The Next Mrs. Blackthorne (Bitter Creek Book 6) (3 page)

If she told Clay what she was thinking, he would probably forbid her to act. She couldn’t bear to be shut out again. She wanted to help. She was determined to help. Her idea might be a little crazy, but it was just crazy enough to work.

She tiptoed away from the door, then hurried up the stairs to her bedroom. She threw a few things into an overnight bag, grabbed her purse, and headed back downstairs, easing past the library, afraid that if she thought too much about what she was about to do, she might revert to her normal, sensible behavior—and chicken out.

She left a note for Clay in his bedroom, telling him that she had something
very important
she had to do—for both their sakes—that she was borrowing his car, and that he shouldn’t follow her. She promised to call him when she got where she was going. Jocelyn didn’t intend to make that call until she was sure it was too late for Clay to interfere.

She was determined not to fail. Too much depended on her success. And she had no other way to prove her love for Clay. No other way to convince Clay that she could offer him something her sister never had.

Jocelyn could hear arguing behind her as she headed down the hall toward the back door. The lunch dishes had been washed and put away, and she could smell dinner already roasting in the oven, but luckily, the housekeeper wasn’t in the kitchen. She took the keys to Clay’s car from the rack by the back door and stepped outside, easing the screen door closed behind her.

It was early May, but the sunny, mid-morning heat was stifling. Jocelyn realized she was dressed all wrong for the trip she was about to make. Her navy skirt and matching jacket, long-sleeved, white silk blouse that tied in a bow at the neck, spiked high heels, and nylons were de rigueur in Washington, D.C., but they weren’t very functional in South Texas.

She could already feel the sweat—her mother would have said perspiration—pooling under her arms and inching down the center of her back. She’d bought herself a cotton western shirt, denim jeans, and cowboy boots after she’d arrived at Bitter Creek, but she felt like she was dressing in a Halloween costume every time she put them on.

She’d packed them for this trip.

Jocelyn opened the door to Clay’s Mercedes SUV and slid onto the seat, biting back a yelp when the hot black leather hit the backs of her nylon-clad legs. She sat forward to get her legs off the seat, keyed the ignition, and turned the air-conditioning up full blast.

She headed the SUV around the magnolia-lined circular drive that led ten miles back to the state highway. She would have to keep her foot on the accelerator if she wanted to get to North Grayhawk’s hill country ranch before dark.

She started to punch off the country-and-western song on the radio, but the melancholy lyrics of a love affair gone wrong caught her ear. And made her think twice about what she was about to do.

The impulse to confront North Grayhawk and offer her body in exchange for his controlling interest in Bitter Creek stock suddenly seemed silly. Why should he listen to a word she had to say? More to the point, what if she was wrong? Perhaps she’d misunderstood North when they’d had their confrontation at his cabin in Jackson Hole a year ago. Maybe he hadn’t meant what he’d said.

Jocelyn flushed. He’d meant it, all right.

Libby had introduced her to North in the living room of his cabin and then gone into the kitchen to get coffee. Jocelyn had immediately felt a frisson of fear run down her spine, as though she’d been left alone with a predatory wolf.

She was five foot eleven in her bare feet, but even to her, North Grayhawk looked big. He had to be six foot five, with enormous, rippling shoulders narrowing to a lean waist and hips.

Jocelyn knew how to handle men in suits, but North was dressed in jeans that molded his masculinity, and the sleeves of his plaid wool shirt had been folded up to reveal strong, sinewy forearms. His shiny black hair hung over both his brow and his collar, and a day’s growth of dark beard made him look unkempt and…dangerous.

She’d felt edgy and had surreptitiously backed as far away from him as the room allowed, until she reached the crackling fire in the stone fireplace. She’d faced him with her hands knotted behind her and tried to ease the tension by smiling, which had been amazingly difficult, and saying something innocuous. “You have a lovely home.”

He’d focused his ice blue eyes on her as he closed the distance between them until they were only a breath apart. She’d been mesmerized, unable to look away. She’d felt the heat of his body and caught the musky odor of a man who’d just been chopping wood. She found herself imagining his muscles flexing, swinging a heavy ax, and the sharp crack of splitting wood.

Without warning, he’d reached out and brushed her breast with his big, callused hand.

Her nipple instantly peaked.

Her breath caught in a gasp of disbelief at his effrontery, and her heart actually skipped a beat as she jerked backward a step. She ran into the fireplace mantel and lost her balance.

He rescued her by snaking a powerful arm around her waist and pulling her close. So close that she became unmistakably aware of his arousal. She trembled in his embrace, aware of her own body’s equally unmistakable response, to a man she’d only met sixty seconds before. A man who was rude and arrogant and disturbing and cocksure. A man she
hated
without knowing a single thing more about him than what he made her feel.

Hot. Achy. Wet with desire.

He spoke in a low, grating voice that rasped over her flesh, making the hairs stand on end. “I want to lay you down and put myself inside you so deep—”

She hadn’t heard the rest of what North Grayhawk wanted, because that was when she’d slapped him.

And fled the room like the hounds of hell were after her. She’d found Libby in the kitchen and sputtered and stuttered and been unable to get her to leave before
he
showed up in the doorway—with the white imprint of her hand still starkly visible on his reddened face.

She wasn’t proud of having slapped North Grayhawk. But she wasn’t sorry, either. He’d deserved it. She was a perfect stranger, for heaven’s sake! She was a lady. And pure as the driven snow.

Although North couldn’t be expected to know that. What twenty-four-year-old woman in this day and age was a virgin? She wondered what it was about her behavior that had led him to think he could act on his desires.

