Not Just a Cowboy (Texas Rescue) (16 page)

She exhaled at the sight, then sat up, eager to press herself against his bared skin. Her polo shirt was coarse and covered too much of her body, so she imitated him, grabbing the hem and pulling it over her head, leaving her bared except for her sports bra. She barely had time to shake the hair back from her face before he was on her, spreading his hands flat on her back and pressing her body into his. The sensation of skin meeting skin overrode her thoughts, making her melt.

They lay down again, together. Horizontal was where they both wanted to be, pressed together, kissing, kissing. Luke broke the kiss as he rolled to his back. Patricia rolled with him, lifting herself on one arm over him. Before she could start kissing him again, he pulled her bra’s shoulder strap down, the firm elastic pinning her arm against her side but freeing her breast.

His mouth was hot and moist, a sure sweep of tongue, a greedy taste of her body. Patricia knew she would not stop this. She wanted to make this memory, like he’d said they should. She’d take the passion now; she could have regrets in the morning.

Oh, she would have regrets.

Just a few days ago, when she’d been so happy to see him after the terrible fire, she’d been afraid he would stop. She’d hugged her knees as she sat on that bench, so afraid he wouldn’t touch her as she’d longed to be touched.

She wasn’t afraid anymore, because now he knew who she was. If she decided
yes, you may,
then men did not say no to Daddy Cargill’s daughter.

Luke shifted positions again as he laid her back and pulled her bra down further, freeing both breasts, sliding her arm out of the strap. He ran his hand gently over her body, making her arch her back, seeking more.

“Did you bring protection?” she whispered.

He hesitated, and she knew he had, just in case.
Daddy Cargill’s daughter, what a prize.
But he would be discreet, just like Marcel and the rest she’d so carefully chosen over the years. He wouldn’t brag after they’d gone their separate ways.

Luke held himself over her, studying her face in the starlight. “In a truck?” he asked. “On a beach?”

She knew what he was really asking.
Are you sure?

She smiled at him.
Yes, you may.

But as his mouth came down over hers, she said, “I won’t want to forget a thing.”

And then, she started to cry.

Chapter Seventeen

“I
can’t make love to a woman who’s crying. Talk to me, darlin’.”

Luke watched Patricia’s expression closely. Her poker face was gone. Her hair was a pale blond tumble around her face, her throat tan in contrast, her eyes dark and huge as she stared up at him. She was exposed to him for once, her cool and haughty veneer gone as she lay beneath him, her naked breasts pressed beneath his chest.

She wiped her tears with a single swipe of her hand. “It’s nothing. The wind.”

Incredibly, she seemed to think she could hide from him, still, but he could read her like he’d never been able to read any other woman. She was aroused, but she was feeling desperate about more than just his body.

“It’s something. Tell me.”

“We’ve talked enough. I don’t want to talk. I want to make love to you.”

“That makes two of us.”

As she blinked up at him, more tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, rolling into her hair.

Sexual frustration combined with true concern. He shifted to the side, but her body, bare from the waist up, was too hard to ignore. He grabbed his T-shirt and bundled it over her. Maybe she’d feel more secure if she was less exposed. He didn’t know. She was complicated, but by God, he was into her. This was so much more than sex.

She pulled his shirt aside and pulled his head down for a kiss. “This will still be great,” she said, and then kissed him again, rebuilding their passion to where it had been a minute before. “It will still be great.”

“Even though...fill in the blank for me, Patricia.” The physical demands of his body clamored for him to forget it. Take what she offered. He commanded himself to control the need. “This will be great, even though what?”

She blinked up at him, perhaps surprised he wasn’t giving in to her seduction. “It’s just...”

Then she closed her eyes, and he looked at her dark lashes on her smooth skin as she whispered what sounded like a fervent wish. “It would have been so nice if you hadn’t known. Just once, to have a lover who didn’t know.”

He could feel her heartbreak. What must it be like to live as she did, always with her father’s legend over her head? Never knowing at age eleven or twenty or thirty-two if someone wanted to be with you because they liked you, or because they wanted a taste of that Cargill
cachet
.

He wished he had a blanket to cover her for this conversation, but since he didn’t, he interlocked his fingers with hers, and brought their joined hands to rest between their hearts, hiding her nudity with their arms.
Cuddling.
It wasn’t a word he ever used, but he sure didn’t mind having Patricia close.

