Long, Tall Texans: Calhoun (14 page)

She'd never heard him talk like this. He never had, at least not to her. She searched his face, finding cynicism and faint mockery in his smile, in his hard eyes.

"You're very attractive," she replied. "Surely you know that."

His big shoulders rose and fell. "Plenty of men are," he said without conceit. "But I'm rich with it. My money has appeal."

"Only to a certain type of woman," she reminded him. "One who doesn't want ties or emotional liabilities. One with mercenary tendencies who could walk away from you if you lost everything, or if you were sick or old." She smiled gently. "I suppose you liked that, too. You could be independent and still enjoy yourself."

He frowned a little, watching her. "I haven't had a woman since the night you went to the strip show," he said quietly.

She didn't want to hear about his love life. She turned her head. "You had dates...."

"Well, my God, I can date women without seducing them!"

"It's none of my business." She started to reach for the doorknob, but his big, warm hand engulfed hers, sensuously caressing her fingers as he moved closer, drowning her in the clean cologne-rich scent of him.

"Make it your business," he said tautly.

She looked up at him slowly, searchingly. But there was nothing readable in his face or his eyes or even the set of his head. It was like trying to learn from stone. "I don't understand," she said, her voice faltering.

"I don't like bridles," he said shortly. "I don't like the thought of ropes around me, or a ring through my nose. I hate the thought of marriage." He grimaced, but his eyes held hers. "But you're in my blood," he breathed. "And I don't know what to do about it."

"I won't sleep with you," she said with quiet pride. "And yes, I want to." She laughed bitterly. "More than I want to breathe."

"Yes. I knew that when I left." He touched her hair, smoothing it, tracing its length down to her shoulder with a possessive touch that made her tremble. "I know all too well how you feel about me. I suspected it the night you went to that bar with Misty and you whispered that you wished you were blond...." His dark eyes lanced up to her shocked ones. "And the night of the square dance cinched it. I did a lot of thinking while I was away. I managed to put two and two together at last."

She felt as if he'd cut the ground from under her feet. Stark naked. She'd thought her secret was safe, and now it wasn't.

"You don't need to deny it," he added when he saw her expression. "There's no reason to. I'm not going to make fun of you or try to embarrass you. But I told you the night I left how I felt. I'm twelve years older than you. I'm a rounder, and I haven't ever tried abstinence. You're even my ward. If I had any sense I'd let you go and wave you off, laughing.

You're a complication I don't want or need."

"Thanks," she said shortly. Her face was flaming. It was embarrassing to have him see right through her, when she hadn't realized how transparent she must be to an experienced man.

"That's what my mind is telling me," he added, laughing with faint mockery as he moved closer. "Now let me show you what my body says—"

She opened her mouth to protest, but his lips covered hers before she could speak. His kiss was warm and slow, and when his hands went to her hips and pulled them against his and he let her feel the blatant hunger of his body, she gave in.

"So soft," he whispered as he brushed his lips over her

mouth. "So sweet. I dream about kissing you. I dream about your body and the way you are with me when I make love to you. I want you more than I've ever wanted a woman in my life."

"That's...physical," she protested.

"That's all I can offer you," he replied. His lips moved to her eyelids, closing them with kisses. "Now do you see, Abby? I've never loved anyone. I've never wanted that. All you can have of me is this."

She swallowed. What a bitter, hopeless relationship that would be. She loved him with all her heart, and all he had to offer her was his body.

He tasted the tears before he saw them. His blond head lifted, and he winced at the sight of her drenched blue-gray eyes. "Oh, God, don't," he breathed, wiping the wetness away with his thumbs.

"Let me go, please," she pleaded, pushing at his broad, hard chest.

"You want something I can't give you."

"I know that now," she whispered. She bit on her lower lip to stop it from trembling, and stared at his tie. "I guess I was never cut out to be a mercenary blonde," she said with an attempt at humor, feeling his body stiffen as she made the remark. She looked up then, with drenched eyes that couldn't hide her hunger for his heart. "But I would have loved you so—"

"Abby," he groaned. His mouth silenced her, ardently, roughly. He wrapped her up in his hard arms, kissing her with such force that her head bent back against his arms, and still he didn't stop, couldn't stop. He began to tremble faintly, the hunger a living thing in him, torturously sweet.

