The Wedding Favor (24 page)

“Let’s just say I can sympathize.”

“I guess old Winnie should be careful.”

“I wouldn’t waste a bullet on him.”

“So you’ve got someone else in mind?”

She smiled. Tapped her fingers on her thighs, singing along.

He pulled off his tie, ran it through his hand. “Maybe I should tie you up after all, for my own protection.”

“Unless you’re planning to keep me bound for life, I wouldn’t advise it.” She turned up the radio, fiddled around until she found Carrie Underwood slashing the tires on her cheating boyfriend’s big-ass gas-guzzler. Ignoring him, she sang along.

Damn it, she was smart-assing circles around him. He needed to take control again. Catch her off guard. And there was no better way to do it than with the truth.

He turned down the radio. Put an extra dollop of honey in his drawl. “Vicky, honey.” He waited till he felt her attention on him. “I appreciate you coming all the way out here to testify. Angie told me you could’ve just sent a sworn statement, but it wouldn’t have had the same impact.” He met her startled gaze. “You saved the verdict, and I’m as grateful as I can be.”

She turned away, stared out the windshield. “Well. We didn’t do anything wrong. I mean,
legally
wrong.”

“Yeah, I know, but that might not have mattered.” He paused. “I didn’t know you lost your job until you said so on the stand. Is there anything I can do to make that right?”

She softened up. “Thanks, but I was fired to prevent the firm getting sued, not because they think I did anything wrong.”

He shook his head, sincerely apologetic. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t started that brawl with Winnie and torn up the wedding, I doubt it would’ve made the papers.”

“Maybe not. But Winston wouldn’t have gotten two black eyes either.”

He glanced at her, and for the first time all day, she was smiling at him. His heart lifted, suddenly as light as air. “Honey, I only wish he had four eyes so I could’ve blackened them all for you.”

She laughed at that, as he’d meant her to, and he grinned, loving the sound. He hadn’t felt this good in a month.

The road was straight as a ruler, he hardly needed to watch it, so he let himself steal a long look at her. Her blue eyes had gone all warm and melty. Her lips were parted, moist and inviting. She’d angled herself toward him just a little bit, and without thinking about it, he stretched his arm across the back of the seat, brushed a finger over her shoulder.

Yeah, now
this
was how things were supposed to be. She was his, all his. He could reach out and take her.

There was just one last hurdle to clear.

“Honey,” he said, his heart in his words, “walking away from you in France was the biggest mistake of my life. I’m sorrier than I can say.”

She jerked like he stabbed her. Went to battle stations in a blink, brushing off his hand. “Thanks for reminding me why I hate you.”

“But—”

She cranked the radio up.

He slapped it off. “I’m trying to apologize!”

She covered her ears.

He tugged on her arm. “Listen to me, goddamn it!”

She popped her seat belt, opened her window, and leaned out into the rushing heat. Waving both arms at the car they were passing, she yelled, “Help! I’m being kidnapped! Call the police!” The wind caught her words, but there was no mistaking her meaning. The driver’s eyes widened in shock.

“Jesus Christ, Vicky!” Hauling on her dress, Ty yanked her back inside with one hand while he raised her window with the other, engaging the child locks, all while driving with his knee. Glancing in the rearview, he saw the driver on her phone. “Goddamn it, the police’ll be after us. Don’t you realize this is Texas? They could shoot first and ask questions later!”

“As long as they aim at you, I’m good with it.”

He set his teeth.

A siren wailed in the distance.

T
wo hours later when they pulled into the ranch, Ty still wasn’t speaking to her. And she really couldn’t blame him. She had a lot to answer for.

But honestly, who could ever have imagined that the police would drag him out of the truck at gunpoint? Or throw him against the side to frisk him. Or cuff him facedown on the broiling pavement.

And it wasn’t like she just stood there watching. She’d tried everything to convince them that she wasn’t some battered woman too afraid of her abusive man to press charges against him.

When nothing else worked, she finally called the judge to vouch for them. It was totally humiliating.

Not that Ty had appreciated her efforts. Filthy, sweaty and with a welt rising on his cheek where it hit the side of the truck, he’d spent a long, torturous moment considering the cops’ offer to prosecute her before he finally shook his head, and, grim-faced, pointed to the truck. She’d climbed in meekly, tried to apologize until he shot her a look at her that said he might change his mind yet.

After that, silence had prevailed all the way home.