“How soon you forget,” he said. “When I asked you if you’d known Quinn, didn’t I make it clear that nothing in your past mattered to me? Nothing changes the fact that I can’t stop thinking about you, every minute of the day.”

“Now that you know I have money, I bet that’s about a million times more true.”

Her words were tough, but she looked so vulnerable beneath him, her words only made him more aware of the lifelong depth of her pain. “Patricia, Patricia. Money has hurt you so badly. I don’t want to talk about money. Let’s talk about love.”

“Love?”

That cooled her ardor. Luke was sad to feel it, the little recoil in her body.

“Love me, love my money, it’s all the same,” she said. “You can’t separate one from the other.”

“But I did. Until this morning, I had no idea whose daughter you were. So all week, I’ve been kissing you, not your money.”

He kissed her again. “Does that feel like I’m kissing money? You must know what it feels like when a man kisses the Cargill heiress. Go ahead. Close your eyes. Remember some other man for a moment.”

“You want me to think about another man?”

“Yes.”

“You’re crazy. Men don’t like to be compared.”

“It’s for a good cause. Close your eyes. Remember him. Remember the guy before him.”

He studied her closed eyelids once more, waiting until it looked like she was concentrating as he’d asked.

The jealousy was worse than he’d thought. He controlled his breathing, like he was wearing a mask. Waited another moment, and then he kissed her. He kissed her to make her forget. He kissed her as if he could draw all that pain and uncertainty from her.

He kissed her as if she were his one and only. She was the only woman in his world, the only woman who really touched his heart.

My God, that’s who she is.

She began kissing him back, passion for passion, until she made a little whimper of need that nearly sent him over the edge.

He tore his mouth away, ending the kiss abruptly and panting as he concentrated on controlling this lust that was more than lust.

“Do you see it?” he said into the warm space filled by their mingled breaths. “Do you see the difference? This is a man who is kissing Patricia, only Patricia, not an heiress. I kissed you in the rain under a tree, do you remember? The night when I came back from the fire, we kissed in the rain. Close your eyes and remember that. Then lightning struck, and we hid in the showers, and we kissed some more. Remember those kisses.”

He kissed her again, remembering the rain himself, and the surprising, soothing sweetness of knowing she cared about him. This kiss, he ended gently.

“It felt like that,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if you have a billion dollars, I’m kissing my beautiful, mysterious Patricia when I kiss you.”

She opened her eyes, humbling him by looking at him as if he’d hung the stars above them. Another tear ran down from the corner of her eye, but this time, Luke understood. This tear was different. He could kiss it away.

They began removing their remaining clothes, anticipation tempered by a near reverence at what they were about to do. Luke lowered himself over her, pausing one last time to whisper in her ear.

“And when we make love, you’ll remember the night of the fire and the rain, and you’ll know that the first time I brought you release, you were Patricia to me. You are Patricia to me still. Always.”

* * *

The next meeting of the Texas Rescue and Relief leadership team was uneventful for everyone except the daughter of Daddy Cargill.

The meeting started inauspiciously in one of the conference rooms at West Central Texas Hospital. Karen Weaver droned on, attempting to disguise her incompetence with long-winded explanations. Impatient with Karen’s nonsense, Patricia opened her email on her phone. The message from the bank stopped her heart.

Please be advised that there will be a maintenance fee assessed this month due to a low account balance.

Impossible. The daily interest on the trust fund was enough to keep the account above the minimum balance. This insanity had to stop. The balance hadn’t been stable since the hurricane. As soon as Patricia challenged one expenditure, another unauthorized one would appear.

She preferred to call on the bank by appointment. Appearances were everything with her father’s cronies, so she usually ensured they were assembled and waiting for her entrance. Then she would arrive wearing the appropriate attire for negotiation, a severe suit with the length of the skirt tailored precisely to midknee.

This email was the last straw. She was done with their games. The bank wasn’t far from the hospital. She could use the element of surprise to her advantage. Besides, although her tailored slacks were grey and her silk blouse was pink, their pastel colors were icy, not to be mistaken as weak. She would remove the string of pearls, though. They might be seen as feminine. Weak.

She felt weak.

