Willow in Bloom (15 page)

The only problem was that once that was finished Willow was left with the prospect of Tyler leaving. Of really being alone there.

And she realized that her brother had been right, it wasn't a good thing.

“I don't have any ice cream to offer, but would you like a glass of iced tea?” she said then, feebly looking for any excuse to get Tyler to stay a little longer.

“No, that's okay. I'm not thirsty. But I am worrying about leaving you tonight.”

Willow laughed a small, uncertain laugh. “I'm worrying a little about that myself.”

“Why don't I stay then? On the couch,” he was quick to add. “I know I'd feel a lot better.”

So would she. And while she knew she should decline that offer, too, she thought that under the unusual
circumstances of the evening, maybe just this once she could admit to her own temporary weakness and give in to what would make her feel better, as well.

“Would you hate that a lot?” she asked with a small smile.

“Sleeping on your couch? I've slept in worse places. And to tell you the truth, I don't see myself resting if I'm
not
here tonight.”

“Then I'm going to take you up on it,” she confessed.

“Good.”

His smile showed his relief, and Willow was sure he had no ulterior motives.

“I even think I have a pair of Logan's pajama bottoms. He spent a few nights here when his place was being painted, and left them,” she said, going to the hall closet for those and for bedding to make up the sofa.

She felt relieved, too, to know Tyler would be there. It was just that the idea of it, of Tyler being right outside her bedroom door all night long, made her feel other things, too. Especially when she began to think about him taking off his clothes.

About him being in nothing
but
the pajama bottoms.

Right outside her bedroom door.

All night long.

Then something hot and sparkling kicked up in the pit of her stomach to go with the relief.

“You can change in the bathroom,” she told him
as she finished with the couch, trying to keep her mind off the image of him undressing.

Tyler took the pajama bottoms into the other room, and as he did Willow put some effort into getting a grip on herself.

The best thing to do, she decided, was to get ready for bed as if this were no big deal, say a fast good-night and get to sleep as quickly as possible.

So, while Tyler was in the bathroom, she went into her bedroom.

Oversize T-shirts were what she ordinarily slept in. Plain, sexless T-shirts. She didn't own anything else. So that was what she yanked on over her head.

Then she brushed her hair to free it of the tangles it had gathered in her tussle with Kenny Randolph, and added a short terry-cloth bathrobe she cinched at the waist—also plain and completely unsexy.

No chance of Tyler thinking she wanted to seduce him, she concluded after a glance in the mirror.

And that was good, because she
didn't
want to seduce him.

Although she was having trouble not thinking about how blissful it had been when he'd joined her outside earlier tonight and held her in his arms. Or how nice it would be to have him do it again…

“Are you decent?” she called through the closed bedroom door.

“Decent,” he confirmed from the living room.

Willow went out there, bracing herself for that first sight of him.

But even preparation didn't help.

Because there he was, in only the baggy pajama bottoms, his upper half bare. And that flat stomach, that hard-muscled chest, those broad shoulders were too glorious a sight not to admire. Not to want to reach out and touch.

“Are you all set out here?” she asked in a voice left weak from that one glimpse of him.

“I think so,” he answered.

She thought he was being very careful not to look below her chin.

“I'm usually up pretty early, so I can wake you anytime you want.”

“Whenever you get up is fine. I don't have a time clock to punch.”

“Okay. Well. I should probably say good-night.”

Tyler agreed with a tilt of his chin. But he didn't merely stand there. He took her hand much as he had earlier and said, “I'll walk you to your door.”

Willow laughed at that. “You'd better. Look what happens when you don't. Bad guys pop out at me from the shadows.”

He ushered her to the bedroom door, facing her when they got there, looking down into her eyes.

“Thanks for a nice night,” he joked, as if this were a normal ending to a normal evening.

“Sure,” she joked back.

“It's the most excitement I've had since I quit rodeoing.”

“That was my plan.”

He grinned on only the dimpled side. “So this was all just for my entertainment?”

“It was.”

“I always like a girl full of surprises.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she heard herself say before she realized she was going to.

But in the spirit of their teasing banter Tyler didn't seem to have any inclination how much she meant that.

He just went on looking into her eyes, drawing her into the emerald-green depths of his and warming her to her toes.

Then he leaned forward and kissed her. Chastely. With their bodies still far apart, only their lips meeting.

It was sweet that he was being so conscientious, so considerate. But Willow wanted more. She needed more.