Now, as Ty got out of the truck, the skinny cowboy who’d started walking toward them stopped on a dime. His eyes tracked down from Ty’s tar-blackened shirt to the hole in his knee to the scuffed toes of his boots, then shot back up to the welt.

“Shit, Ty! What happened to you?”

“Victoria Westin, that’s what.” Ty jerked his thumb toward the truck, where she still sat in the cab. In a drawl that dripped poison, he added, “Give her a wide berth, Joe, or you’re liable to end up with a black eye, like every other man who gets near her.”

Well, that was going too far. Clambering down from her seat, Vicky strode toward the dumbfounded cowboy.

He eyed her like she’d rolled out of a Dumpster. And no wonder. Her wrinkled dress was stiff with dried sweat. Her pricey suede pumps were gray with road dust. Her makeup had melted off of her face. And her hair, well, her hair had unraveled when she stuck her head out the window. Now it hung in dreadlocks that would take hours to untangle.

She wasn’t deterred. Marching up to Joe, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Vicky. Ty’s mad because he kidnapped me and almost got arrested.”

“I didn’t kidnap her,” Ty ground out, talking to Joe but glaring at her. “But I might kill her. If I do, call the cops in Harwood. They’ll testify that it’s justifiable homicide.” And he stalked off toward the house.

“Uh, Ty,” Joe called after him. “Clancy came by. He said Brescia’s doing better.”

That brought Ty up short. The angry lines around his mouth disappeared as he broke into a smile. “What else did he say?” he asked Joe, changing direction for the barn. Joe tagged along, chattering about test results. For lack of anything better to do, Vicky followed at a safe distance.

The barn was cavernous and blessedly cool compared to the roasting sun. Ty and Joe disappeared into a stall. Over the half door, a horse’s head poked out. Liquid brown eyes turned Vicky’s way, bright and interested, and a velvet nose extended, inviting her closer. When she stepped up to the door, the warm, heavy head settled on her shoulder.

Cheek to cheek with the horse, Vicky closed her eyes. Breathed in, breathed out. Peace descended. She felt calmer than she could remember, as if the horse’s quiet presence had drawn the worry and aggravation from her mind like poison from a snakebite.

“Look at that, Ty,” Joe said in hushed tones. “Brescia likes your friend.”

“She’s not my friend,” Ty grumbled, but Vicky heard the trace of surprise he tried to suppress.

“Well, Brescia likes her anyway. And you know she’s not much on women.”

“Which makes her the smartest horse I’ve ever had.”

Vicky let herself smile. Ty was trying to keep on playing gruff, but he couldn’t sustain it. His pleasure at Brescia’s improvement had all but wiped out his foul mood.

“She’s beautiful,” Vicky said. “She’s . . . magical.”

Ty snorted, but without conviction. “She’s one of a kind, I’ll say that much.”

Which was more than he’d said to her in the last two hours. She opened her eyes. He was watching her, his expression unreadable. She widened her smile.

“I’m in love,” she said, and meant it.

T
y’s body stilled.

He couldn’t have heard her right. Even Vicky, who could change with the wind, couldn’t have gone from hate to love in the last five minutes.

As startling as that was, even more shocking was his own reaction. He wasn’t running.

He was smiling.

Well, why not? She turned him on. Made him laugh. Kept him on his toes. The truth was, in the last month, he’d imagined her on his ranch so many times that it didn’t seem weird to see her here in the flesh. It didn’t even seem strange that she was talking about love. In fact, it felt natural. So natural that he couldn’t remember why he’d fought his own feelings so hard—

“I always wanted a horse,” she continued, threading her fingers through Brescia’s mane. “Mother wouldn’t get me one, or even let me take lessons. But I promised myself I’d get one when I grew up.” She rubbed cheeks with Brescia while his ego shriveled like a raisin. “I’ll trade you my Beemer for her, straight up. What do you say?”

He cleared his throat, put some vinegar in his voice. “She’s not for sale. Or swap. Or loan, either. So you can quit cozying up to her. You’ll only break her heart when you go.”

He elbowed past Joe and pushed open the door, breaking up their hug-in. That made him feel mean-spirited, which only made him pricklier. He sniffed the air. “There’s a shower in the downstairs bedroom. You ought to use it.” And taking hold of Brescia’s halter, he walked her out of the stall.

