Tears of the Renegade (7 page)

But how silky his beard was! Not bristly at all, but soft and sensuous. Was the hair all over his body as soft as that? An image of his nude form sprang into her mind, and a wave of heat washed over her, forcing her to take off the suit jacket she was still wearing.

My God, what was she thinking?

It was useless to entertain daydreams of him. Oh, he'd willingly use her sexually, but for reasons that had nothing to do with being attracted to her personally. Her feminine spirit couldn't take that, nor could her conscience allow her to so abandon her morals.

She got through the day, and somehow avoided Preston when he tried to pin her down at lunch. He didn't want her to sacrifice anything, and Imogene would also object. She'd have to stay one step ahead of both of them, and she meant to do that by seeing Cord as soon as possible. She made the necessary phone calls to get the geological survey in progress
and grimly ignored the thought that now she couldn't let any ecological damage to the area matter.

By afternoon a weak sun was trying to break through the cloud layer, and a brisk wind had sprung up. Would Cord be working on the old cabin at Jubilee Creek? If he wasn't, she had no idea where to find him. She'd deliberately tried not to listen to all the gossip about him these past few weeks, and now she wished instead that she'd absorbed every word; at least then she might have an idea of where he was. She could ask Preston, but she knew what fireworks that would set off, so she decided simply to try her luck at Jubilee Creek.

She left early, because she wasn't certain of her memory of the location of the cabin. Secondary roads wound through the region like grape runners, crisscrossing each other and meandering in no particular direction, it sometimes seemed. Vance had taken her to the Jubilee Creek area a few times, early in their marriage, but that had been years ago.

Suddenly the sun brightened, as the wind pushed the clouds away, and she squinted against the sudden glare of sun on the wet highway. Reaching above the visor, she grabbed her sunglasses and quickly slid them on. Perhaps the sun was an omen; then she made a face at herself at the frivolous thought. She didn't believe in omens.

She was nervous, her stomach queasy at the thought of dealing with him, and to take her mind off of it she tried to concentrate on the passing scenery. The weather might be chilly, but there were signs of spring after all, even discounting the stubborn jonquils. Oak trees had that fuzzy look conveyed by new leaves, and patches of green grass were shooting up. In another week, two at the most, color would be rioting over the land as shrubs and trees bloomed, and it couldn't happen soon enough for her. It was already what she counted as a late spring.

She almost missed the turn onto the narrow road that she thought was the correct one. It was only a roughly paved secondary road, without benefit of a painted centerline or graded shoulders. She slowed down, looking for the next turn, and just when she had almost decided that she'd taken the wrong road, she recognized the turn she was supposed to take. It was an unpaved lane that was really only two tracks, crowded on both sides by tall, monolithic pines and sweeping oaks that rapidly hid the secondary road from view. The lane made a long curve; then she found herself rattling across an old wooden bridge that spanned Jubilee Creek itself.

The rain had filled the broad, shallow creek, and the muddy water tumbled over the rocks and around the meandering curves as the creek snaked its way south to empty eventually into the Gulf. She could see the cabin now, a small structure dwarfed by three massive oaks behind it, capping the crest of a small rise. Even from where she was, it was evident that the porch that ran the length of the cabin was completely new, and as she drew closer she could see that the roof was also new, shingles replacing the rusted tin that had been there before.

She didn't know what kind of car he drove, but it didn't matter anyway, since there was no sign of any vehicle. Her heart sank. She slowed her own car to a stop in front of the cabin, staring at the curtainless windows in despair. Where could she find him?

She was just about to put the car in reverse when the door opened and he stepped onto the porch. Even from that distance she could see the icy glare of his eyes, and she knew that this wasn't going to be easy. She drew a deep breath to brace herself, then cut the ignition off and got out of the car.

Walking up the steps was like running a gauntlet; he leaned against the door frame and watched her in nerveracking silence, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked huge, she
noticed; perhaps it was his clothes. He wore only a pair of faded jeans and a black T-shirt, and scuffed brown boots on his feet. The short sleeves of the T-shirt revealed his brawny forearms, sprinkled with dark hair and corded with veins that pulsed with his hot, life-giving blood. From the way the thin cotton clung to his torso, she knew that the image she'd had of his nude body had been remarkably accurate, and her mouth went dry. He was lean and hard and muscular, and his chest looked like a wall.

