The Texas Way Page 18

  He pushed off the fence and dragged his gaze from hers. So be it. They hadn’t had many breaks, he and Maggie. They both were due for a little happiness. If the future turned sour and they ended up with only tonight…well, he would make damn sure it was a night worth remembering.

  MARGARET WALKED beside Scott on the thick hallway carpet, her card key digging into her palm. The hotel’s hushed atmosphere added to her nervousness. “Do you think I should call Liz and see how Twister’s doing?”

  “Billy’s a pro,” Scott said reassuringly. “Besides, he won’t let anything happen to a horse he plans to bet money on.”

  “I guess you’re right.” His hip brushed hers, sending a shock wave down her leg. “Mr. Brady says if the mares I pick produce winning foals, Twister’s reputation is set.”

  “I heard him.”

  “He’s president of the Arabian Jockey Club, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Mr. Brady says—”

  “Whoa, Maggie.” Scott clamped Margaret’s upper arm with one hand and pulled her to a stop. He loomed tall and rugged under the dim lights, his hat casting a shadow over his face.

  She looked down at the fingers on her arm, and her mouth went dry.

  “You passed your room,” he explained, amusement lacing his deep voice.

  “M-my room. Of course.” Struggling for composure, she backed up to the correct door. “What time are we meeting Alec and Laura at the restaurant?”

  “Seven. I’ll stop by your room at six-thirty. Will that give you enough time?”

  Margaret smiled ruefully. She must look as windblown as she felt. “I can’t make any promises on the results, but I’ll be ready. What should I wear?”

  He started to say something, then stopped himself.

  “Will you be wearing a tie?” she prodded, trying another tack.

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll wear slacks.” As she turned to open her door, his fingers caught her shoulder. She looked up. His expression was curiously intent.

  “Wear a dress.”

  The thought of panty hose and heels was definitely not appealing. “They’re nice slacks,” she assured him.

  His fingers rubbed her shoulder in a small, caressing motion. “You look great in a dress, Maggie.”

  She stared into his eyes and suddenly couldn’t breathe, much less move. He took the card key from her limp fingers, ran it through the lock and gently pushed her through the doorway.

  “See you at six-thirty.” His cocky smirk said he knew exactly how she felt.

  Nodding, she closed the door, spun around and leaned back before her knees collapsed. Something was happening to their relationship. Something pivotal. Every look, every touch since he’d watched her from the paddock fence added to the delicious anticipation.

  Not long ago Margaret would have feared the coming storm, wondered if it would flatten her to the nonentity she used to be. But she didn’t feel like Margaret anymore. She didn’t even feel like The Mule. She was Maggie now. Stronger. More confident. Aware and yet forgiving of her many failings. She would remain standing, whatever the future held.

  One hour later she applied deep rose lipstick, spritzed on cologne and stepped back from the full-length mirror. She’d packed the light gray jersey dress for its wrinkle-free properties, but she had to admit it was flattering. Her weeks of intense riding had firmed and toned a body not given to excess flesh anyway. Cowl-necked, sleeveless, and two inches above the knee, the designer label earned its outrageous cost by whispering sexiness.

  The color matched her eyes and gave her hair a silvery cast. She’d already toned down her sunburn and curled and fluffed her hair. As a final touch, she slipped sterling-silver loops through her ears and strappy silver sandals on her feet.

  A sharp rap on the door jolted her heart. She threw a last despairing glance at her reflection. This was as good as she got. Please let it be good enough to set off the storm.

  Grabbing her purse from the bed, she flung open the door and stared.

  Scott’s jeans looked new. A bold geometric design in blue, black and teal slashed across the top of his “brush popper” shirt, the lower half tapered in solid blue. The pattern emphasized his broad shoulders and lean waist. A black hat dipped low on his forehead, and shiny black boots were planted wide on the carpet.

  He was the most gorgeous cowboy she’d ever seen, and she wanted to kill him.

  “I’m changing,” she snapped, whirling around and heading for the closet.

