A Risky Affair (23 page)

“Unbelievable,” Dane muttered in disgust. “Un-freaking-believable. If you ask me, Thorne,
you're
the one who needs therapy.”

Crandall glared balefully at him. “Do I have your word that you won't tell Solange?”

Dane shook his head at him. “I don't understand you. Can't you see how it might be important to her to know that the man whose roof she's living under is actually the grandfather she never even knew she had?”

“Of course I realize that. I know how unfair I've been to her, how much I've deprived her of by keeping her identity a secret. That's why I chose Christmas to tell her. I want to make the holiday special for her. Tess and I already discussed—”

Dane's eyes narrowed on his face. “Tess? As in Tessa Philbin? Is that Solange's grandmother?”

Crandall hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Yes.”

No wonder he'd only had eyes for her at last night's dinner party, Dane thought. After all they'd been through, he was still madly in love with her—another man's wife. And not just any man. The former mayor of San Antonio.

Good grief. What a tangled web.

Crandall was watching him intently. “Do I have your word, Roarke?” he asked quietly. “Will you give me a chance to tell Solange the truth?”

Dane scowled. “You're putting me in a very bad position, old man. I don't like lying to her. What am I supposed to say the next time I see her?”

“Say nothing. Or better yet, why don't you just wait until
after
Christmas to see or speak to her again? That way you won't have to worry about lying to her by omission.”

A tight, grim smile curved Dane's mouth. “Spoken like a true lawyer. You've really perfected the art of lying and manipulating others, haven't you, Thorne?”

Pain, along with a dose of resentment, hardened the other man's eyes. “Don't ever judge a man until you've walked a mile in his heavy shoes, Roarke.”

Dane stared at him for another moment, then gave a curt nod. “Fair enough.” Without another word, he turned and made his way over to his Durango.

“Wait! Does that mean we have an understanding?” Crandall called after him, a note of desperation in his voice.

Dane slid behind the wheel of his truck, buzzed down the driver's-side window and started the engine.

Crandall appeared beside the Durango before Dane could pull off. “Do we have a deal, Roarke?”

Dane pushed out a deep, ragged breath, then pinned the old man with a steely look. “You have until Christmas to tell her the truth, Thorne. If you don't, so help me God, I will.”

Crandall inclined his head. “Fair enough.”

As Dane revved the engine—pointedly so—Crandall stepped away from the truck. “Oh, and before I forget. Wyome informed me that you asked for higher salaries for Tomas and the new stable boy. Consider it done.”

Dane hesitated, then nodded tersely. “Thanks.”

And as he drove away from the ranch—perched on the lush hilltop like a slice of heaven—he couldn't help feeling as if he'd just made a pact with the devil and sold his soul.

L
ightning arced across the night sky, illuminating the distant hulk of the mountains beyond Solange's bedroom window.

Lying in bed beneath a thick satin duvet, she gazed through the tall French doors leading out to the private terrace. It was almost midnight, and sleep had stubbornly eluded her.

Normally she was comforted by the sound of rainfall. On any other night, the soothing lash of rain against her bedroom window, combined with the lazy warmth of a crackling fire, would have lulled her right to sleep. But she was too keyed up for sleep tonight. Thoughts of Dane had dominated her mind ever since she'd left him standing in the middle of the living room, simmering with barely controlled fury as he watched her walk out the door on the arm of another man.

On the ride to the Italian restaurant, she'd spoken very little, only half listening as Lamar chattered about the weather in Haskell and about the promotion ceremony he'd attended that morning, and filled her in on what he'd been doing with himself over the past year. As soon as they were seated at a table in a secluded corner of the restaurant, she'd looked him square in the eye and told him she had no intention of taking him back. Ever.

He'd looked genuinely flabbergasted. “You're still mad at me for the way I ended things between us before.”

“No, Lamar. I'm not mad anymore. Really, I'm not,” she'd insisted at the disbelieving look he gave her.

“Then why aren't you willing to give us a second chance?” He reached across the linen-covered table and grasped her hand. “I love you, Solange. I never stopped.”

“But I did.” She regarded their joined hands on the table with a sad little smile. “A part of me will always care for you, Lamar, and appreciate the good times we shared together. But those days are long behind us. I've moved on with my life, and so should you.”

He frowned. “Are you saying I've missed the window of opportunity for us? If I'd asked you to marry me back then, would you have said yes?”

“I honestly don't know, Lamar. I was a different person back then. There's no telling how I might have responded to a marriage proposal from you.”