Darlin’, you do not look like a woman who was well-loved last night. You’re more worried this morning than I’ve ever seen you. I have to ask you again, when you return home, are you going to be in any danger?

The mobile hospital had broken down and packed up in a record fast forty-six-hour stretch, but engine thirty-seven had been sent home early in the process. Luke had had no choice but to go. The engine had to carry its full crew. Patricia had used those regulations to prevent Luke from persuading her to extend their romance beyond its week’s limit.

I told you the truth last night, Luke. I’m going to miss you. This was a week of summer-camp romance. So very real, but unable to last. I just can’t see you anymore.

Karen droned on. Patricia stole a look around the conference room at her fellow directors. She apparently was no longer the only one who could see through Karen’s act. Things were going to change, and soon.

I remember the day after our first kiss. You tried to deny that we meant something then, too. This is no summer romance, darlin’. You’re going to have to get used to being loved for more than a day or a week.

Don’t be so kind,
the daughter of Daddy Cargill had said, chin in the air, spine straight.

Give me your number. We have the rest of our lives to sort this out.

She’d pronounced each digit precisely. He’d typed them in his phone. Looking her square in the eye, he’d held his phone up and hit the green call button. Her phone hadn’t rung.

He’d taken her phone from her hand, dialed his own number, and let his phone ring twice before silencing it. In equal silence, he’d kissed her on the cheek, then just as chastely on the lips, and he’d climbed into the cab of engine thirty-seven.

“I’m sure the operational expenditures will be counterset by the financial expenditures of the host city,” Karen said.

Patricia jerked her attention back to the issue at hand. Karen was speaking accounting gibberish. If she stayed at the helm of Texas Rescue, she’d run its finances into the ground as surely as Daddy would if he didn’t get her approval on every move.

She studied the phone in her lap again, refreshing the screen for the banking app. The door to the conference room opened. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the polished leather of a cowboy’s boots stop by her chair. Dark blue jeans. Slowly she lifted her head. Pale blue Western shirt.

Sailing blue eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Luke said. “Is this seat taken?”

Chapter Eighteen

T
he meeting was adjourned.

Luke stood and got Patricia’s chair. She looked so achingly familiar, yet different. Her boat shoes had been replaced by high-heeled silver sandals, impractical but sexy. He’d gotten used to seeing her trim calf muscles at the mobile hospital, but now her legs were hidden by immaculate creased slacks. She looked more like a beautiful, off-limits princess than ever.

He spoke to her as if she wore shorts and ate in mess tents. “I thought that would never end. You actually volunteer to sit in these meetings?”

She didn’t quite look at him. “You actually volunteer to go into burning buildings?”

“Ah, that’s the Patricia I know and love. It’s good to see you.”

“Thank you.” She snuck a peek at him. He noticed, studying her as he was. She wasn’t immune to him, but she sure didn’t want to be attracted to him.

It made no sense. They should be openly in love, holding hands and making goo-goo eyes at each other until everyone was sick of them.

She picked up a purse with leather that was dyed so close to the shade of gray of her pants, it nearly disappeared. It was hard to imagine this woman living on his ranch. He had to remember the hard worker who’d tied knots in tent ropes.
That
Patricia would be at home on the JHR.

Which Patricia did Patricia prefer to be?

For once, he hadn’t pursued her with a half-baked plan. He’d come determined to bring her to her senses. She hadn’t called him, and he’d been certain that meant her life was miserable. He’d come to save her. They belonged together.

Seeing her in this environment gave him pause, he had to admit. She looked incredibly affluent in her pearls and silk clothing, a woman of leisure who chose to volunteer her time. She didn’t look like someone whose life was a living hell.

Her cell phone vibrated, still on mute from the meeting. She glanced at the screen. “Excuse me, I need to take this. It was lovely seeing you again.”

She walked briskly toward the door as she answered the phone in her cool and cultured voice, leaving him behind.

The pain of being dismissed was sharp. It simply wasn’t
normal
for her to act that way toward a man she’d shared so much with. Was this some high-society game, a test to see if he’d come to heel?

Luke wasn’t in the mood to play games. If she wanted to know if he’d follow her like a puppy dog, then she’d find out. He’d follow her, all right. But when he caught up, they were going to talk.