But Abby couldn't bear the bitter mockery of a kiss that screamed of pity and desire. She twisted her mouth from under his and buried her face in his jacket, her hands gripping the fabric as she shook with frustrated need.

"I'm young," she whispered after a minute. "I'll get over you."

"Will you?" His voice sounded odd. His big hands were in her hair, holding her head to him. They were just a little unsteady, and the chest under her forehead was shuddering with the force of his heartbeat.

"I'll have to," she said. She took a slow, soft breath. "It was enough that you and Justin have taken care of me all these years," she murmured. "I can't expect anything more from you. I shouldn't have. It was...just proximity, and a huge crush, and...and curiosity, that's all. I didn't mean—"

"Stop it," he said harshly. He pulled her closer, enfolding her in his big arms, holding her, rocking her. "My God, stop it. Am I laughing at you? Am I making fun of how you feel, or trying to shame you for it? I never should have said that to you at the feedlot that day about hating the way you looked at me. I didn't mean it.

I wanted you so badly all I could think about was getting you out of the car before I lost my head." He laughed coldly. "And a hell of a lot of good it did. I lost it anyway, that morning in your room, and scared the hell out of you."

"I didn't understand what intimacy was until then," she confessed quietly.

"And the way I was holding you made you all too aware of what I wanted," he added with a faint laugh.

She flushed. "Yes."

He smoothed her hair, noticing the way her body was resting against his, so trustingly, even though he was just as aroused now as he had been the morning he'd mentioned. "And now it doesn't frighten you, does it?"

he whispered, tilting her eyes up to his.

She searched his face softly. "No. Nothing about you frightens me or embarrasses me."

He touched her cheek, her mouth, and his powerful legs trembled at the contact with hers. "Not even knowing how badly I want you?"

She shook her head. "Not even that. I—" She dropped her gaze.

"You—" He made her look at him. "Say it," he whispered. "Say the words. I want it all."

She should have denied how she felt. Or run. Something. "I love you," she whispered with faint anguish in her tone.

His eyes caressed her face. "Such big eyes," he breathed. "So soft. So full of secrets." He bent and drew his mouth tenderly against hers. "You're very special to me, Abby. Part of my life. I wish I could give you what you want. I wish I could give you back those words and offer you a future. But that would cheat us both ultimately. Marriage should be a joint commitment, with a foundation of shared love." He sighed bitterly. "I...don't know how to love. Justin and I were raised by our father, Abby. Our mother died when I was born. We never had a woman's touch, and until your mother came along, Dad went from one woman to another like a bee to pollen." He toyed with a strand of her hair. "I don't understand commitment, because I never got a good look at it. The only thing I know about love is that it doesn't last. Look at Justin. See what happened to him because it all went wrong."

"At least he took the chance," she said gently. "And it does last. Or didn't you see how Justin and Shelby looked at each other while they were dancing?"

"Is that your idea of a perfect relationship?" he asked with a cold laugh. "A little love, followed by years of hating each other?"

"What's your idea of perfection, Calhoun?" she replied. "A succession of one-night stands and a lonely old age at the end of the road, with no family, no one to love you, nothing to leave behind?"

He scowled down at her. "At least I won't die of a broken heart," he said.

"No," she replied. "You won't." She pushed at his chest, but he wouldn't move. "Let me go, please."

"Why?"

"Because I've got a lot of work to get through."

"And a date with Tyler," he added mockingly.

She glanced up. "Tyler is solid, capable, very masculine and a good marriage risk. He isn't afraid of commitment. He'll make a good husband."

"You aren't marrying Tyler," he said shortly.

"Not unless he asks me," she agreed.

"You aren't marrying him even if he does."

"How do you plan to stop me?" she asked curiously.

"Guess."

She cocked her head, staring up at his stubborn face. "Why bother? You don't want me, except in bed. I want someone who can love me."