It was as if the scare of the earlier hours had left her hovering somewhere inside herself, and Tyler alone could bring her out again, bring her to life. If only he would go back to treating her like a flesh and blood woman.

Almost on their own her hands went to his neck. His strong, thick neck. Pulling him slightly nearer and deepening the kiss herself.

Deepening it so much that Tyler got the message and wrapped his arms around her as if something inside him had finally been unleashed, too, and he couldn't refrain from enfolding her in that embrace,
from pulling her closer still so that she was pressed against him the way she wanted to be.

But it was only a moment before he stopped kissing her so he could look into her face once more, into her eyes, as if to be sure he was reading her signals right.

His question showed only in the lifting of his eyebrows, but she knew what he was thinking. That she'd stopped things between them the night before because she didn't want them to move too fast. Yet here they were, almost instantly picking up where they'd left off, with passion ready to erupt all over again.

She thought about the wisdom of letting this go further as she looked back up at his amazingly handsome face, as she ran her fingertips along his cheek and dipped one into that crease that made it so distinctive.

And while she knew she'd kept that passion from finding completion the previous night because she'd thought that the real Willow wouldn't go as far as making love with Tyler, she now thought that when she was with him the real Willow was different than she'd ever been before. That she was part old Willow and part Wyla. And this new Willow she'd become wanted too badly to make love with him to deny herself.

So all she did was smile. A small smile that answered that questioning arch of his eyebrows. That let him know that tonight she wouldn't stop anything.

“You're sure?” he asked anyway.

She nodded.

And that was all the go-ahead he needed.

He kissed her again, but this time it was an eager kiss as lips relaxed and parted. One kiss turned into two, into three, awakening a hunger in Willow that seemed to have been waiting just below the surface since that night in Tulsa all those weeks ago. A hunger that had been reawakened the previous evening and was now full and intense.

She let her hands go from Tyler's neck to his back, losing herself in the feel of power kept in check. In the feel of that strong back bending to her will.

He deserted her mouth to kiss her neck, and his breath against her skin was warm and soft before he reclaimed her mouth with lips parted farther still. He sent his tongue to fence with hers, and she met his every thrust with a gleeful parry of her own.

She loved the smell of him. The clean scent of his skin and his aftershave mingling.

She loved the feel of his skin. Silk over steel.

She loved the feel of his big hands on her, too. Holding her. Rubbing her back. Kneading it the way she longed for him to knead her oh-so-engorged breasts. Caressing it in a way that soothed, that adored, that aroused.

He looped his arm under hers and took her shoulder in his hand from behind, using his biceps to raise her arm. The sleeves of her T-shirt and robe fell away. And then somehow he had her robe untied and he slipped it off, leaving it to fall at her feet on the hall floor.

He held her hand in his and took her into the bed
room, where the lamp on the nightstand lent a faint, milky glow.

Willow wished she were wearing something more enticing than her plain white T-shirt, and in the hopes of adding even just a hint of allure, she moved to turn off the light.

But Tyler stopped her, pulling her back with him onto the bed.

“I want to see you.”

As with times before, it was a small thing. But knowing he couldn't care less about what she was wearing, that he found her enticing and alluring all on her own, did wonders for Willow. She clamped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him, knowing all the more that she wanted him.

He kissed her again then. As softly, as tenderly as the first time, and yet with a new depth that made everything inside her stand up and take notice.

Everything inside her and her nipples, too, as they hardened into tight kernels of yearning, crying out for his attention.

But from that moment on Tyler anticipated her every want, her every need. No sooner was she struck by the urge to have his hand on her breast than Tyler did exactly that—first on the outside of her T-shirt and then underneath it, gifting her with the glory of his naked touch.

No sooner did she crave the freedom of being without any barriers between them than he slipped her T-shirt off, looking down at her as if she were the most
beautiful woman he'd ever seen as he shucked the pajama bottoms and allowed her the view of him in all his tumescent magnificence.

Magnificence that made her glad the light was on, that made her lose all inhibitions, all self-consciousness when she realized how much of an effect she was having on him. When she began to revel in the sight of chiseled muscles, taut tendons and pure masculine perfection.

Their kisses grew more than hungry. They grew urgent and openmouthed as his hands turned her breasts into mounds of pleasure so intense it was nearly too much to bear.

Then his mouth began a purposeful descent. To kiss her chin. To kiss the hollow of her throat. To flick the very tip of his tongue against the sharp ridge of her collarbone. To touch it again to the spot between her breasts before he finally reached one straining orb.