His mouth twisted bitterly. “Oh,
I
know how you would have responded. The same way you always did whenever I even hinted at marriage. You clammed up or changed the subject. Admit it, Solange. You
never
had any intention of marrying me.”

She grew silent for several long moments, contemplating his hurt, angry words. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, reflective. “Maybe you're right, Lamar. Maybe I always knew deep down inside that we weren't really meant for each other. And if that's the case, aren't you glad you did us both a favor by ending the relationship before we wasted any more of each other's time?”

He scowled. “Do I
look
glad?”

She smothered a helpless laugh. “No. You look disappointed. But in time you
will
see that this was the best thing for both of us.” She paused, gazing at him across the table, realizing she'd never loved him the way she should have.

The way she loved Dane.

She opened her mouth. “I hope—”

Lamar held up a warning hand. “Don't say it, Solange. Don't say you hope we can be friends. I came here
hoping
to convince you to return home with me as my fiancée. If you think I'm willing to settle for being your friend, you can just forget about it. I'm a soldier, not a saint. And don't even think about inviting me to your wedding with that guy back at the ranch. Unless you want me to show up at the ceremony and give
him
the same murderous looks he was giving me today.” He snapped open his menu, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

As difficult as that experience had been, it paled in comparison to the agony Solange had felt that afternoon, trying to maintain her composure while Lamar did his level best to convince everyone in the room that their wedding was a foregone conclusion. And now, every time she closed her eyes, it was the look of wounded betrayal on Dane's face that she saw, not Lamar's dejected expression over lunch.

She tossed restlessly beneath the covers. God, what must Dane think of her? Not much, apparently. Since returning from the restaurant, she'd called him twice on his cell phone and once at the office, but he hadn't answered, and she'd been too much of a coward to leave any messages.

Pulling herself to a sitting position, she reached across the nightstand, picked up her cell phone and stared at the blank display screen, as if willing his number to suddenly materialize as an incoming call.

But the phone remained silent.

Heaving a deep sigh of frustration, she flopped back against the pillows and squeezed her eyes shut. It was too late to call Jill, and even if she did, what would she say? The last time they'd spoken, nearly a week ago, Solange had made it clear she had no plans whatsoever to get involved with Dane. How quickly things had changed! In less than a week, she'd made love to Dane and had fallen hopelessly in love with him. At the rate she was going, the next time she spoke to her best friend, she and Dane would be married with two-point-five kids!

Assuming he doesn't hate your guts.

Groaning miserably, Solange punched her pillow and rolled fitfully onto her side.

When another streak of lightning zigzagged across the dark sky, she bolted upright, wondering if her eyes were deceiving her.

There, standing on the terrace in the pouring rain, was Dane.

For a moment she just sat there, frozen, convinced her tortured imagination had conjured him up, and in the very next flash of lightning he would be gone, like a wraith.

But, no, she realized a moment later. He was still there. Not a figment of her overwrought imagination. Dane was really there. In the flesh.

With a soft cry, Solange flung back the covers and raced across the room to the pair of French doors, fumbling with the lock in her haste to open the door.

He stepped in from the gusting wind and rain, his untucked white shirt plastered to the hard muscles of his chest, shoulders and upper arms. Rainwater dripped from his long black eyelashes, turning them spiky. His eyes were smoldering pools of onyx.

He was so incredibly appealing, so dangerously male, he took her breath away.

She stared up at him, her heart knocking against her ribs. “Dane—”

Without uttering a single word, he kicked the door shut behind him, then cupped her face in his large hands and crushed his mouth to hers, his tongue plunging inside and stroking deep.

Solange eagerly responded, wrapping her arms around his neck and reaching on tiptoe to press herself more fully against his body, not caring that he was soaked to the bone, and that she wore only a thin gossamer nightgown. All she cared about was the wondrous feel of him in her arms and the sweet taste of him in her mouth—coffee, peppermint and his own uniquely delicious flavor.

His arms banded around her waist as he lifted her from the floor, holding her so tightly against him she couldn't tell where his body ended and hers began. They shared a hard, deep, openmouthed kiss that left her moaning and trembling uncontrollably.

Setting her back down, he raised his head and gazed into her eyes with such fierce intensity her throat constricted. “Don't marry him,” he whispered raggedly.
“Please don't marry him.”

Solange reached up, tenderly cradling his cheek in her hand. “I'm not, darling. I promise.”

He made a strangled sound deep in his throat. A sound of tortured relief.

And then he bent and swept her into his arms. Completely bypassing the rumpled bed, he carried her over to the separate seating area, where a sedate fire glowed invitingly. He set her down gently on the chaise longue, then stepped back to divest himself of his wet clothing.