He shifted restlessly. "Maybe love can be taught," he said uncomfortably. He stared down at her hands on his chest.

"Maybe you could teach me how."

She didn't feel as if her feet were touching the floor anymore. Could she possibly have heard him say that?

"I'm only twenty," she reminded him, "and your ward, and you don't want commitment—"

His mouth covered hers in midsentence, tenderly probing, pushing at it, savoring it. "Kiss me, Abby," he whispered into her mouth.

"I don't want—" she tried to protest.

"Love me, baby," he breathed.

Her arms slid under his jacket and around him. She pressed close, holding him, giving him her mouth with all the wonder and generosity of her love for him. She felt his lips smile against hers, heard his soft breathing, and then he increased the pressure of his mouth and his arms and she went under in a maze of stars.

A long time later, he groaned and his mouth slid to her throat, his arms contracting as he tried to breathe. "That," he whispered roughly, "was a mistake."

She could hardly get her own breath, and she knew it was much harder for him. She smoothed his cool, thick hair, gently soothing him, comforting him as he fought for control.

Her lips pressed light, undemanding kisses to his cheek, his temple, his closed eyelids. He stood very still, giving her that freedom with a sense of wonder at how it felt to be caressed so tenderly.

His eyes opened when she stopped. "That was a nice touch," he whispered, cupping her face in his warm hands.

"Have you been talking to Misty again, or did you just think it might calm me down?"

"I read it in a book," she confessed, lowering her flushed face.

"Reading about it and doing it are pretty different, aren't they?" he asked gently.

"Yes." She was still trying to breathe properly. Her fingers toyed with a button on his patterned shirt. He was warm, and she loved the feel and smell and closeness of his body towering over her.

"I've never made love to a virgin," he whispered. His mouth touched her forehead with breathless tenderness. "I'd have to hurt you a little, maybe, at first."

She felt waves of embarrassment wash over her at the vivid pictures in her mind. His big, nude body over hers in bed, covering her, his hands holding her...

"Does it always hurt?" she asked shyly.

"Not for a man," he whispered, lifting his eyes to hers. "Not for you, either, if I could keep my head long enough to arouse you properly."

Her heart was going like a trip hammer. "H...how...would you?"

He kissed the very tip of her nose. "Go out with me and I'll show you."

"On a date?" she whispered.

"Um hmm." He nuzzled his cheek against hers. "Tomorrow night. I'll take you to Houston. We'll wipe out the bad memory of that last time there. We'll dance and walk." He brushed his mouth over her ear.

"Remember, I have an apartment there," he said slowly.

She closed her eyes. "No. I won't go to your apartment."

"It isn't the last century," he whispered. "We could be alone. We could make love."

Her face flamed. "No," she repeated.

"Abby..."

She pulled away from him, hating her own inhibitions and his attitude, as well. If he'd loved her, it might have been different. But he didn't. He wanted her. And after that first time, she'd be just like every other woman he'd slept with. She'd be just another one of Calhoun Ballenger's conquests, an ache that he'd satisfied and forgotten. A used toy.

"I have work to do," she said, and tried to smile. "And...I don't think I'll go to Houston with you, thanks all the same."

He realized only then what she thought. He'd made it sound as if he was going to round off the evening with a night in bed. He'd made it sound cheap, and that hadn't been his intention at all. He'd meant that he'd make love to her, very light love, and then he'd take her home. He hadn't meant—!

"Abby, no!" he burst out. "I didn't mean what you think!"

She opened the door. "I have to go." She went out, and he followed her, intent on having things out. But as he reached for her, Justin came in with two businessmen. Abby escaped into the bathroom, shaking, broken inside by hopelessness and rejection. Calhoun not only didn't love her. Now he didn't even respect her.

Abby was grateful that business kept Calhoun occupied for the next two days. She could hardly bear the thought of seeing him when he knew so well how she felt about him. And now that he'd reduced their relationship to a strictly physical one, some of the joy had gone out of life for her. She hadn't expected that he'd actually proposition her. But if inviting her to his apartment wasn't a proposition, what was it?