In the hospital hallway, she turned right, walking at a steady clip as she spoke. “No, I will not pay for an after-market paint job. I’m sure the Mustang is available in at least one color that she will find acceptable. The sunroof option is fine. Randolph, I would appreciate it if you could limit any further requests from this one. Perhaps tell her everything else is standard, or that the order has to be placed by noon. Whatever it takes. Please.”

The please was Luke’s undoing, as always. Patricia should not have to beg him for anything, and she sure as hell shouldn’t have to beg a car dealership to run interference between herself and one of her father’s cast-offs. His irritation toward her softened; his disgust with her father grew.

“Patricia.”

She was startled by the sound of his voice, jerking her hand a bit as she dropped her cell phone into her purse. Not normal behavior for the confident personnel director, again, and Luke hated to see her this way. He slowed his steps, taking his time to cover the polished linoleum between them. He stopped just a little bit too close to her. She didn’t move away.

He’d missed her so much.
I love you
would have been so easy to say. It was close to frightening, the way he had to consciously not speak the words.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said, and then the chemistry took over, and she was kissing him at least as hungrily as he was kissing her.

“You two should get a room.” Quinn’s voice boomed in the sterile hospital corridor.

Patricia pushed away from Luke as if she’d been caught doing something forbidden, darting looks down the hall like a nervous bird. Something was wrong, and Luke needed to find out what it was.

“Do you have a room we could use?” Luke turned to Quinn. The look on his own face must have been intense, because Quinn’s expression turned sober.

“Most of the conference center should be unlocked. Help yourself.” Quinn stepped back as Luke took Patricia by the hand and led her back the way they’d come.

The second door Luke tried was unlocked. He pulled Patricia in with him, then turned and shut the door. Neither one of them hit the lights. A week without contact had left them starving for one another. It wasn’t just him. She felt the same, her need obvious in the dark as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his.

The high heels changed the angle that their mouths met. The silk of her shirt was nothing like the cotton of her Texas Rescue polo. She was new, she was familiar, she was his.

After long moments of physical communion that filled Luke’s soul, Patricia backed away. Her voice was less than steady in the artificial darkness, like she was on the verge of bolting. “I’ve got to get to the bank.”

Luke tried for humor. “It’s a sad thing when a woman would rather go to a bank than keep kissing.”

“You make it so hard.”

“Well, thank y—”

“Damn you, why do you have to make everything so hard for me? I have to go to the bank. I have to do a lot of things, and I have to do them quickly, and you are making it so hard.”

Luke fumbled for the lights. In the sudden brightness, Patricia looked just as upset as she sounded.

“Then we’ll go to the bank,” he said. “Together.”

“No, we will not. I have a life that cannot include you. I told you that.”

“Or else Daddy Cargill will make yours a living hell. I remember. It’s apparently already a living hell. Let me help.”

She put her hand out to stop him when he tried to step closer. With distance between them, she took a deep breath. She stood taller, graceful in her high heels. “I explained that incorrectly. I should have said that my life is a living hell now, but if I leave you and keep my focus on what I have to do next, I can be free of Daddy Cargill forever. I will have my own life. I want, more than anything, to stop living his.”

“I want that for you, too. I’ll do anything I can to help. I’m all yours, all my time, all my energy.”

“Oh, Luke.” She looked at him, finally, with an expression more like the one she’d had in the pickup truck, under the stars. A tightness in his chest eased. She was still his Patricia.

“You cannot help me at all, my darling.”

He put his hands in his jean pockets, because she so clearly didn’t want his touch. “What is it you have to do that I can’t help with?”

“I have to marry another man.”

The hit was hard, like hitting the ground after being bucked off a stallion.

He saw red. “Who?”

“I don’t know yet. I have to find him. There’s a set of criteria that must be met for the terms of the deal. My time is running out to find someone suitable.”

“Terms of the deal? No one can make you marry anybody. You know that. You must know that.”

“It’s a personal bet between Daddy and me. We shook hands on it. You’ve heard of Cargill handshakes. If there’s one thing he has, it’s pride in his own legend. He started offering me a deal, my financial freedom if I could prove that I was single by choice, not because I couldn’t land a man. He was running off at the mouth in front of his friends, but I saw my chance. He was forced to shake when I agreed to his terms.”

