The Winning Hand (17 page)

“My lawyer will draw up the necessary papers to transfer the funds—what there are left of them. We’ll have to work quickly.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to call him at home. Inconvenient, but it can’t be helped. Go up and pack while I deal with this latest mess you’ve made. The sooner I get home, the sooner this can be mended.”

“Did you come for the money or for me, Gerald?” She flexed her hand in his, then let it lie passively. She would never win in a physical altercation so she concentrated her efforts, and her anger,
into the verbal. “It occurs to me that your pattern would have been to call and order me home once you knew where I was. You wouldn’t have bothered to rearrange your busy schedule and come in person. You wouldn’t have felt the need. You’d have been so sure I’d have tucked my tail between my legs and come back when you snapped your fingers.”

“I don’t have time for this now, Darcy. Go pack, and change into something suitable for travel.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Fury had his fingers biting into hers as he jerked her to her feet. “Do what you’re told. Now. I will not tolerate a public scene.”

“Then leave, because you’re about to get one.”

A hand dropped lightly onto her shoulder. She knew before he spoke that it was Mac. “Is there a problem here?”

“No.” She didn’t look at him, couldn’t. “Gerald, this is Mac Blade. He runs The Comanche. Mac, Gerald was just leaving.”

“Goodbye, Gerald,” Mac said in a mild tone that flashed just around the edges. “I believe the lady would like her hand back.”

“Neither Darcy nor I require your interference.”

Mac stepped forward until they were eye-to-eye. “I haven’t begun to interfere, but I’d be happy to.” His smile was lethal. “In fact, I’ve been looking forward to the opportunity.”

“Don’t.” More angry than frightened now, Darcy pushed her way between them. “I’m perfectly capable of handling my own problems.”

“Is this what you’ve been up to, Darcy?” Disgust laced Gerald’s voice as he stared down at her. “Letting yourself be seduced by this … person? Deluding yourself that he would want anything more from you than to cheat you out of the money you took from him, and some cheap sex on the side?”

She felt the ripple behind her, sensed that Mac was braced to attack, and quickly swung her hands back to grip his arms. “Please, don’t. Please.” The muscles seemed to vibrate against her restraining
fingers. “It won’t help. Please.”

She ignored the interested onlookers who were busy pretending not to watch. Perhaps it helped, just a little, that her back was firmly pressed against the solid wall of Mac’s chest. But she knew she had to stand on her own now, or she’d never manage to do so.

“Gerald, what I do, where I do it and with whom has nothing whatsoever to do with you. I apologize for ever agreeing to marry you. It was a mistake I tried to rectify, but you never wanted to hear me. Other than that, I have nothing to be sorry for.”

She drew a fresh, steadying breath while she watched his jaw clench. He wanted to hit her, she realized, and found she wasn’t surprised. If she hadn’t found the courage to run, he would have ended up using fists as well as words. Sooner or later, intimidation wouldn’t have been enough.

The certainty of that gave her the will to finish it. “You maneuvered and manipulated me, because you could. And that’s why you wanted to marry me—at first anyway. After that, you insisted on it because you couldn’t and wouldn’t accept some little no one refusing you—and having to explain a broken engagement to the neighbors.”

His face had gone stone cold. “I’m not going to stand here while you air our personal business in public.”

“You’re free to leave anytime. You came here because I’m suddenly some little no one with a great deal of money. That ups the stakes—and so does the press. I’m sure a few enterprising reporters have made their way to Trader’s Corners, and it wouldn’t take much for any of them to dig up that we’d once been engaged. Embarrassing for you, but it can’t be helped.

“I’m telling you now, as clearly as I know how, that you’ll never get your hands on me or my money. That I’m never coming back. I live here now, and I like it. I don’t like you, and I realize I never have.”

He stepped back from her abruptly. “I can see now that you’re not the person I believed you to be.”

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. Cut your losses, Gerald,” she said quietly. “And go
home.”

He angled his head, studying both her and Mac with equal disdain. “As far as I can see, the two of you are well suited to each other, and this place. If you mention my name in the media, I’ll be forced to take legal action.”

