Cowboys are Forever (14 page)

Later that evening, line dancing with Bandy, Marielle remembered Trey’s words and blushed. Her steps faltered as she recalled the slow, sexy smile that had accompanied them. Despite her state of actual embarrassment at the time he’d uttered that suggestive sentence, she’d been enthralled. For one impetuous moment, she’d had the urge to tell him that they should forget the dance—just stay home and make their own entertainment.

She regained her equilibrium as the song the band was playing ended, and people began leaving the dance floor to go back to their tables. She followed Bandy back to where their group sat, gratefully accepting the cold beer he handed her as soon as they sat down.

“Are you having fun, Miss Mari?” the old man asked her eagerly.

“Yes, Bandy, I am,” she assured him happily. The evening hadn’t gotten off to a very auspicious beginning, true enough. But Trey had exerted himself to make her feel at ease about what had happened, calming her shattered nerves and gently teasing her into good spirits by the time they’d reached the dance.

She glanced across the table at Trey, where he was leaned back lazily in his chair, one hand holding a long-necked beer bottle. He intercepted her look and flashed a brilliant smile in reply. She caught her breath, captured by the passion in his dark eyes. Time seemed to stand still, and suddenly they were alone in the crowd, just the two of them in that secret magical place—where they were the only two people in their own private world.

Marielle heard the band strike up again, as though from a distance … a slow, soft melody. When Trey rose and came to her, silently extending his hand, she left her seat and accompanied him to the dance floor. Wordlessly, she melted into him when he took her in his arms and their bodies moved effortlessly in rhythm with the music and each other.

She closed her eyes, dreamily savoring the feel of his firm muscles rippling under her hands, inhaling the clean male scent of him, shivering with pleasure as his warm breath fanned her ear. Neither spoke. Words were unnecessary. Their bodies spoke a language as old as time itself, saying all that needed to be said. He tightened his hold on her, communicating his own pleasure. Marielle drifted around the dance floor in a sensual daze, wishing that the music would never stop.

All too soon, the song ended and they threaded their way through the crowd back to their companions. Marielle noted some speculative looks thrown their way and figured that tongues would be wagging about the nature of the relationship between herself and Trey. Let ‘em talk, she decided. She didn’t care.

Actually, she realized with a thrill of excitement, looking at Trey as he took his place across from her again—she’d come to the conclusion that she’d thoroughly enjoy giving them something to talk about.

Trey dropped Marielle off at her house with a brief good night and turned his truck toward home. He would have liked to have lingered, walked her to the door, gone inside for a nightcap, stayed till daylight making love to her …

But he couldn’t. He’d contented himself with a smile and a friendly peck on her smooth check. He just plain didn’t trust himself around her. Not tonight, anyway. He heaved a sigh of frustration. No wonder he couldn’t’ trust himself anymore this evening. Hell, he was only human!

The whole night had gotten off to a rousing start when he’d walked in and found her almost naked. He groaned aloud, feeling his groin tighten again in memory of that visual delight to his senses. Later, they’d spent every slow song in each other’s arms, moving in perfect harmony around the floor to the romantic music. Damnation! He swore silently, trying not to dwell on the thought that had entered his mind while they danced. If they moved together in such perfect harmony, their bodies in such perfect rhythm, on the dance floor … then he could imagine all too well how perfect their lovemaking would be.

He wanted Marielle. Wanted her so badly that his whole body burned for her, hot with the desire that coursed through his blood. He’d fought to control it before it consumed him. But he was afraid that he was losing the fight. Would losing really be such a bad thing? After all, he told himself with a grin, remembering Marielle’s curvaceous body and sweet lips, losing this fight would make him a winner. She wanted him, too. He knew that. Could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, and taste it in her kiss. But she’d called the brief passion they’d shared a mistake … .said that she had neither the time nor the inclination for it.

Hmm. He reached his home, parked and went inside, still mulling over the mixed signals he’d been receiving from his bewitching neighbor. He’d agreed with her that it had been a mistake, for reasons of his own. He had his own private agenda that didn’t included getting involved again in a serious relationship.

But, he wondered, what were her reasons? His brow furrowed in thought as he got ready for bed, trying to recall exactly what Marielle had said on the subject of romance and/or relationships. Oh, yeah. She wasn’t interested.

Had some man treated her badly? He wondered. Broken her heart? Somehow the thought of Mari being lovesick over another man made him feel uncomfortable. He stretched out in bed and lay with his hands clasped behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t like thinking about her and other men. Not at all.

He scowled. Could he be jealous? No, he scoffed silently. Of course not. He couldn’t be, had no right to be. He just liked Mari, that was all. He liked her and therefore didn’t enjoy imagining her being unhappy over some man.

Drifting into slumber, it occurred to Trey that while he didn’t like the idea of Mari being unhappy over another man, he liked the thought of her being
happy
with someone else even less.

Someone else, of course, being anyone else but him.

Snow! Marielle watched the snowflakes swirling down outside her bedroom window with delight. The forecast had called for “Precipitation with accumulation”. Translated into plain English, that meant snow and that the snow would stick.

