To Love and Cherish (8 page)

“Hold me,” she sobbed. “Hold me tight. Make it stop hurting…!”

“Time will do that.” His lips brushed her soft throat. “Let it out, honey. Cry it all out. I'm not going anywhere.” He rocked her like a baby, comforting, caring. “Cry it out, Shelby.”

It took a long time, and she could hardly accept the irony of being comforted by her worst enemy. But maybe he felt a truce was in order in view of the circumstances. Finally, when she felt drained and numb, he mopped her face with his handkerchief and made her blow her red nose.

He found the little blonde maid and had her make a pot of coffee while Shelby went to wash her face and get herself back together. He was sitting comfortably on the sofa when she came back, with his long legs crossed in front of him and his jacket and tie
off. He looked the picture of masculine elegance, dark and sensuous and vaguely threatening as his hard eyes traced her body in the silky caftan.

“That damned thing doesn't suit you,” he said bluntly. “It's too frivolous.”

She sat down in the big armchair, tucking it around her curled up legs. “It was my mother's,” she said. “I forgot to pack a gown.”

He lifted a glass full of amber liquid. “I helped myself,” he said quietly. “It was a hell of a quick trip, and I haven't slept since night before last.

She gaped at him. “You flew here?”

“I flew.”

“A commercial flight,” she said softly.

He shook his head. “My Cessna.”

“You could have crashed it with that little sleep!” she burst out, hor
rified as she thought of all the things that could have gone wrong and caught him unaware if his mind had been foggy.

He gave her a faint smile. “I don't think so.” His eyes traced her flushed face. “Worried about me, Shelby?”

She averted his gaze to the suit coat he'd thrown carelessly beside him on the sofa. “I'd worry about anyone on a trip that long without sleep.”

“Nicely parried.” He downed the drink and set the empty glass on top of the coffee table. He lit a cigarette and pulled an ashtray within easy reach of his hand. “Where's your stepfather?”

“In the nearest bar, I imagine,” she sighed. “He loved her very much.”

His expression was moody, brooding, as he leaned back against the plush sofa cushions, smoking his cig
arette while he watched her. “Yes,” he said absently, his eyes narrow, “I imagine he did.”

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked as the little blonde maid, Melissa, brought the coffee on a tray and left it for them on the coffee table.

He shook his head, dismissing the girl with a look that made Shelby's blood burn.

“I'm not hungry,” he said, with a quick glance at Shelby that didn't miss the flareup in her eyes. “Are you?”

She shook her head quickly. “I don't feel very much like food.”

He took the cup of coffee she poured for him and leaned back again. “Tell me about her, Shelby.”

She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, curling up in the big armchair. “I didn't know her very well,” she admitted.
“My mother had very little time for me. My aunt actually raised me.”

“Not a close relationship?”

“No,” she said softly. “Not at all. I was constantly in her way when I was growing up. I used to think she accepted roles that meant she had to go on location to film just to get away from me.” She smiled wistfully. “When she was home, the house was always full of people. The parties went on all night. I was in the way. Always in the way. Of course, there was usually a housekeeper to put me to bed.” Her face went rigid, her eyes clouded, and she gripped the coffee cup.

“Men, Shelby?” he asked gently.

“A parade of them.” She shivered, and her eyes closed. “Stepfathers, boyfriends…Brad lasted longer than most, but he was only one of many. I could never…”

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

She licked her dry lips. “She married a European film star when I was fourteen. He liked young girls…and she was jealous I suppose of any attention he gave me.” Shelby's big, dark eyes met King. “And mother kicked me out.” Her eyes fell away from the sudden fury in his. “I went to live with my aunt. Mother tried to buy my affections back when the marriage went on the rocks, but not because she cared. It was only a gesture. She…hated me from the day I was born.”

He drew a deep breath. “My God, no wonder it upset you when I mentioned her,” he said finally. He let the frosted glass dangle in his lean fingers. “You might have told me, Shelby.”

“And given you another stick to beat me with?” she asked softly.

His jaw clenched. “I suppose it seemed that way, didn't it?”

“But you didn't really have anything to worry about,” she reminded him. “I never planned to marry Danny. If you want to know the truth, I like him too much for that.”

He scowled at her. “That's a strange way to put it, honey.”

“I didn't get a very good impression of marriage,” she sighed.

“It isn't always like that.”

She smiled at him. “How would you know, Mr. Brannt?” she asked mischievously. “You've never been married.”

His eyes darkened. “I came close. If she hadn't been such a damned little flirt….” He leaned over and crushed out his cigarette, only to light another one, and Shelby held her breath as he studied its fiery tip. “She was a lot like you, city lady,” he said bitterly. “All looks. The first day I
carried her around the ranch, she started turning green. When I mentioned children, she turned around and ran. My money didn't compensate for that one demand I'd planned to make on her.”

She leaned her chin on her drawn-up knees in the concealing folds of the caftan. “Did you love her?”

One dark eyebrow went up. “I wanted her.”

“There's a difference, they tell me,” she observed.

“Don't you know, young Shelby?” he mused.

Her eyes fell before he could read the vulnerability in them that he fostered. “No,” she lied. “I wouldn't know. I…I don't have time to get involved with men. My life is too ordered.”

“And you like it that way, don't you, honey?” he asked with keen perception. “You don't like any kind
of intimacy with a man, even verbal.”

She lifted her coffee cup from the table and sipped the lukewarm liquid. She didn't answer him.