His glacial eyes swept her from her neat spectator pumps to her head, where her dark hair had been swept into a simple chignon. “Slumming?” he drawled sarcastically.

She controlled the quiver that wanted to weaken her legs, and ignored his opening salvo. “I want to make a deal with you,” she said firmly.

Amusement, and a savage satisfaction, glinted in his eyes. He stepped away from the door and waved her inside with an exaggerated bow. “Come inside, lady, and let's hear what you have to offer.”

T
heir steps echoed hollowly as she entered the cabin and he followed, closing the door behind them. The smell of newly cut wood struck her nostrils, and fine particles of sawdust floated through the air. Through an open door she could see a couple of sawhorses with a length of wood lying across them, and she realized that she had interrupted his work. She wanted to apologize, but the words refused to leave her thickened throat. To give herself time to recover, she looked around the empty cabin; despite the improvements, it still had an atmosphere of being old and still felt incredibly solid anyway. The new windows, large and airtight, let the light in but kept the damp chill out. An enormous fireplace, laid with logs but unlit, gave the promise of cozy fires. The open door to the right of the fireplace indicated the only other room, and except for it, she could see all of the cabin from where she stood. Beneath her feet, the floor was pine, treated and polished, then left alone to glow with its natural golden color. In spite of her nervousness she was charmed by the old cabin, as if she could feel at peace here.

He stepped past her and leaned down to strike a match and touch it to the old newspaper in the fireplace. It flamed with tongues of blue, which quickly caught the kindling, and soon the fire was licking at the big logs. “I don't feel the cold much
while I'm working,” he said by way of explanation. “But since you've interrupted me…”

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, feeling incredibly awkward.

There was nowhere to sit, but he looked perfectly comfortable as he wedged one strong shoulder against the mantel and gave her a sardonic look. “Okay, lady, you wanted to talk turkey. Talk.”

He wasn't going to give an inch. She didn't waste time pleading with him to be reasonable; she lifted her chin and plunged in. “Have you filed charges yet?”

“I haven't had time today,” he responded lazily. “I've been working here.”

“I…I want to make you an offer, if you'll agree not to file charges.”

His ice-blue eyes sharpened and raked down her slim, tense body. “Are you offering yourself?”

The thought jolted her, and she wondered what would happen if she said yes. Would he take her now, on the bare floor? But she said, “No, of course not,” in a low voice that disguised her reaction.

“Pity.” Nonchalantly, he surveyed her again. “That was the one offer you could have made that might interest me. It might have been fun to see if you get mussed up when you're having sex. I doubt it, though. You're probably starched all the way through.”

Susan curled her fingers into her palms, and only then did she notice how cold her hands were. “I'm offering you the lease on the ridges.”

He straightened, his hard mouth curving in amusement. “Let me remind you that that was my original offer. But I've thought about it since then, and I've changed my mind. And didn't you tell me yesterday that you couldn't be blackmailed into selling me the lease?”

She stepped closer, to get nearer the fire as much as to read his eyes better. “I'm not offering to sell you the lease—I'll
give
you the lease, as restitution for the amount owed to you by Preston and Imogene.”

He laughed, throwing back his dark head on the rich sound. “Do you have any idea how much money you're talking about?”

Preston had asked her the same thing, and her answer was still the same. “More than what they owe you. I realize that. I'm asking you to accept the lease as restitution.”

He stopped laughing, and his eyes narrowed on her. “Why should you pay their debts? Why should I let them off scot-free?”

“They're my family,” was all she could offer by way of explanation.

“Family, hell! They're pit vipers, sugar, and I should know better than anyone else. I don't want
you
to pay; I want
them
to pay.”

“Like you said last night, you want them to squirm.”

“Exactly.”

“You're turning down an oil lease worth a fortune just for your petty sense of revenge?” she cried.

Anger darkened his face. “Easy there, lady,” he said softly. “You're pushing me.”