He took it into the hot moist cove of his mouth, teasing her nipple. Circling it. Flicking at it. Teasing and tormenting until he made her spine arch with delight. With yearning. With the craving for even more.

Willow's hands had been traveling, too. Exploring his carved and cut back, his Herculean shoulders, his exceptional chest, even his taut derriere. But now, as desire coursed through her, a new brazenness took hold and she reached for that long, hard staff that proved how much he wanted her.

This time it was Tyler whose spine arched, who
gave a ragged moan that let her know she wasn't the only one lost in the sensations of the flesh, in the pleasure.

Pleasure he offered her more of when his hand trailed south, too. When he reached between her legs to find the core of her and drive her to a new frenzy until she thought she might explode if she didn't have him inside her.

And that, too, Tyler seemed to know.

He deserted her for just a moment then, returning sheathed to lie on his back and pull her on top of him, guiding her hips, slipping fully into that waiting home that seemed fashioned for him alone.

Then he eased her into a sitting position.

“Let me see you,” he said again, his voice deep and raspy.

His hands on her hips once more helped her, raising her up and down. Slowly. Rhythmically. Showing her how to ride before increasing the speed, the energy, the force. Until their bodies moved in unison, melded into one, straining, striving for the same thing. For that culmination that felt to Willow like a blown-glass bubble bursting open to rain glittering gold all through her, suspending them both in that instant of exquisite bliss that snatched her breath and his, that stopped the world from turning and time from passing until all that glittering gold began to settle like tiny sparkling stars drifting to earth.

And when they were both spent, Tyler pulled her down to him, holding her, pressing her head to his
chest where she could hear his heart pounding in unison with hers.

They stayed that way for a long while. Speaking only with bodies that met and meshed as if one began where the other ended.

Then Tyler reached to turn off the bedside lamp and they rolled together to their sides, arms and legs entwined, Willow's forehead against his chest, his chin atop her head.

And that was how they remained as exhaustion began to weigh them down. As they both drifted to sleep.

With their baby snuggled safely, secretly, between them.

And Willow knowing that she truly wasn't the same person she'd been before she met Tyler that night in Tulsa.

I
n the heat of the moment the night before, Willow had forgotten about the morning sickness. But like clockwork, at 5:00 a.m. it hit. And waking up in Tyler's arms didn't keep it at bay.

The best she could do was ease herself away from him and out of the bed without waking him, and then run like crazy for the bathroom.

Ordinarily, once the first wave passed she went back to bed and tried to get a little more sleep. But she was afraid she'd disturb Tyler if she did, so she picked up her bathrobe from the hall floor, put it on and curled up in the wing chair near the living room window to watch the sunrise.

And to think about what she was going to do now.

Making love with Tyler again was a big step. It changed things. It somehow made not telling him about Tulsa seem less acceptable.

Besides, if her goal had been to get him to like her for who she really was, that seemed to have been accomplished. After all, he liked her well enough to ask to see her repeatedly. He liked her enough to kiss her. To do more than kiss her. He liked her enough to fight off Kenny Randolph. To help her clean the mess the other man had left. To stay the night so she'd feel safe.

He liked her enough to make love to her.

To make love to her the way he'd made love to her as Wyla.

He even seemed to like her enough to stick around after meeting her brothers.

It seemed that all of that was proof that she hadn't merely been a one-night stand for him. That she hadn't been someone he'd been attracted to because of a supershort slinky dress, a pair of spike-heeled shoes, and hair and makeup that had transformed her into something she wasn't.

And since, after getting to know each other, they'd ended up in exactly the same place they had that one night, she thought that must surely mean that one night hadn't merely been a fluke.

Besides, now that she knew Tyler better, that really did seem unlikely. After all, he was a stand-up guy. He was kind and compassionate and considerate and caring, on top of being fun to be with and interesting
and brave enough not to be cowed by her brothers or an intruder.

That night they'd been together in Tulsa might have been purely a night of wild abandon, of passion. Of potent physical attraction. But now it seemed as if there was more between them.

At least there was more on Willow's side.

She didn't want to admit it, but she had feelings for Tyler. Feelings she refused to put a name to. Feelings she was trying hard to keep boxed up until she knew what was going to happen.

But even realizing she had to be cautious couldn't stop her from hoping that all the time Tyler had wanted to spend with her, the attraction he seemed to have for her, were signs that there was more on his side, too. Maybe even feelings that would match her own.