“Don’t worry,” Darcy murmured as he strode away. “I seem to have forgotten your name already.”

“Well done.” Unable to resist, Mac lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the top of hers.

She only closed her eyes. “However it was done, it’s over. Thanks for offering to help.”

“You didn’t appear to need it.” But she was starting to tremble now. “Let me take you upstairs.”

“I know the way.”

“Darcy.” He turned her around, leaving his hands on her shoulders. “You wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of breaking his face. You owe me.”

She drummed up something that passed for a smile. “All right. I always pay my debts.”

He kept an arm around her shoulders as he walked her to the elevator. Instinctively he rubbed a hand up and down her arm to ease the trembling. “Did you get my flowers?”

“Yes, they’re very nice.” Her voice went prim, pleasing him. “Thank you.”

He used his passkey to access her floor. “My mother tells me you’ve been working.”

“That’s right.”

“So … the reason you haven’t answered my calls—or let me into your room—is because you’ve been busy writing. Not because you hold a grudge.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t hold grudges. Usually.”

“But you’re making an exception for me.”

“I suppose.”

“Okay. You’ve got two choices. You can forgive me for being … I believe ‘arrogant’ and ‘insulting’ was the way you put it, or I’m going to be forced to go after Gerald and pound my frustrations out on him.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh yes.” He smiled darkly. “I would.”

She stared at him even after the elevator doors slid open. “You would,” she realized with something between shock and horrified delight. “It wouldn’t solve anything.”

“But I’d enjoy it so much. So are you going to invite me inside, or do I go find him?”

She jerked a shoulder and tried not to be pleased. “Come in. I’m probably too distracted to work anyway.”

“Thanks.” He glanced toward her desk. “How’s it going?”

“Very well.”

“My mother said you let her read a couple pages.”

“She made it hard to say no. Would you like a drink? Some coffee?”

“Nothing right now. Are you going to let me read some of your book?”

“When it’s published you can read the whole thing.”

He shifted his gaze from the desk to her face. Her color was back, which relieved him. She’d looked much too pale, and much too fragile, downstairs. “I can make it hard to say no, too. It runs in the family. But you’re a little shaky at the moment, so I’ll wait.”

“It’s just a reaction.” She cupped her elbows in her palms. “I was afraid when he called.”

“But you went down and met him.”

“It had to be done.”

“You could have called me. You didn’t have to do it alone.”

“Yes, I did. I had to know I could. It seems foolish now to realize I’d ever been intimidated by him. He’s so pathetic, really.” She hadn’t understood that before, she thought now. Hadn’t seen the sorry man under the bully. “Still, if I hadn’t been, I might not be here. I might not have met you. I have to be grateful for that.”

She clasped her hands together. “I appreciate you not hitting him after he insulted you that way.”

His eyes stayed on her face. “I wouldn’t have hit him for me.”

New emotions swam into her eyes. “I knew, when you came, it would be all right. That I would be all right. And I wasn’t afraid anymore. He thought that we’ve been … I was glad he did, because I’d never let him touch me. And he thinks you have.”

He knew it was a mistake to cross to her. The odds were weighted wrong for both of them. “He’ll stew about that for a long time. It’s almost as good as beating him senseless.”

The warmth spreading in her chest was nearly painful. “I’m glad you were there.”

“So am I. Are we friends again?”

His knuckles brushed her cheek, made her breath catch, strangle in her throat and shudder through her lips. “Is that what you want to be?”

Her eyes were wide and dark. Her lips parted, full of anticipation, invitation. And irresistible. “Not entirely,” he murmured and lowered his mouth to hers.

She knew now what thoughts scrambled through the brain in those last seconds before the mating of lips. Wild and desperate images so bold and tangled they had no name. She stretched up to her toes, her body pressing into his, her hands streaking up his chest to grip his shoulders as she let herself tumble into those shockingly bright colors and shapes.

Her mouth was so eager, so soft and warm and giving. He wanted more of it. Her body was so slight, so pliant, so ready. He wanted all of it. The need was huge, raw as a groan, and forced him to fight for control.

“Darcy—” He started to ease her away, swore that he would, but her arms wound around his neck.