Susan swept an agitated hand across her brow. “You need pushing! How can you be so stubborn?” He wasn't going to agree, and desperation clawed through her stomach. “Why won't you take the lease as payment?”

He grinned, but it wasn't from amusement; his grin was one of grinding rage and grim anticipation. “Because if I accept the lease under those conditions, then I no longer have a case against them, as you well know. Did Preston talk you into this? Well, it won't work. I'll pay you for the lease, and I'll pay you well, but I won't let Preston hide behind your skirt. It's no deal.”

Tears stung her eyes as he turned away from her to kick the burning logs into better position. She clutched at his arm, feeling his warm flesh, the steeliness of the muscles underneath. “Please!” she begged.

He swung around, looming over her, the red flames of the fire reflected in his pale eyes and making them glow like a devil's. “Damn you!” he spat from between his clenched teeth. “Don't you dare beg for them!”

Wildly she reached out with her other hand and grasped the fabric of his T-shirt, trying to shake him, but unable to budge him. She had to make him understand! How could he destroy his own family, his own blood? The thought was so horrible that she couldn't stand it. She had to do something, anything, to convince him how wrong and futile revenge was. “Don't do this, please!” she cried frantically. “I
am
begging you—”

“Stop it!” he ordered, his deeper, darker voice completely overriding hers. He jerked her hands off him and held her, his long fingers wrapped around her upper arms. Anger made his fingers bite into her soft flesh, and she gasped, twisting in an effort to free herself. Immediately his grip relaxed, and she jerked away. In the silence that fell between them, her breathing was swift and audible as she gulped in air, her breasts rising and falling. His eyes dropped to the soft mounds as they moved, lingered for a long, heart-stopping moment, and when he finally looked back up to her face, black fury had filled his gaze. “You begged…for
him.
Get out of here. You can tell him that his little scheme didn't work. Go on, go back to him, and to his bed.”

Susan came apart under the tension and the lash of his words. She, who never lost control, whose nature was serene and peaceful, suddenly found herself flying at him, thrusting her face up close to his and yelling, “It was
my
scheme, not his! He tried to talk me out of it! You fool! You're so wrapped up in the
past, in your sick need for revenge, that you can't even see how self-destructive you are! If this is how you were fourteen years ago, no wonder you were run out of town—mmmmph!”

He had reached out, his hard hands closing on her waist, and had jerked her against him with enough force to knock the breath out of her. She threw her head back, gasping, and his mouth came down, attacking, fastening on hers, forcing her lips to part and mold themselves to his. There was nothing gentle or seductive in his kiss this time; he forced her response, his arms locking around her and holding her to him, one hand going up her back to fasten in her hair and hold her head back for him to drink as he willed from her mouth. Dazed, dizzied by his sudden sensual attack, she made on effort to wrench away from him.

He kissed her again and again, his tongue making forays that brought her onto her tiptoes, straining against him, forgetting the anger between them, forgetting the reason she was there. The feel of him, so hard and warm, so strong, was all she wanted in the world, the source of every comfort she could imagine. His kisses became deeper, longer, sweet-tart with the passion that turned their embrace into pure fire. His hand went under her jacket, sweeping up to close over her breast with a sure touch that didn't allow her to deny him the right to touch her so intimately. Her blouse was opened so roughly that she was dimly surprised when the buttons didn't fly off; then his hand was inside, sliding between her bra and the soft, satiny flesh beneath it, her nipple stabbing into his rough palm.

She whimpered into his mouth as his hand stroked and kneaded, his demanding man's touch swamping her with a sensual delight that turned her body into pure molten need. Her breasts were very sensitive, and his expertise made them harden with desire, turned the velvet nipple into a taut, throb
bing point. She was throbbing everywhere, her entire body pulsating, her own hands digging into the deep valley along his spine, then pulling frantically at his T-shirt until it came free of his pants and she could slide her hands under it, running her palms up the damp, muscled expanse of his back. He quivered under her touch, telling her without words that he was as aroused as she. He had the raw, musky smell of sweat mingled with his own potent masculinity; and she wanted to spend the rest of her life locked in his hard arms, breathing in that scent. It was mad, but oh, it was sweet.