Yet whether or not that was the case, she was suddenly convinced that the time had come to tell him the truth. About Tulsa. And about the consequences of that night together.

Not that it was going to be easy, and the morning's second lurch of her stomach warned her it wasn't a chore she was eager to perform.

But it was still something she had to do.

She'd already been carrying his baby for two months without him knowing it. She'd already pushed the envelope by not filling in his memory about Tulsa. Now there was no way out of it. She had to be honest
with him. Open with him. She had to tell him. To explain it all.

And then she'd just have to keep her fingers crossed that after some inevitable shock, he would accept it. That he might even be happy about it.

That maybe they could go on from there.

Although she was afraid to think about where she actually might want to go from there.

But one thing she was pretty sure about.

If she told Tyler about Tulsa and the baby, and he turned his back on her, it was going to hurt more than anything had ever hurt before.

 

It was 6:30 when Tyler woke up to find himself alone in Willow's bed.

He doubted that she'd left for work yet, and thought she was probably just letting him sleep while she showered or dressed or made breakfast.

But he started wondering if he might be able to lure her back to bed, and with that in mind, he got up, pulled on the pajama bottoms she'd lent him and went in search of her.

He was surprised at where he found her, though.

She wasn't showering or dressing or making breakfast. She was in a chair in the living room, her feet tucked underneath her, her head against the chair's wing back, sound asleep.

He couldn't figure out why she would have left the bed—and him—to sleep sitting up in a chair. But it
worried him a little. Maybe she'd been regretting that they'd made love.

If that were the case he wasn't sure he wanted to face what might be recriminations without his pants on. So he decided to exchange the pajama bottoms for his jeans, making sure to be quiet so he didn't wake her until he was ready.

Off went the pajamas, tossed over the arm of the sofa, before he reached for his jeans, which were folded neatly on the end table. Then he sat on the couch, still made up as his makeshift bed, and began to pull on his retrieved denims.

But as he did he caught sight of Willow again, and he couldn't tear his eyes away.

She was sleeping so peacefully. With her mouth open just the slightest bit, as if she might be about to blow out birthday candles. Her long, dark eyelashes rested against her cheeks and the morning sunshine coming through the window dusted her skin in a pale glow.

But something about the way she looked, bathed in that early sunshine, caused what felt like a brain blip in him.

A brain blip that started to flash images through his mind.

Images of Willow.

But not Willow.

Images of her sleeping the way she was now, but not sitting up in a chair.

In a bed.

On the pillow next to him.

But not in
her
bed. Not on the pillows he'd just left behind.

Not here.

In a hotel room.

Willow.

But not Willow?

The same long, silky black hair framing the same face. The same high, broad cheekbones. The same satin-smooth, flawless skin. The same full, luscious lips.

Willow?

Wyla…

That was her name! Wyla! The name of the woman he'd spent that night in Tulsa with. The name of the mystery woman.

Wyla.

Willow.

It all came back to him suddenly. That night. Meeting the beautiful, raven-haired woman at the blues club.

Her friend had introduced her as Wyla. Wyla from Black Arrow. Then her friend had left them alone.

They'd hit it off. Instantly. It had been as if they'd known each other all their lives—that was how comfortable he'd felt with her.

She'd had a lot to drink.

He'd kissed her.

He'd wanted to never stop kissing her.

One thing had led to another and they'd ended up
in his hotel suite. In his bed. For a wild night of love-making like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

At dawn, as the first daylight had flooded across the bed, he'd slowly come awake to find her on the pillow next to his. Still sleeping.

For a long while he'd watched her. Then he'd roused her with teasing kisses and made love to her once more. Sweet, playful love that had worn them out all over again.

But while he'd slept that second time, she'd disappeared.

She'd slipped out of bed just the way she'd slipped out of bed this morning.

But he hadn't found her sitting up in another room. He hadn't been able to find her anywhere in the hotel. He hadn't been able to find her at all.

And he'd been so preoccupied with thoughts of her, with thoughts of where she might have gone, so preoccupied with looking into the crowded arena where the rodeo was being held in hopes of spotting her in the stands, that he hadn't been concentrating the way he should have been on his ride.

So preoccupied that he'd been thrown from that horse.

Wyla…

Willow.

His memory rushed back just the way he'd believed it would if he ever found the mystery woman.

His mystery woman…

Willow.

He'd figured if he met up with the mystery woman again and one look at her didn't bring back his memory, at least she would recognize him and tell him who she was. She would fill in that gap that he'd so badly wanted filled.