As he headed for the paddock, Vicky called after him. “At least I don’t smell like I was lying in the garbage on the Interstate. With a jackboot on my ass.”

He shot a glare over his shoulder. Joe had his hat off, scratching his head as he watched Vicky flounce toward the house, spiky heels divoting the dusty path to his porch. Then the screen door slammed. Joe made for the office. And Ty, disgusted with himself, trudged around the paddock in his ruined clothing, blistering Brescia’s ear about the irresponsible, pigheaded
lawyer
she’d taken such a liking to.

Chapter Twenty-two

H
alf an hour later, leaning against the stove with one ice-cold beer down and another in his hand, Ty was feeling considerably less homicidal. Brescia had calmed him down, as usual. As soon as he finished his beer, he’d strip down and shower off. Then he’d feel all the way human again.

Meanwhile, he had to quit picturing Vicky in the shower. In the past month, he’d fantasized approximately two hundred times about the shower sex they’d almost had in Amboise. Now she was down the hall, and he could see her all too clearly in his mind’s eye, standing in the avocado-colored tub, warm water sluicing over her naked body.

He took another pull on his beer, rolled the bottle across his forehead.

Christ. He should shoot himself now, because he was too dumb to live.

He set the bottle on the counter. Took the first step toward the bedroom. And noticed a Post-it on the door.

KEEP OUT, JACKASS

That did it. He ripped it down, balled it up, and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he opened the door without knocking and walked in.

She wasn’t in the bedroom. The bathroom door was closed, but he didn’t hear the shower. He put his ear to the crack. Smiled. She was singing. Vintage Springsteen. He rapped with one knuckle. Then two. No response.

Slowly, he pushed open the door. Stuck his head in. And swallowed.

She was stretched out in the tub, eyes closed, ear buds in, bopping to her iPod. Bath-bubble islands drifted on top of the water, so he couldn’t see much. But he knew what was hiding under the surface.

Taking a quick look around, he spotted her panties in a roll on the floor. Leopard spots. His favorite. The matching bra dangled from the doorknob. He reached around and snatched it . . . just as she opened her eyes.

“Hey! Put that back, jackass!” She started to sit up, saw his eyes zero on her breasts, and slid down deeper. Her knees stuck up through the bubbles. “What’re you doing in here?”

He brazened it out. “I was gonna wash your clothes so you’d have something to wear. I knocked but you didn’t hear me.”

“Do I look stupid?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“You’re in no position to smart-ass me.” She stared him down. “Do you always spy on women in the bathtub?”

He snorted, trying for derision. “Do I look like a Peeping Tom?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

He went for offended. “I was doing you a favor.”

“I’ll pretend to believe you, because otherwise I’ll have to call the police. Again. Now put my bra back.”

She shouldn’t have mentioned the cops. He fluttered it in the air. “Come and get it.”

Then he waltzed right in and scooped up the rest of her clothes, waltzed out again and closed the door on her fury.

Then he sat down on the bed to wait.

It didn’t take long. There was splashing and thrashing, a muttered string of swearwords, then the door flew open and she charged out in nothing but a towel.

She stopped short when she saw him. “Why you—”

He waved her bra, a red flag to a bull.

When she lunged for it, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down on top of him.

V
icky landed in Ty’s lap, his arms strapped around her, not so tight she couldn’t breathe, but snug enough to immobilize her.

Resistance was pointless with her arms pinned; it would only dislodge her towel. So she went still instead, putting all her rebellion into her eyes, diamond points of fury that should have drilled through his skull and out the back of his head.

Except that he’d reverted to annoyingly unflappable Tyrell, the Ty with the lazy drawl and the buttery eyes and the easy smile that scraped like jagged fingernails across her overwound psyche.

He turned all those weapons on her now. “Honey, I’m tired of fighting with you. Let’s call a truce.”

“A truce? When you’re holding me prisoner?”

He loosened his arms, but kept them looped around her. “There. Now I’m not holding you prisoner, I’m just holding you.” He angled his head. “Is that better?”

Better? It was scary how much better it was. He was dirty and smelly, with his surfer’s hair stuck to his sweaty brow. But he still felt better than anything she’d felt in the last lonely month. Better than anything she’d hoped to feel ever again.

“No, it’s not
better
,” she said, tart as a lemon. “
Better
would be my air-conditioned room at the hotel. Which is where I’d be if you hadn’t
kidnapped
me.”

