To Love and Cherish (5 page)

She flushed. “You do most of the time.”

He scowled. “Do I?” he asked, and there was genuine curiosity in his tone.

“I know you don't like me,” she replied, clutching the leather-covered
pommel for dear life, “and you don't think I'm good enough for Danny, but couldn't you just…”

“Hold it right there,” he said grimly. “Who the hell said I don't think you're good enough for my brother?”

“It's the way you treat me, as if…”

“I don't want you to marry him, that's so,” he admitted. “But your background doesn't have a damned thing to do with it. You're a world away from Danny. You don't even like the same things. My God, he wouldn't go near a river, and you like to shoot the white water. He only looks reckless, but you are. You like bucking the odds. I can see it now. Danny would be home watching television while you were out hang-gliding down some mountain. You've got nothing in common except that you like each other. Hell, Shelby,
Danny doesn't even like children, had you thought about that?”

“No,” she said honestly, not bothering to tell him she hadn't because it didn't matter since she wasn't really marrying Danny.

“Do you want children?” he asked.

She stared at him, and the words came out without volition. “Oh, yes,” she said softly. There was an intensity in King's eyes that she couldn't understand. “Do you?” she asked without knowing why.

He nodded, his face somber. His eyes swept over her slowly, appraisingly. “You're not built for babies.”

“That doesn't mean I couldn't have them.”

“No,” he agreed. “A woman who isn't afraid of white water wouldn't be afraid of childbirth. But would you take to life on a cattle ranch? It's
damned lonely here. There aren't any nightclubs or boutiques.”

“Do I need them?” she asked wistfully.

“You tell me. You're a model.”

“Yes, I am,” she agreed dully. “A walking, talking eight by ten glossy.”

He scowled at her, but he didn't pursue it. “Let's get moving, honey, I've got a long day ahead.”

He hurried her around the corrals where the branding and vetting of cattle was being done, as if he was suddenly anxious to get rid of her. It all became a maze of dust and heat and bawling cattle and burning hide. He took her back to the ranch house after a whirlwind tour of the cattle operation and left her with barely a word.

She spent the rest of the afternoon with the elder Brannts, trying her best not to appear concerned that Danny had gone off with Mary Kate Culhane
for the day. Strange, she thought, how Danny was pointedly calling attention to his attraction for Mary Kate and his lack of real interest in Shelby. Especially since the fake engagement had been his idea. Shelby couldn't begin to fathom his reasoning. Neither could King, apparently. When he was told at the supper table that Danny was having supper with the Culhanes, he speared a glance at Shelby, threw down his napkin and left the room.

She couldn't sleep that night. Her nerves were all on edge, raw. It was because of King, because of the way he affected her. She'd always been aware of his physical attractions, but she'd managed to keep her feelings carefully camouflaged before. Now it was getting harder by the day not to let them show. She caved in when she was around him. The air show yesterday, the unexpected bonus of
spending a morning with him today, had left her with a glow she never expected. He made her pulses run wild just by looking at her. But she felt, ironically, incredibly safe with him. Secure. Protected. She rolled over with a sigh. Why did she have to feel like this about King, anyway? Why couldn't she have felt that way about Danny instead?

King didn't want any part of her, that was for sure. All he wanted was for Shelby to get out of his brother's life so that there'd be room for Mary Kate in it. Mary Kate with her cattle and oil that would give King and his father an even bigger empire and the hope of an heir to leave it to.

She pounded the pillow in its cool, crisp pillowcase and tossed restlessly onto her side. Why hadn't she been born a country girl? Maybe then King would at least tolerate her. But she
was a “city lady” and he wasn't going to forget that.

With a moan of frustration, she swung her feet to the floor and pulled on her burgundy dressing gown. She flicked on the small light by her bed and yawned. She just wasn't sleepy, and there was no forcing it. Maybe if she had a book to read…

She went downstairs carefully, only able to see by the muted light of the wall lamps along the staircase, and into the den. Her bare feet didn't make any noise at all on the thick pile of the carpet. She was careful to leave the door slightly ajar, too, so there wouldn't be any unnecessary noise.

Her slender hands touched the covers of the fiction books in the soft light that came from the desk lamp, but none of the titles interested her. She moved along to the nonfiction portion of the shelf and discovered a volume on Western history. She
tugged it out carefully and leafed through it, her eyes fascinated by actual photographs of such infamous Westerners as John Henry “Doc” Holliday and Cole Younger. She was lost in the book when she felt a sudden prickling sensation at the back of her neck. She turned around and gasped when she saw King standing just inside the door, scowling at her.

His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging loose from his trousers, baring his bronzed, muscular chest with its heavy wedge of curling dark hair. His hair was mussed, as if he'd been running his fingers through it. He looked alarmingly masculine and vibrant, and more than just a little dangerous.

“I…I'm not stealing the family silver, if that's what you're worried about,” she said, hating the breathless note in her voice.

“Couldn't you sleep, honey?” he asked quietly.

She moistened her dry lips. “No,” she admitted. “I thought I might read for a while.”

He shouldered away from the door and came toward her, his face dark and unsmiling. He stopped just in front of her, his eyes taking in the quick rise and fall of her breasts under the satin robe, the runaway pulse at the base of her throat.

“I…I'd better get back to bed,” she whispered.

His eyes traveled down the length of her slender body lingering where the lapels parted over her thin gown.

“Did you plan on reading yourself to sleep?” he asked.

Not trusting her voice with him this close, she only nodded.

He reached out and took the book from her nerveless hands, idly checking the title with a faint smile before he tossed it onto the desk and caught her by the waist.