It was only later that she’d figured out he must have acted boorishly on purpose, to scare her away, unwilling to endure his sister’s matchmaking attempt.

And matchmaking, she’d realized, was exactly what Libby had tried to do. She’d introduced Jocelyn to her brother North in hopes that North would distract Jocelyn from Clay.

It hadn’t worked.

Jocelyn had put the incident completely out of her mind and focused on Clay, the man she’d loved from the first moment she’d set eyes on him.

The man who’d married her sister instead of her.

Which made Jocelyn wonder again what it was about her that had made the right man reject her—and the wrong one desire her. She supposed she should count her blessings. If she was right and North really did want her, despite the scene he’d acted out to scare her off, she had a bargaining tool that might save Bitter Creek.

Jocelyn was certain the Blackthornes would never go down on bended knee before their enemy, but perhaps she could persuade North to show mercy. Or negotiate with him to do so. After all, he was so wealthy, he didn’t need another piece of property in Texas. Especially one the size of Rhode Island.

She gnawed her lower lip, uncertain whether her sexual inexperience was going to be an asset or a liability. Would North want an accomplished lover? Someone who could give him pleasure? Or would he find satisfaction in knowing he’d stolen her virginity from Clay Blackthorne?

Jocelyn blushed at the mere thought of what North might want her to do. She wasn’t ignorant. Just innocent. Which was more the result of a lack of opportunity than a lack of interest. She’d been in France with her father, the ambassador, most of her youth, and should have experimented. But her mother had told her she should seek love before sharing her body with a man.

She simply hadn’t fallen in love.

That is, until she’d met Clay Blackthorne. There hadn’t been another man after that, because she hadn’t been able to fall out of love with Clay, even when he was married to her sister.

Jocelyn didn’t let herself consider whether Clay would approve of the proposition she planned to make to North. There were some things a woman in love had to do for the man she loved. If the loss of her virginity would satisfy North Grayhawk’s need for revenge against the Blackthornes, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

Besides, Clay didn’t know she was a virgin.

It might have seemed odd that they hadn’t made love yet, but they’d been separated for much of their year-long engagement. She’d needed to act as hostess for her father in Connecticut, and Clay had traveled between Texas, Wyoming, and Washington, D.C., tying up loose ends and meeting with family.

And there was the awkwardness of being his former wife’s sister. The first time she and Clay had been alone after their engagement, she hadn’t been able to give herself to him. She’d been surprised at her reluctance, and confused and distressed. This was the man she loved, she’d told herself. It was all right to have sex with him.

But she hadn’t been able to go through with it.

Clay had been understanding, but she’d been careful never to let things go so far again. She’d convinced herself it would be better to wait for their wedding night, when they truly belonged to each other.

Jocelyn had the fleeting thought that it might not be that easy to have sex with North Grayhawk, either. But she couldn’t afford to get cold feet. If he demanded sex from her, she would grit her teeth and bear it. She would make sure there was nothing in her bargain with him that said she had to enjoy it!

Jocelyn nearly turned back several times during the hours-long drive from South Texas to the hill country west of Austin. She knew where North lived because she’d dropped Kate off to visit her uncle North one weekend. She had no trouble finding the ranch.

Her cell phone had rung several times during the day, but she hadn’t answered it, unwilling to argue with Clay over the phone. When it rang again, she picked it up and punched the button to take Clay’s call. She was close to her destination, and it was too late for him to stop her.

“Where are you?” he asked. “Why haven’t you answered my calls? I’ve been worried.”

His voice was anxious, not angry, and she answered, “I borrowed your car. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Where are you?” he asked again.

“Just west of Austin.”

Silence. And then he said, “What are you doing, Jocelyn?”

“Something I have to do,” she replied.

“Listen to me, Jocelyn. Whatever you’re thinking—”

“Don’t try to find me, Clay. Don’t follow me. I’ll get in touch…when I can.”

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Clay said. “Come back to Bitter Creek. To me.”

Jocelyn put her foot on the brake at the pleading sound of his voice. But it was far too late to turn around and go home. She was stopped at North’s back door.

The back porch light flipped on.

“I’m hanging up now, Clay,” she said.

“Jocelyn, please don’t—”

She closed the flip phone and turned off the ignition. She’d long since removed her jacket and thrown it into the backseat, but with the air conditioner off, she already felt uncomfortably warm. Jocelyn never appeared in public when she didn’t look perfectly put together. But it was hot. And she knew North would be just as happy if she showed up stark naked. She left the jacket where it was, opened the door, and stepped out into the sultry night air.

The countryside was amazingly dark, with no sign of civilization for miles around. There was no moon and very few stars. She could hear crickets. And cattle lowing. And the wind rustling through the live oaks that shrouded the house.

She could see a half-naked male figure in the kitchen doorway. He pushed open the screen door and stood there.

It was North.

Jocelyn felt her heart begin to batter frantically against her chest, like a frightened bird in a cage. She was terrified he would send her away before she had a chance to speak. Everything she’d imagined saying fled her mind, and she halted, staring at the figure in the doorway. Surely once she looked into his eyes, the right words would come. She started toward him, but the dirt driveway was rutted, and her high heels made her stumble.

She saw his hand go over his brow to shade his eyes from the bright porch light, trying to figure out who she was.

Her high heels wobbled again on the rutted dirt road, and she balanced herself with a hand on the warm hood of the SUV until she reached the end of it. The last ten feet to the door, she kept her eyes focused on the uneven ground.

When she looked up again, North had backed up a step and the screen door had closed. She could see him silhouetted by a light beyond the dark kitchen. Moths and mosquitoes were buzzing the porch light, and she waved her hands to keep them out of her face as she stepped onto the back porch.