He swam past the bait. “If you’d stayed at the hotel, sugar, you wouldn’t have met Brescia.” He smiled sweetly. “She sure took a shine to you.”

That was the first thing he’d said that she didn’t want to argue with. Brescia had gone straight to her heart, an instant connection she’d never felt with any other creature. “What’s wrong with her? Will she be okay?”

“She’s got bloodworms,” he said, and he told her about them, all the risks and the worries. Then he took her through the treatment, Clancy’s visits, the new meds. She hung on his words.

“But she’s doing better now? Clancy thinks she’s improving?”

“She’s not out of the woods. But she’s going in the right direction.” He lifted a hand, tucked a clump of damp hair behind her ear. “It’s nice of you to care so much.”

A lump rose in her throat. “Brescia’s beautiful, inside and out. I felt it the minute I saw her.”

“She’s been good company this past month. When I was missing you.”

Her head came up. She must have misheard him.

“Maybe you can stay on awhile. Get to know her. I can teach you to ride.”

Her heartbeat picked up. “You’re kidding, right?”

He slid a finger along her jaw. “Honey, you’re trouble with a capital T. But I can’t seem to get enough of you.”

For a moment she just looked at him, while he looked back at her with a question in his eyes. He was asking her to come along with him, to leave the bullshit behind and get back to the good stuff.

Her head tried to resist. But her heart and her body were already with him; the battle was lost before it began. He’d summed it up perfectly, the push and the pull. Even when he got under her skin, she couldn’t resist him. He hit every button—passion, anger, humor, sadness. He made her feel fully alive.

She laughed, at herself, at the foolish leap she was taking, and her laughter felt lighter than air. It bubbled up from deep down, lifting her heart as it rose.

Setting her palm on his cheek, she skimmed her thumb over the welt. “Have you considered the risk? One of us always ends up needing an ice pack.”

“I’ll stock up.” His fingers slid into her hair. “For now, you can kiss it better if you want to.”

Her eyes locked with his. She leaned in, slowly, surely. Stroked her tongue across the swelling.

That was all it took. The towel hit the floor. Her back hit the mattress. Rolling on top of her, he kneed her thighs apart, ground against her as she arched up to meet him.

“Honey.” He got the word out on a pant. “I need to get inside you
right now
.”

Her breath hitched. “Yes. Now.” She reached for his belt.

He caught her hand. “Condoms,” he gasped. “Upstairs.” He straightened his arms, raked tiger eyes down her body. Then pushed off from the bed, shedding his shirt as he ran.

She couldn’t lie still. Her breath hitched. Her heart drummed.

She sat up, ran her hands through her hair. And her restless gaze hit a photo, framed on the bureau.

It stopped her cold. A reality check. Sunny day, white church. Beautiful bride, handsome husband. Laughing and loving, looking past the lens to a future sparkling and bright.

Vicky’s eyes scanned the room, her first real look around. Lissa was everywhere. In other photos, pinning a blue ribbon to Brescia’s bridle, at a party with Jack’s arm around her, the two of them grinning drunkenly at the camera. In trophies and ribbons, lining a shelf.

She went to the closet. Here were Lissa’s clothes. Her cowboy boots. Her leather jacket, worn soft as butter. Ty had kept it all.

Closing the closet, she leaned back against the door.

Isn’t it possible, Mr. Brown, that you simply
dreamed
that conversation with your wife, or perhaps
imagined
it—which would be completely understandable given the stress you were under, your fatigue, your grief?

It was a good question, artfully crafted to raise doubt in the jury’s mind while also showing compassion for his heartbreak. He’d borne up well until then, and she doubted anyone else in the courtroom knew how that question affected him. But she was standing a few feet in front of him. She saw the sick fear flicker over his face.

Reading it there, understanding what it meant, she did something she’d never done before. She abandoned her training, her judgment as a lawyer, and went with her instincts. She walked away from him, riffling her papers, drawing the jury’s gaze to her and away from his suffering.

Stuffing two pages of follow-up questions under her notebook, she ignored her co-counsel’s startled stare. He knew she’d pulled her punches, hadn’t gone for the kill.

But Ty, she knew, had no idea. She’d touched on his deepest fear, and that made him believe she was cold and heartless, a lawyer in the most hated sense of the word.

Given that belief, how could he ever forgive her for asking that question? Wouldn’t some part of him always see her as the enemy?