“Please.” Her voice was husky, a tremble of urgency. “Oh, please. Touch me.”

The whispered request was as seductive as a rustle of black silk. Desire swarmed through him, roaring in his head, throbbing in his loins. “Touching won’t be enough.”

“You can have enough.” She could drown in need, she thought frantically. Already she was going under. “Make love with me.” Her voice sounded desperate and very far away as her lips raced over his
face, melted onto his. “Take me to bed.”

It was as much demand as offer. Everything inside him responded to both. “I want you.” He tore his mouth from hers to press it to her throat. “It’s insane how much I want you.”

“I don’t want to be sane. I don’t want you to be. Just once—be with me.”

He let the wheel spin. He swept her up in his arms and watched her eyes turn gold with awareness. The fact that she weighed little more than a child terrified him. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t care.”

But he did. He nuzzled a sigh from her as he carried her to the stairs and started up. “The first time I brought you up here, I wondered about you. Who is she? Where does she come from?” He laid her on the bed, stroked his fingers down the column of her throat. “What am I going to do with her? I still haven’t figured it out.”

“When I woke up and saw you, I thought I was dreaming.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “Part of me still does.”

He turned his head to press his lips into the cup of her palm. “I’ll stop if you ask me.” He took her mouth again, going deep, sinking in. “For God’s sake, don’t ask me.”

How could she? Why would she, when nerves and pleasure and needs were dancing just under her skin? The spread was slick under her back, and his hands were already stroking small, separate fires into life over her body. His mouth drew and drew and drew from hers as if she contained some life force he craved.

Craved.

No one had ever made her feel wanted like this.

His fingers trailed over her as though he found her delicate, special. And when his hand closed over her breast, molded it, her mind emptied.

She was unbearably responsive, her body arching, giving, inviting him to do as he wished. Gently, he ordered himself, go gently here. He blurred her mind, and his, with kisses as he opened her blouse
and began to explore warm, smooth flesh.

Her trembles aroused him, almost brutally. Every quiver of her muscles was a miracle to be exploited, then savored. For he found he could savor the texture of that skin curving subtly above the cup of her bra, the flavor of her throat where the pulse beat so hard and fast.

He drew her up, nibbling tortuously at her mouth as he slipped her blouse aside.

Hesitantly she reached for the buttons of his shirt. She wanted to touch him, to see. To know. A sound of dizzy delight escaped her when she saw her white hands against the dusky gold of his chest.

So strong, she thought, fascinated by the ridge of muscles under her fingertips. So hard and strong and male. Thrilled, she leaned forward to press her lips to his shoulder, to absorb the taste.

He felt something like a growl working through him and pushed down a sudden, violent need to devour. Instead he took her face in his hands, watching her, drinking her in even as his mouth took hers again. Watching still, for those flickers of surprise and pleasure in her eyes, as he slipped her bra aside, as he cupped her breasts in his hands, skimmed his thumbs over nipples that went hot and stiff.

Then he laid her back to capture one sensitized point with his mouth.

Her hand fisted in the spread, dragging at it as hot, liquid sensation flooded her system. A pulse was pounding between her legs, all but burning there. She heard her own moan, a wanton, throaty sound of pleasure as she wrapped around him, racked by edgy, questing needs.

“Easy.” He wasn’t certain if he was calming her or himself. But her restless movements beneath him had control nearly slipping out of his hands.

He rolled with her, tugging away the spread she’d tangled around them, sinking with her into the pool of pillows. He dragged at her shorts, drawing them down, away, then toyed with the last barrier, the little swatch of blush-colored lace.

“Oh my.” Her hips jerked and her vision blurred. “I can’t—”

“You should be dancing through the woods under a full moon.” He murmured it, delighting in her body, the shape of it, the glorious response of it to every touch. He traced a scatter of freckles on her
quivering belly and smiled as he shaped a star. “Should’ve figured it.”

Then he slid a finger under the lace.

Pressure slammed into her, a smothering weight of velvet that had her fighting for one gulp of air. Heat flashed with the shock of a fireball. Her eyes went blind, the stunned cry ripped from her throat, and the pressure burst into a flare of pleasure dark as moonless midnight.