of the night. When he
lifted her against him, she snuggled into his heat, feeling his
strength and hard muscle through the fluffy towel.

He carried her across the patio, into the
house, and down the hall into a spacious bedroom. Rhett Butler,
come to life. She felt like a feather wrapped in moonbeams, like a
princess rescued from a dragon, like...she turned her face to his
chest.

"I'd say you're relaxed," he said
conversationally, setting her on her feet next to the bed.

She'd show him relaxed. But her knees sagged
and she couldn't hold onto the thought.

He held her up with one hand while he pulled
off her underwear and blotted her dry. He stripped the covers from
the bed and tipped her into it. "On your stomach, honey," he told
her.

His hands came down on her back and smoothed
warm oil over her. The scent of sweet almonds filled the room and
his big, hard hands skimmed over her. His touch in the hot tub had
soothed. His touch in the bedroom brought complete ecstasy. Well,
almost complete. Gradually she became aware that he wasn't touching
her like a lover, but with the soothing stroke of a healer. She
tried to squirm and tell him, but couldn't resist the gentle
stroking of her battered body.

She was completely limp when he turned her
over. "My God, you're nothing but one big bruise," he said, tracing
the path of her seat belt from shoulder to hip. Lusciously warmed
oil drizzled across her collarbone. Poppy's breath hitched. She
waited with a desperately escalating heartbeat.

Mac's low chuckle wrapped around her like
honey. "Not tonight, dear," he reminded her and smoothed the oil
down her arms. "I'm not touching those bruises." He swept his hands
up to her neck and his fingers worked in small circles down across
her collarbone, moving tantalizingly toward her breasts. She
wriggled under his hands, urging him toward the hard peaks of her
nipples.

"Stop that," he told her. "I meant it. All
you get tonight is a massage. Tonight I'm taking care of you."

Those maddening, tantalizing hands worked
down her sides, massaging thighs and calves, until every nerve end
quivered and every muscle turned to mush. Her mind blurred and she
drifted toward something that must be better than heaven. The last
thing she remembered was his voice murmuring in her ear.

"Don't get me wrong. I want you. But not
until you're in shape for it."

* * *

Poppy had fallen asleep long before Mac
brushed the last feather touch over her skin and resigned himself
to a sleepless night. He wanted her so much his teeth ached with
it, and one of these nights he'd have her wrapped around him or
under him. No more excuses.

But for now, he stretched out on top of the
blanket and added torture to torment by gathering her close. She
shifted to put her head on his shoulder and snuggled against him.
He closed his eyes and prayed for strength.

When the first hint of dawn stained the sky,
he gave up. He eased himself away from her and sat on the edge of
the bed, the heavy fullness of his genitals a weighty reminder of
how long it had been since he'd had a woman. She stirred when he
stood, but didn't wake, so he watched her while he stripped off his
clothes. Big mistake. Thinking about all that luscious nakedness
under the covers didn't help his condition at all.

He clenched his jaw and took his early
morning problem to an icy shower, even though he knew there wasn't
enough ice water in the entire state to cool him this morning. He
couldn't wash without touching, and as he lathered soap down his
body, had a vivid awareness of the differences between his body and
Poppy's. His with its smattering of hair, hers soft and smooth,
except for that enticing triangle. The coarse weight of his balls.
The hidden secrets of her. His body hard and tanned. Hers the
velvety creaminess of woman.

Thinking of her had been a mistake. His blood
pounded with need, each pulse throbbing harder, so that his penis
jerked and lifted, and he leaned against the cold tile and thought
helplessly of Poppy, asleep in his bed.

* * *

Poppy woke to bright sun and a hell of sore
muscles. Her neck hurt. Her shoulders, her everything hurt. When
she painfully cracked one eye open, she didn't recognize her
surroundings. It took her sleep-dazed brain a minute to remember.
Mac's room. Mac's bed. And she wore nothing but a thin film of
oil.

Half an hour in a hot shower made it possible
to move without wanting to scream. She averted her gaze from the
bruises that striped her body and looked around for her clothes.
They weren't anywhere in sight, and she hoped he hadn't left them
out by the hot tub.

She started to rummage through his
belongings, rude but better than tramping through the lodge clad in
a sheet, and saw he'd left black sweatpants, only about a foot too
long, and a black tee shirt on a chair for her. Barefoot, she
hobbled out to the sun-filled kitchen, following the scent of
coffee.

"Well, hey there." Chickie looked up from the
dough she was kneading and gave her a smile as sunny as the day.
"Here." She dusted off her hands and handed Poppy a cup of
life-giving caffeine.

Poppy sank into a chair and leaned her elbows
on the oilcloth-covered table. "Thanks."

"Think nothin' of it. Mac said you were
pretty beat up."

It couldn't be a secret that she'd spent the
night with Mac. She remembered drifting off to sleep while Mac
complained about the things he wasn't going to do to her. Her
nipples tingled against the softness of her borrowed shirt. Chickie
didn't know that nothing had happened but sleep, yet once again
Poppy would be judged on appearances. She went for a change of
subject. "How's Alice?"

"Just fine. Bless your heart for askin.' I
keep tellin' her you're a sweet girl."

Poppy rested her elbows on the table and put
her head in her hands. Alice had no reason to believe that. Neither
did Chickie, but Poppy appreciated the vote of confidence.

"Tom'll be bringin' her home this afternoon,"
Chickie went on. "Pancakes or omelet?"

Poppy chose an omelet and watched, bemused,
as Chickie tossed ingredients into a pan without missing a
word.

"You're some kind of hero, you know. Tom said
you saved Alice's life. That's pretty special, savin' a life twice
in one day. Imagine a pretty little city girl like you knowing
first aid and how to change a tire. You a nurse?"