Held captive by the intoxicating heat of his gaze, Solange watched as he peeled the white shirt off his wide, beautifully sculpted torso and flung the garment away. Next he toed off his boots and socks, kicking them in the vicinity of his discarded shirt. As he unbuckled his belt and reached for the zipper of his dark pants, Solange licked her lips.

“Come here,” she said, her voice husky with arousal.

He moved toward her with that slow, pantherlike grace she'd admired from day one. When he stopped in front of her, she lifted her eyes to his sexy face, then reached for his zipper, easing it down ever so slowly and deliberately. As she slid off his trousers and briefs, the thick, swollen length of his shaft sprang free, jutting enticingly toward her.

Holding his eyes, she leaned down and took him deep inside her mouth. He groaned, throwing back his head with a guttural oath that made her feel immensely powerful, like a beautiful sex goddess who'd been sent down to earth to grant his every wicked desire.

“Solange…”
he uttered thickly, sinking his hands deep into her hair, his fingertips digging into her scalp.

She explored every delicious inch of him, suckling and flicking and swirling her tongue, wanting to drive him crazy with need. She wrapped her fingers around the smooth, engorged base of his penis and simultaneously massaged his testicles, unbearably stimulated by the hoarse groans of pleasure that erupted from his throat. With her other hand she grasped one firm, muscled buttock, pulling him closer still, and he responded by rocking his hips and thrusting deeper into her mouth.

Just as she tasted a slippery saltiness on her tongue, he drew back from her, his chest heaving. His dark eyes glittered in the firelight, fierce with arousal.

He pulled her to her feet and slanted his mouth over hers in a hot, demanding kiss that electrified her senses and liquefied her bones. His erection throbbed against her belly through the sheer layer of her nightgown. He reached down, grabbed a fistful of gossamer and tugged the gown up and over her head, then tossed it onto the chaise. When he saw that she was naked beneath, he swore softly, his eyes sweeping hungrily across her quivering body.

“Beautiful,” he whispered reverently.

Taking her hand, he led her over to the fireplace, and together they sank to their knees on the floor. He cradled her face between his hands, and she let her head fall back as he trailed his mouth down her throat, nipping and raining seductive kisses that ignited frissons of sensation along her nerve endings. His hands slid down to her bottom and gently cupped her, and she moaned and ground her hips against him in mindless need.

His probing fingers slipped between her legs and glided along the delicate folds of her sex, sending blissfully sensual tremors through her. She moved against his hand, seeking deeper contact. He obliged her, sliding his thumb around her pulsing clitoris until she writhed against him with a sob of eagerness, desperate to have him inside her.

He lay down on the thick hearth rug and pulled her on top of him, arranging her legs on either side of his hips. Their gazes locked, powerfully intimate. Her breath escaped from her on a soft hiss as he impaled her, stretching her deeply. A hard, delicious shiver swept through her. He lifted her by the waist and eased her back down on him slowly, inch by exquisite inch. She inhaled sharply, biting her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood. Bracing her palms on his taut abdomen, she began to move on him, slowly at first, and then with increasing vigor as an erotic pressure built inside her, taking her higher and higher. Suddenly she felt savage and hungry, full of fierce, primal yearning.

Arching into him, she pushed her breasts into his face, and his hot mouth covered one sensitized nipple, suckling greedily and nearly driving her over the edge. She threw back her head, panting his name as she rode him, as he fondled her bouncing breasts. She moved faster and faster until they were both breathless, until the heat between them condensed to a slick gloss of sweat on their skin.

With a rough, inarticulate sound, Dane rolled her onto her back and she tightened her damp thighs around him, clasping him eagerly to her body. Planting his hands on either side of her head, he thrust deep and hard, his body slapping noisily against hers. She raised her hips to meet him, stroke for greedy stroke, frightened at the intensity of the explosion gathering like a storm inside her.

He plunged rhythmically inside her, his face above hers hard and dark with passion as he whispered erotic promises to her. She gazed up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, wondering just when and how he had become so important to her, as vital to her survival as breathing. She loved him so much she couldn't remember what her life had been like before him, and couldn't imagine her life without him.

Dane lowered his head to hers, and they kissed with the hungry desperation of two lovers who feared the world was coming to an end.

Her throat was vibrating—her whole body was vibrating, as if she were about to shatter apart. And then she did, her head falling back on a soundless cry as she hurtled headlong into an orgasm of such mind-blowing proportions tears sprang to her eyes. His hips pumped furiously against hers until he dropped his head, then shuddered and groaned with the force of his own powerful release.