Outside there was the sound of a car engine cranking up.

“Maybe they got sleepy,” King remarked with a faint grin.

“The reporters, you mean?” She shuddered involuntarily. “I'm afraid to go out there tomorrow. It's frightening…all those microphones and cameras.”

“You, afraid of a camera?” he taunted.

“Now, yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“I didn't mean it like that.” He leaned forward, studying her. “You must know how lovely you are, little girl.”

Her eyes opened and looked straight into his, surprising a look in
his eyes that she couldn't begin to understand.

“They'll follow you home, Shelby,” he said quietly. “Your mother was old news, but you're something new to pick to pieces. Until the scandal dies down, you're the best copy going.”

Her slight chest lifted and fell. “I know.”

He set his glass down on the table. “Come home with me, Shelby.”

She looked up, shocked. “What?!”

“Come back to the ranch with me. It's the one place you'll be safe. I can protect you.”

“Forgive me for asking,” she said breathlessly, “but why would you want to? When I left last time…”

His eyes exploded in brown flames. “I could have taken a horsewhip to you and Danny both for that charade,” he said tightly. “But that's
past history. I won't cut you into fish bait until you've had time to heal. But you won't see any peace at all if you go back to that hole of an apartment you share with your girlfriend.”

“It's not a hole!” she protested. “And just because I'm not up to my ears in money!”

“Calm down. I wasn't trying to insult you.”

“Weren't you?” She sighed wearily. “King, it won't work. You'll be at my throat the minute we get to Skylance, and I don't want to fight anymore. I'm so tired…”

His eyes took in the paleness of her elfin face, the lines that grief and sleeplessness had added to it. He crushed out his cigarette and got up, moving lazily toward her chair. He reached down and lifted her gently in his hard arms.

“King!” she whispered shakily.

“Don't panic,” he said quietly.
“You're safe enough.” He carried her back to the sofa with him, and sat down, cradling her across his lap. “Just be still, Shelby. I won't hurt you.”

Inch by inch, she relaxed against his warm, strong body, letting her cheek ease down on his shoulder, letting her eyes close as the fatigue began to take its toll.

He shifted, drawing her closer, his cheek resting on her soft hair in the sudden stillness of the big, empty room.

“Go to sleep, little girl,” he said softly. “I'll keep the wolves at bay for you.”

She snuggled closer. “You can be nice.”

“When I have to,” he agreed quietly. “I don't particularly like being nice to you.”

“I know. Why, King? Do you re
ally hate me that much?” she asked drowsily.

He laughed bitterly. “Remind me to tell you all about it someday. Close your eyes.”

She obeyed him and felt the world fading in and out as drowsiness washed over her like a warm, comforting wave. In seconds she was fast asleep in his arms.

 

She woke up feeling warm and safe, and snuggled against something padded that seemed to pulse under her ear. Her eyes opened slowly and she saw that the pillow was a silky white shirt with bronzed flesh peeking out of the opening down its front, along with a patch of curling dark hair. She blinked. Under her ear was a hard, heavy heartbeat.

She lifted her head and looked straight into King's faintly amused dark eyes, suddenly aware of the
warm, masculine body pressed against the length of hers.

“I thought you didn't sleep with men,” he murmured.

She flushed. “I…what happened?”

“I couldn't pry you loose,” he said bluntly. He reached in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it, one lean arm still holding her at his side. He pulled an ashtray closer on the coffee table and settled back.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured.

His hand pressed her closer to his side for an instant. “Don't apologize. I like the feel of you. It's been a long time since I've held a woman through the night.”

“Oh,” she gulped.

“Could you manage not to sound so damned outraged?” he growled. “My God, Shelby, I'm a man. I've never pretended to be a saint.”

She flushed. “I didn't imagine that you were.”

“Didn't you?” He turned his head sideways to study her through narrowed eyes. “I had the distinct impression not so long ago that you didn't think I'd know a woman from a heifer.”

The blush deepened because, in her innocence, she'd honestly mistaken that cool exterior of his for an equally cool nature.

“That's just what I thought,” he murmured.

Her eyes fell to the open collar of his shirt. “I wasn't sitting in judgment on you.”

“But you thought that, all the same.” He tilted her chin up so that he could see her eyes. “You found out just how hot-blooded I was the night we made love in my study. Was it a shock, Shelby?”

Her eyes dilated wildly, and her
mouth opened on a wave of embarrassment.

He moved, so that he was above her, leaning over her, with the cigarette smouldering in the hand he propped over the back of the sofa. His dark eyes burned down into hers.

“The maids…” she whispered.

“It'll be an education for them,” he murmured, bending. His mouth caught hers roughly, hurting her. He drew back, eyes glittering, narrow. “Don't close your mouth like that,” he said gruffly.

Her cold, nervous hands pressed against his broad chest in token protest. “King…” she whispered uncertainly, even as the throbbing excitement swept through her slender body.

“You know what I like,” he said in a sensuous deep voice, “don't you, honey?”

Her breath came quickly, in erratic spurts, and she hated the magic he
worked on her emotions. She reached up hesitantly and unbuttoned his shirt, fumbling a little because it was the first time, her heart shaking her with its wild pounding as she looked long and deep into his eyes. Her untutored hands moved under the open edges of the silky fabric onto the warm, hair-roughened muscles of his chest.

“Like…like this, King?” she whispered unsteadily.