Poppy shook her head. Her neck protested the
motion and she swallowed a moan.

"You poor thing," Chickie commiserated,
setting a full plate in front of Poppy. "What do you do?"

"Research. And teaching. At a university.
Genetics." Did teach at a university.

"Genetics. You and Mac. He's always tryin' to
decide what stallion to send his mares to. I'll swear, you'd think
he'd have some other interest in life, but all he wants is those
horses. Never seen the likes of it...here you go." Chickie plopped
a hot biscuit on to her plate.

Poppy reached for the butter and winced.

Chickie moved it closer. "And here I am
talkin' your ear off. Have you taken anything for those sore
muscles?"

"No." She had to smile at the mothering.
"I'll take something when I go back to my cabin. And maybe lie down
with a good book for a while. Thank you."

"Sounds like a plan. Moses'll drive you to
your cabin. Mac's off workin' on that house he's building, but he'd
have my hide if we didn't take care of you."

Mac had certainly taken care of her last
night. To distract herself from the buzz, she said, "He seems a
little on the protective side. Is he always like that?"

"Oh, sure." Chickie gave a final swipe to the
counter, dried her hands, and sat down across from Poppy. "He
pretty much raised Alice, you know."

Of course she didn't know. She only knew the
feel of his hands and the taste of his mouth. That he had a killer
smile and melted her bones. That he could set a mousetrap, ride a
horse, and give a world-class massage. Her skin prickled with the
memory of his touch. "No, I didn't," she said, wondering if this
counted as gossip. Not really caring, because she wanted to hear
more about Mac.

"Their mother died when Alice was born and
their father didn't do much good taking care of her. After his
sister found out that good-for-nothin' man went off with whatever
woman he met, leavin' those kids alone for days at a time, she
moved in and took care of them. But she died after a few years, and
then Mac had to do it all.

"That's awful. How old was he?"

"He's seven years older than Alice, so that
put him at ten or eleven. He's the one that kept them together. And
he introduced her to Tom, so he feels responsible about that
too."

As if she couldn't have guessed. She finished
eating, and let Chickie help her out and into a waiting Jeep. One
of the wranglers sat behind the wheel. Not Moses, thank goodness.
She had enough problems without his disapproval.

Tom and Alice, for one. She hoped they had
patched things up last night. She’d be done with this nonsense and
could have her vacation.

And Mac, for two. He had her spinning out of
control. Maybe he'd only been nice to her because she'd helped
Alice.

She took a couple of painkillers and
stretched out on the bed, intending to read to keep her mind from
exploring that.

Instead, she dozed, waking to the sounds of
horses and happy voices. The morning trail ride had returned. Mac
would probably come looking for her as soon as the horses had been
tended. She smiled. She'd wait just a minute or two, then get up
and greet him at the door. In just a minute...

The lunch bell woke her.

He hadn't come.

She swallowed her disappointment and crept
out of bed. A public meeting across the lunch table didn't sound
very, well, romantic. And she did want romance from him, she
realized. She walked slowly up to the lodge.

Moses sat at the table in Mac's place. She
moved painfully to a seat as far from him as she could get. Asking
him about Mac would take more energy than she could come up with
right now. He'd been so unfriendly when he thought she looked for
Tom the other day. So she ate in silence, letting the talk of the
morning ride wash around her and wondering where Mac had gone. She
stopped in the kitchen, just to compliment Chickie on the food of
course, and learned that he had taken one of the dogs into town to
the vet.

The other guests had scattered after lunch,
and she decided to lounge by the pool. Strenuous wasn't on her
agenda for today. She chose a chaise longue in the shade and lay in
a half doze as the afternoon drifted past. She didn't need Mac.

As if her thought had summoned him, Mac
appeared next to her chaise. "I've been looking for you." He moved
her feet over and sat on the end of the chaise. His hands were warm
and big and lingered on her skin. Heat sprinted up her legs.

"Hello." Her voice clogged in her throat. The
memory of his aroused body against hers in the hot tub made her
blush from head to toe.

He pulled her gauzy cover-up aside and
scrutinized her. "Honey, you are one mess today."

He didn't have to tell her. She'd seen the
bruises in the mirror. And she could feel every one of them.

He leaned over and traced the livid smears,
from right shoulder across her chest and stomach where the seat
belt had caught her, down her right leg and hip where she had
jounced against the door.

The gentle touch may have been meant to
soothe, but the pleasure-pain of it set her ablaze. Throwing
herself into his arms wasn't an option. She couldn't move that far
or fast, for one thing. More importantly, he didn't act like a
lover. Even more importantly, Tom hadn't released her from her
promise yet. She might still have some pretending to do. "Thank
you," she said, ignoring the fires he ignited, and then couldn't
resist adding, "Flattery will get you anything."

"Well, now as to that." He held her hand in
both of his.

She waited for him to go on, but he only ran
his fingers through hers until all the nerve endings in her skin
vibrated. The intimacy of the simple touch staggered her.

"You made some interesting offers last
night," he said after what could have been moments or
centuries.

"You kept me in your bed."

The leap of memory in his eyes turned her
molten.

"Mac," Chickie called. "Telephone."

Mac muttered a curse. "We'll get back to
this."

She watched him stride toward the house. Her
cowboy fantasy looked better all the time.

A change in the light, the scuff of boots
against the flagstones told her she had complany. She looked
up.

Moses stood beside her lounger, looking
serious. "Got yourself right bruised up, didn't you?"

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time,"
she said.

"You did a good thing." He sounded almost
friendly.

"Thank you."

He stared down at her. "Saw your clothes out
by the hot tub this morning. I gave them to Chickie to wash."

"Thank you," she repeated, feeling like a
broken record.

"Chickie says she doesn't think you were
really chasin' after Tom. Reckon I don't understand."