When he released her and stepped back, she was as shocked as if a bucket of icy water had been hurled in her face. Disoriented, lost without the heat of his body, the hard security of his arms, she stared up at him with bewildered blue eyes grown so huge that they dominated her face.

He wasn't unaffected; he was breathing hard, and color was high in his face. When he looked at her open blouse and his pupils dilated, she swayed on her feet, thinking for a moment that he was going to return to her. Then he thrust a rough hand through his hair, ruffling the silky strands. “Is this Plan Two to get me to agree to your deal?”

Susan stepped back, her face losing its color. “Do you really believe that?” she choked, anguish twisting her insides.

“It seems possible enough. You don't have the guts to admit that you want me; you have to cling to your spotless, genteel reputation. But if you sacrifice yourself to me to save your family, why, then you're a noble martyr, and you get to enjoy the sin without sinning. I admit, it sounds like something out of a Victorian novel, but that's what you make me think of.”

“A coward,” she said painfully.

A hard smile twisted his mouth. “Exactly.”

She stood poised, uncertain if she should go or try again to convince him not to press charges against her family. She
badly wanted to leave; she was afraid that if he threw any more harsh words against her, her dignity and self-control would be totally destroyed and she'd begin crying, and she didn't want that. She swallowed to force control on her voice, and said quietly, “Please reconsider. How can you turn down a fortune? You know what those ridges are worth if the geologists are right, and what the lease would normally cost you.”

“You're offering to save my company a fortune,” he pointed out coolly. “I wouldn't get any of the money personally. What's in it for me?”

Confused, she stared at him. How stupid of her! Her great plan had been to offer him personal gain, and he had let her make a complete fool of herself before reminding her that giving the lease to him would benefit the company he worked for, not him personally. Mortified, she turned and walked quickly to the door, wanting nothing more than to leave. A deep chuckle followed her, and as she opened the door and stepped onto the porch, he called, “But it was a good try!”

Susan kept her pace steady as she went to the car, trying not to run even though she wanted to get away from him as fast as she could. What a colossal blunder she'd made! And how he must be laughing at her! When she thought of the way she'd returned his kisses, she blushed, then turned pale. Good Lord, how could he think she was anything but cheap, after she'd virtually offered herself to him? He'd thought that she was just part of the deal, and she couldn't blame him for that; what else could he think, when she'd kissed him back so hungrily?

When she pulled into her own driveway and saw Imogene's Cadillac in front of the house, she groaned aloud. The last thing she felt like right then was facing Imogene's drilling; she wanted to take a long bath and pamper herself in an effort to soothe her ragged nerves. She knew that Preston would have called Imogene and talked to her about
Susan's ploy, and now Imogene was here to discover how things had gone. Why couldn't she have waited just a few hours more?

There would be no easy way to dash Imogene's hopes, and the strain was evident in Susan's face as she entered the house and walked to the den, where she knew her mother-in-law would be waiting. The older woman rose to her feet when Susan entered, and her shrewd gray eyes examined every nuance of expression in Susan's face. “He turned you down, didn't he?” It wasn't like Imogene to give in to defeat, but now her discouragement gave a leaden cast to her eyes, dulled her voice.

He'd turned her down in more ways than one, Susan thought wearily. Her mental and physical fatigue muted her voice as she sank down in one of the chairs. “Yes.”

“I knew he would.” Imogene sighed and resumed her seat, her patrician face stiff with effort. “It would be too easy to let you pay; it's Preston and me that he's after.”

Remembering the cool contempt in his eyes when he had looked at her, Susan couldn't agree fully with Imogene. A hard knot of pain formed in her chest; why did it have to be like that? When she remembered the intense magic of their first two meetings, she wanted to weep at the harsh words that had passed between them since then. She felt as if she had lost something precious, without ever having held it in her hands. He was a hard man, yet inexplicably she wanted to get closer to him, to get to know him, learn his moods and his laughter as well as his anger, delve into his protected personality until she found some inner core of tenderness. When he had kissed her the first time, it had been with a tender consideration for her soft flesh. But today…Susan raised her fingers and touched her lips, still a little swollen and sensitive from his hard kisses. He hadn't been gentle today; he had been angry, and he had punished her for daring to try to protect Preston.