The things he’d said just moments ago, the way he’d looked at her, touched her, all made her believe that he wanted more from her than another quick lay. But if he didn’t confront that part of himself that still saw her as a threat, how could they ever get back to the good stuff? Wouldn’t it always be the elephant in the room, poised to stomp on her if she said the wrong thing, triggered the wrong thought in his head?

Footsteps thudded down the stairs. She moved back to the bed.

“Had to hunt for the good ones,” he said, bursting into the room. He tossed a handful on the bed.

She sifted them through her fingers. “You’re an optimist.”

He grinned, stripping off his pants. “You’re insatiable. And I aim to satisfy.” He crawled up the bed until he caged her in. “Now, where were we?”

He dropped his head to kiss her, but she made herself plant a hand on his chest. “Not so fast, cowboy. I’ve got a question for you.”

He rolled onto his back, pulling her over on top of him. Their legs twined like fingers. “No, I don’t have any handcuffs,” he said. “But I promise to get some.”

She dropped her head on his shoulder, let out a laugh. If only it was that simple.

His hands stoked over her back, palms slightly rough, one gliding down to cup her ass, the other moving up, under her hair, to cradle her skull possessively. Desire dulled her brain. Why would she do anything to ruin this perfect moment? Why?

She lifted her head. His eyes glowed golden brown. His lips curved deliciously, prelude to a kiss.

“Why did you walk out on me in Amboise?”

His smile faltered for an instant, then firmed again. “Honey, I told you I’m sorry.”

He started to roll her over, to put her on her back again, but she pushed against his shoulder. “I believe you. But why did you do it?”

He didn’t answer, tried to roll her again, but she straddled him, planting her palms on his chest. “Stop trying to get on top of me.”

His smile turned playful, determinedly so. “Honey, if you want to play cowgirl, just say so.” He caught her waist and lifted her up, poised above his erection.

“Don’t.” That was all she said. His smile faltered again.

He set her down on his chest, blew out an exaggerated sigh. “Sweetheart, this is exactly what I meant when I said you were trouble.” His lazy drawl made it sound like a tease. “Here I am trying to get my rocks off, and yours too I might add, and you’re going lawyer on me, turning into your mother.”

It was a cheap shot, throwing Adrianna at her. That he’d stoop so low meant she was close to the bone.

“I think I know why,” she persisted. “You went back to your room and started thinking about Lissa.”

“We’re not talking about Lissa.” No teasing tone now; his voice was stone cold.

“Her things are all over this room, but we can’t talk about her?”

“Let’s not talk at all.” He flipped her onto her back. His mouth came down on hers, and this kiss wasn’t playful. It wasn’t gentle or sexy or fraught with passion. It was hard and hurtful, meant to dominate.

She turned her head away, and he didn’t force her. Instead, he spread her legs with his knees, would have plunged in, but she simply said, “No,” and he didn’t force that either. Pushing up on his hands, he glared down at her.

“Why the fuck are you doing this, Vicky? Just leave well enough alone.”

“It’s not well enough.” She held his fiery gaze. “If you won’t tell me why you walked out on me, how do I know you won’t do it again?”

“I said I was sorry.” His growl was menacing, nothing like his easygoing drawl. But then, he wasn’t as easygoing as he liked to pretend. Now he was hurting, and to some degree, she was the instrument of his pain. Until they got that out on the table, they could never be together.

“I know you’re sorry, Ty. I’m telling you that’s not enough.”

In one motion, he levered up off the bed, grabbed his pants from the floor, and shoved in a leg.

Her throat squeezed. She forced out the words. “So you’re walking out again. So I was right not to trust you.”

He whipped around, fury darkening his face. “You want to know why I walked before? Why I’m walking now? Because you’re a high-maintenance, pain-in-the-ass bitch on wheels who won’t be happy till I’m on my knees. Well, I won’t do it. I won’t do it for you or anybody else, you understand?”

He turned his back on her, scooped his shirt from the floor.

Holding back tears, she managed to say, “Yes, Ty, I do understand.”

Then he slammed out the door.

H
e stopped in the hall to stamp into his boots. Thought she understood, did she? She understood
nothing
. Not a goddamn thing.

He stomped through the house and out the back door, making for his truck. But he’d forgotten the keys, and going back to get them was too much to ask when the world was folding in on him. Hunched on the seat, he fought for control. His throat was so tight he couldn’t swallow. An elephant stood on his chest; his lungs wouldn’t fill.