“I can think of something that'll put you to sleep a lot faster than reading a book,” he murmured sensuously. He pulled her against him slowly, gently, watching the staggering effect it had on her when her slender body touched his.

She caught her breath at the newness of the action, at the feel of his possessive hands on her waist, burning even through the layers of fabric.

“Please don't…” she pleaded in a whisper.

His own breath was coming as quick as hers now. He brushed his open mouth against her forehead. “Run your hands over my chest, Shelby,” he whispered gruffly.

She flushed like a schoolgirl. Her fingers clenched where they rested against his cool shirt. “No!”

“You sound like an outraged virgin,” he murmured, “and that's
something we both know you're not.”

“You don't know anything about me,” she choked, pushing helplessly against the rock-hard muscles of his chest.

“I know what I do to you.” His hands moved caressingly against her waist and back through the robe. “I can feel it, just as I felt it yesterday afternoon; this morning. I make you uneasy as hell, don't I, honey?”

Her head bowed and her heart raced. “Don't,” she breathed.

He laughed softly. “What are you afraid of—betraying Danny? He wasn't concerned about betraying you when he went off with Mary Kate two days in a row, was he?”

“It's just friendship…” she protested weakly.

“The hell it is.” He tipped her chin up and brushed his hard mouth across her closed eyes. “But if you
don't want Danny to know, we won't tell him.” His hands came up to cup her flushed young face. He bent and she felt, helplessly, the warm, tobacco-scented breath on her lips. “I'll make it good for you, Shelby,” he whispered sensuously.

His mouth broke against hers, taking it softly, slowly, so that she could feel each slow, deliberate movement of his hard, warm lips, his tongue as it traced the inner line of her mouth. She trembled, and he felt that, too; the soft movement of his lips told her so.

He was no boy. He knew exactly the moves to make that would check her tentative struggles. He was slow and tender and expertly demanding, and Shelby thought that there had never been such a kiss as this, that drained her of will, that made her weak and yielding, that brought her heart trembling into her throat. Her
slender hands moved softly across his hard chest and she moaned unconsciously.

King's cool, rough hands left her face and slid down her back to her hips to hold her even closer and, instinctively, she stiffened and tried to pull away from the intimate contact.

He drew back, the question in his dark, scowling expression. He looked down at her as if he'd been stung. He bent again, forcing her mouth open this time, penetrating it roughly, and, again, she flinched away from him, frightened. His lean hand came up to hover over the soft singing line of her breast and she strained away from it, with her heart trying to jump out of her body at the new intimacy of a relationship she'd tried desperately not to let happen between them.

Her apprehensive eyes met his and he blinked, moving his hands into her thick, short hair to hold her face up
to his. His eyes were dark and strange, his face like stone, giving nothing away as he studied her.

“Shelby,” he whispered breathlessly. His eyes dropped to her soft, tremulous mouth. His thumbs edged out toward her flushed cheeks caressingly. “There's nothing to be afraid of, little girl,” he said finally, gently. “I won't force you.”

Her stunned eyes asked the question for her.

“Oh, yes, I know,” he answered, and he searched her face with a shattering intensity. “I've had too many women not to know. You're very innocent, little one. As lovely as you are, I'm surprised there hasn't been a string of men behind you. But you've never even been held intimately until now, with me.”

Her eyes dropped to his bronzed, hair-covered chest between the open edges of the shirt. And never wanted
to be held intimately, until now, she could have told him. She wanted to run her fingers over that broad chest and taste his mouth the way he'd been tasting hers. She wanted things of him and with him that she'd never wanted with anyone else, and she was just beginning to realize it.

“I tried to tell you…” she faltered.

“Actions speak louder than words,” he reminded her. He reached down and brought her cool, nervous hands against the blazing warmth of his bare skin, moving them into the nest of thick hair. “This is how I like to be touched by a woman,” he said against her forehead.

Her hands trembled under his insistent fingers and she was afraid of what he might ask of her in this lonely, dimly lit room; afraid of what she might say or do.

“King,” she pleaded breathless,
with one last rush of sanity, “I'm engaged….”

“If he cares so damned much, why did he spend the day with Mary Kate?” he asked roughly. “Why did you spend the morning with me? Stop talking, Shelby. I want to make love to you.”

She raised her face to protest and his mouth went down against her parted lips, easing them even farther apart under the coaxing, deepening pressure, drawing gently back when she stiffened, increasing the intensity again when she relaxed. Her hands spread out on his chest, loving the masculine feel of him against her, loving the sensations he was causing in the warm, pulsating silence. She should stop him, she should go back to bed, she told herself. But she was with King, and she wanted the taste and touch of him to last forever.

“You're soft,” he whispered
against her trembling mouth, “and warm, and I love the feel of you under my hands, the silky taste of your lips under my mouth. I love the touch of you against my skin. Oh, God, I want you, Shelby!”

Her forehead dropped against the dampness of his chest while she tried to catch her breath, feeling the swollen throb of her mouth with a sense of awe. “I…I can't,” she whispered shakily.

“Why not?” he murmured. “It has to start somewhere. Why not with me? You're too passionate to remain so innocent for long. Just like your mother, no man's ever going to satisfy you completely, but I might come close….”

She tore out of his arms and backed away, her eyes full of the sudden mockery in his level gaze, the faint lines of contempt deepening
around the mouth she'd kissed so hungrily.

“You needn't look so shocked,” he said in a strange tone. “It isn't the first time I've invited you into my bed.”

“No,” she agreed, hurting, “but it's going to be the last. I'm going home, and this time I won't come back!”