“You don’t really think the man is going to honor this deal, do you? I assume you’re talking about serious money. A million dollars? More? Your deal is unenforceable by law. He won’t follow through.”

“He loves his own legend. A Cargill deal must stand. No welching, no cheating, no changing the terms.”

She was actually excited about this. As she spoke, she looked more animated. She looked like a woman who could run the world, so confident was she that she could win this bet.

It was a sick bet, made with a sick man. Luke had to find a way to show her that, before it was too late.

She actually placed her palm on his arm, a soothing gesture, as if so little could fix this mess. “You can see why you are a terrible distraction. I only agreed to a week’s romance with you. I need you to stick to that deal, so that I can stick to mine. Please.”

A week’s romance? He ought to throw her over his shoulder and take her back to his ranch. That week hadn’t been long enough. Not nearly long enough.

She was begging him,
please,
but it hadn’t been long enough, because it hadn’t been a full week. Zach had passed out while they’d been flipping those ambulances on a Tuesday. Engine thirty-seven had been sent home on Sunday. Six days.

“You expected me to take that week literally?”

“Yes, of course. Please, Luke.”

“You can stop begging me. First, I hate to hear you beg for anything. But second, you owe me one more day.”

“But...”

He could practically see her counting the days on a calendar in her head. “You owe me one more day,” he repeated. “No welching, no cheating, no changing the terms of the deal.”

She was all offended dignity, the princess drawing herself up to stare down her peasant.

Luke could finally find it in himself to laugh. “Forget the bank. Today is my day. Don’t bother glaring at me.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’m going to show you a good time, princess, and it starts right now.”

He hit the lights, and took her in his arms, and let chemistry do the rest.

* * *

Patricia couldn’t deny it. She’d never been happier to be forced to obey a man. Luke wanted to remind her of what the truly good things in life were, he said. So far, they’d involved kissing her senseless in a hospital conference room and feeding her Mexican vanilla ice cream with candy crushed in it.

He handed her up into his truck, for she’d needed a boost to climb into the pickup’s cab. It seemed to be a ranch vehicle, meant for pulling horse trailers, because it had a significant hitch on the back. It was hardly her style, but when Luke swung into the cab and settled behind the wheel in his denim and boots, he looked almost as sexy as he had in his red suspenders. A fireman cowboy. Lucky her.

For one day
.

Then she’d get back to the real world.

They didn’t drive far, just from the hospital to Lady Bird Lake, the wide part of the Colorado River which Austin’s downtown was centered around. Luke parked in front of a humble chain hotel, the kind found at interstate exits across the country.

“Really?” she asked him.

They were going to spend the rest of the afternoon in a hotel room. Her body said
yes
. Heck, her mind said
yes,
too. But her heart knew that passion was fleeting, even destructive. She’d seen three marriages die passionate deaths, and her childhood die with them. If Luke thought she’d give up her chance at lifelong freedom from Daddy Cargill because he’d shown her that an afternoon of sex was fun, then Luke didn’t know her as well as he thought. Maybe not as well as she’d hoped.

Have I been hoping for him to change my mind?

He paused to kiss her in the lobby. He paused to kiss her by the elevators, and then he pushed through the glass doors to go out the other side of the hotel, and Patricia realized he knew her very well. Oh, so very well.

The park between the hotel and Lady Bird Lake was littered with sailboats on trailers. Little two-man boats with colorful sails were just waiting to be rolled into the water. They were nothing like her sailboats, her twenty-and thirty-five-foot beauties moored at her house on Canyon Lake, but they were sailboats all the same, designed to catch the wind and race across water.

Patricia looked to the sky, automatically checking the sunny weather. The lake was perfectly calm. Luke came up behind her and pulled her to his chest.

She sighed. “We’re not dressed for this.”

He kissed her ear. “I only have a day. No time for wardrobe changes. If you feel a wardrobe malfunction is imminent, though, be sure to get my attention first.”

“You’re really not as funny as you think you are, Waterson.”

She wanted to smile as she said it, but she suddenly felt very, terribly sad. Sad enough to cry, and there was something about Luke that seemed to make her want to cry. It was a weakness around him.

“Are we going to go sailing?” she asked. Weakness made her impatient.

Luke spread one arm wide, gesturing toward the variety of sailboats before them. His voice was strangely serious when he spoke.

“Choose your destiny.”