But Willow hadn't done that.

Why the hell
hadn't
she?

How could she not have?

Thoughts of luring her back to bed evaporated, and Tyler plunged his feet into his boots, feeling as if he'd been sucker-punched, and not too sure what to do about it.

He was tempted to storm out of there, to leave her in the dust, full of questions the way she'd left him that morning in Tulsa. The way she'd left him full of questions ever since, knowing everything and telling him nothing.

But tempted or not, he couldn't leave. Not before he found out what was going on. What game she was playing. And why.

He took a deep breath, knowing he needed to get some control over himself, over his temper, before he woke her and confronted her.

But, as if his anger had infused the air in the room and sounded an alarm for her, Willow opened her eyes just then.

She blinked, looking disoriented.

Then she noticed him sitting on the sofa.

Surprise and maybe a touch of embarrassment ran
across her face briefly, chased away by a soft, warm smile.

“Hi,” she said, so sweetly it was difficult to believe it was only a front for whatever it was she had up her sleeve.

Tyler couldn't sit still. He lunged to his feet and faced her as he would have anyone who had set out to make a fool of him.

“Why didn't you tell me from the start? The first day? At the store?”

Willow's smile faded and her expression grew confused. But only slightly. Then she looked more panicked than anything.

“Yeah, that's right, my memory is back.
Wyla.
”

She hadn't had much color in her face before, but what little there had been drained out of it.

“Oh.” That was all she seemed able to manage by way of a comment. Then she followed it up with, “When?”

“Just now. Watching you sleep in the sun. I watched you that next morning in Tulsa, too. Before you walked out without a word and left me thinking about how I was going to find you instead of paying attention to what I was doing on the back of that bucking bronco that day.”

The stab of his words made her flinch almost imperceptibly.

She lowered her feet to the floor and sat up straight in the chair, not cowering from Tyler's looming stance in front of her.

“I'm sorry,” she said, her apology sounding as if it was heartfelt, yet still not enough to soothe Tyler.

She must have seen that in him because she went on to explain. “I'd never in my life spent the night with someone I'd just met. I'd only ever slept with one other person, period. When I woke up later that morning and you were still sleeping, I couldn't believe what I'd done, and my first instinct was to just get out of there so I didn't have to face you. I was operating on pure reflex, Tyler. Please try to understand. I didn't mean to do anything to hurt you. I was just so ashamed of myself.”

“So ashamed of yourself that when I walked into the Feed and Grain last week and you realized I didn't remember you, you figured you'd just go on leaving me in the dark so you could pretend it never happened?”

“I couldn't pretend it never happened,” she said under her breath.

“So what were you doing? Just playing me?”

“I wasn't
playing
you.”

“Then what the hell were you doing?” he shouted.

“I was just so shaken to see you again. And then I was shocked when I figured out that you didn't even recognize me. I mean, I knew I looked different. That night in Tulsa my friend Becky had fixed me up like I'd never been fixed up before. The hair, the makeup, the dress… And then she'd introduced me as Wyla—that was her nickname for me. But still I hadn't thought I was so different that you wouldn't even
know me. And then, when it sank in that you really didn't remember me—before I found out about the amnesia—it was such a blow to think that I'd just been a one-night stand. Someone you'd picked up in a bar the way you'd probably picked up so many women that you couldn't even remember them all… Well, that was so humiliating I just couldn't make myself say anything.”

“And then when you found out about the fall and the amnesia?” he demanded. “What was the excuse then?”

She flinched again at the verbal jab.

In a small, quiet voice, she said, “Then I decided that I wanted to see if I could get you to like me as Willow. As who I really am rather than as Becky's creation-for-a-night. I thought that by my not telling you, you'd have a chance to get to know me and I'd have a chance to get to know you.”

“And that was so damn important you figured it was all right to leave me grasping at straws, trying to get my memory back?”

“I didn't know that was what you were doing. I thought you had pretty much accepted the memory problem.”

Okay, so maybe he hadn't actually let her in on the fact that he'd been searching for the mystery woman in hopes of retrieving his memory, too. But at that moment he was too angry to take any of the blame onto himself.

“You should have told me we'd met before. That
we'd spent the night together. All you would have had to do after that was tell me that night had been a lark for you. That you wanted me to get to know you on your own terms. What the hell would have been wrong with that?”

“I know that seems reasonable enough. But I had so much riding on you liking me.”

“What does that mean? What did you have riding on it?”

She looked away from him as if she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, and he saw her cheeks color.