She leaped from the snuggly warmth of her feather bed and padded barefoot to the window. The yard and trees were sugar-coated white. She clapped her hands in childish glee. She loved snow, always had. One of her favorite times as a child was after a snowfall. She loved building snowmen, sledding and tobogganing, snowball fights, lying in the fresh powdery snow and making snow angels—all of it.

Hurriedly throwing on her thick, fleecy robe and house shoes, she set the coffee brewing in the kitchen and then went outside to the front porch for a better view of the landscape. It looked like a postcard, she thought. Snow capped the fence posts down the drive, frosted the roof of the old barn white, and covered the tops of the towering evergreens dotting her property.

As she stood on the porch, Trey’s red pickup approached and rolled to a stop in front of her house. Naturally, she told herself wryly, glancing down at her woolly robe and the plush cartoon character house shoes that Samantha had given her for Christmas last year. The man had an uncanny knack for catching her when she wasn’t exactly ready for company.

She watched Trey get out of his truck and start toward her and gave a mental shrug. Oh, what the hey, she decided fatalistically—some things were just meant to be. Trey Masterson seeing her when she least wanted to be seen was her destiny. Why fight it?

Good morning,” she said. “Want a cup of coffee?”

“Is it fresh?” he asked grinning.

“You betcha,” Marielle assured him, smiling back. “What brings you over so early?” she inquired as they went into the house. Trey accepted the steaming mug she handed him, and stirred in a spoonful of sugar.

“Cream?” she offered.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said. He leaned against her kitchen counter and subjected her to a thorough scrutiny. His dark eyes traveled slowly from her sleep-tumbled mane of auburn hair down to the incongruous furry house shoes, then back up to her face, which to her private disgust was flushed with heat from his inspection. He flashed her an innocently sensual smile.

“That’s how I like it, Marielle,” he drawled, his voice deep and loaded with double meaning. “Hot … .sweet … .” –he reached out and trailed his hand down the side of her face—” and creamy.”

Marielle stood wide-eyed, frozen in shock at the effect his words, his seductive voice, and his bedroom eyes were having upon her defenseless body. Trey’s eyes seemed to follow her movements with an almost feral gleam. She felt a shiver of purely feminine sexual awareness … of his unleashed male strength, and the raw sensuality smoldering in his gaze.

She stepped away from him, nearly stumbling in her haste to retreat. “Uh, you didn’t answer my question,” she said, anxious to get the conversation onto safer ground.

“What question was that?”

“What brings you over here so early?” she repeated.

“Oh, that. I’ve got some business down in Jackson Hole this morning. Just stopped by to see if you needed anything.”

“No, I can’t think of a thing,” she said brightly, averting her eyes lest he see the truth in them: the only thing she wanted and needed right now was
him.
If she didn’t hurry up and hustle him out of here, she’d throw herself in his arms and beg him to take her.

“Sure?” he asked. “Nothing? You know they’re not predicting a deep snow, but it could happen. If it did, you wouldn’t want to be caught up here without the basic necessities.” He smiled and drained his coffee cup, setting it on the counter. “Like coffee, for instance.”

“Thanks, but I believe I’ve got the basics,” Marielle told him, herding him to the front door.

He turned and gave her another long, searching look from head to toe. He lifted his hand and smoothed back a lock of her tousled hair, tucking it behind her ear. Tilting her chin up, he kissed her lightly on the lips.

“I think you’ve got the basics, too Mari,” he said softly. “In fact, I think you’ve got the luxury package, with all the bells and whistles.”

With that, he strode outside, and waving to her from the truck window, took his leave.
Marielle stood rooted to the spot in the doorway long after the red pickup had disappeared from sight. She raised a trembling hand to her lips. Even after such a chaste kiss from Trey, they throbbed.

She’d given herself a stern talking-to after the dance a few weeks ago. Reminded herself of all the reasons it seemed inadvisable to get involved with anybody right now. Much less Peter J. Masterson III. Trey appeared to be very much the take-charge type. Boss of his outfit, used to being in control, making the major decisions. All fine and good, she supposed—for some women.

But not for her. She reminded herself again what could happen when a woman relinquished all control of her life to a man. Marielle had loved her father dearly. It wasn’t his fault Mom had collapsed once he hadn’t been around to lean on anymore. But he had been old fashioned, set in his ways. He’d thought it was only right and natural that his voice would be the final say in their household; that his wife depend on him utterly and completely.

It seemed to her that Trey was that kind of man, although he was kind, considerate and surprisingly sensitive. She’d seen that much. But he was also almost aggressively male. She felt sure that he’d expect his wife to be the “little woman” who kept the home fires burning, who deferred to his every wish, who followed where he led and never took the lead herself.

No matter what, Trey was not the man for her—or she the woman for him. Never mind the mutual physical attraction between them. Never mind, either that she melted with lust every time he touched her or looked at her with those melting brown eyes. They simply weren’t suited for each other.
The end,
she told herself firmly.
That’s all, folks.