  He caught up with her in two strides, passed her in three. She rammed against his chest and sputtered furiously.

  “You don’t have time to change, Maggie.”

  “I’m overdressed, Scott. I’ll look ridiculous next to you.”

  “We’re going to Apollo One, and people wear everything from tuxedos to jeans, Laura says. You look fine, Maggie.”

  “I look fine,” she said in a deadpan voice. “As good as butter maybe?” She tried to maneuver around his body, but he blocked every attempt. Damn, she hated being small.

  He reached out and clamped her shoulders. “Look at me, Maggie.”

  She pouted at his fourth snap button, then glared up.

  “Have you ever seen moonlight break through the mist?”

  Wary, she shook her head.

  “Your eyes are like that, Maggie, only a thousand times finer. And your skin—” he lifted one hand and stroked a knuckle gently down her cheek “—I’ve never felt anything as soft and fine as your skin, not even the fur of a newborn calf. You wanna know what your hair makes me think of, darlin’?”

  Thoroughly entranced now, she nodded. When he lowered his head, she slowly raised her lips. He pressed a kiss on the top of her head and inhaled deeply.

  “Peaches,” he mumbled reverently. “Fine, downy peaches just plucked off the tree.” She felt him shudder. He pulled back, his heated gaze searing a path down her flushed body, then swiftly back up to her face. His laugh was half groan.

  “Ah, Maggie, you’re so fine I want to forget my pregnant sister who thinks I don’t love her anymore and toss you down on that bed here and now. But I’m not going to. When it happens, I want plenty of time and no interruptions. I want to take off that pretty dress slow and easy, and kiss every inch of that soft skin, and breathe in peaches till I—”

  Maggie launched herself forward and flung her arms around his neck. Their lips connected in an openmouthed, tongue-thrusting kiss. Lightning sizzled down her spine. She pressed closer and tried to crawl inside his skin. As he rubbed her aching breasts against him, a strangled sound was wrenched from his throat. He thrust his hips once as if unable to stop himself, then gently unpeeled her arms and set her away from his body.

  The separation physically hurt. The sound of their harsh breathing filled the room. She blinked, her disorientation rapidly dissolving to embarrassment.

  Scott lifted his hat and combed unsteady fingers through his hair. “My mistake, Maggie. I should never’ve started this—now.” He settled his hat, flicked a meaningful glance at the king-size bed and backed up to the door. “I’m gonna step into the hallway while you go fix your lipstick. Make it quick. We’re runnin’ late.” He slipped through the door and left her staring blankly at the hotel’s list of checkout procedures.

  Still dazed, Margaret walked into the bathroom and peered in the mirror. Yes, she looked mussed and thoroughly aroused. If she’d had any doubts about Scott’s intentions tonight, he’d erased them with his words. Asking herself how she felt about his arrogant presumption, she leaned forward to repair her smudged lipstick.

  It was hard to do while she smiled.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “MOTHERHOOD AGREES with you. Corny as it sounds, you really do glow,” Scott said, taking advantage of Alec and Maggie’s absorbed conversation on marketing Arabians to speak with Laura. “Are you happy, runt?”

  She caressed the rounded belly grazing the dinner table’s edge and laughed. “That nickname hardly appli
es right now, but yes. I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy.” Her golden eyes, so like his own, strayed to her dark-haired husband and softened. As if feeling her gaze, Alec glanced up.

  The look he sent his wife was loving and possessive and intensely private. Feeling restless and hollow, Scott searched out Maggie. Her eyes were fixed on Laura’s stomach with a wistful expression.

  She wants a baby.

  The knowledge kicked the air from Scott’s lungs. He pictured Maggie’s belly swollen with a child—and knew with savage certainty he wanted to be the father.

  “I like her, Scott,” Laura murmured in his ear, regaining his attention. She squeezed his arm with sisterly affection. “I like what she’s doing for the ranch, I like how she looks at you, and I sure as hell like how she’s brought my cocky brother to his knees. She deserves the dozen roses.”

  He started to pop off a flippant remark, then met her amused eyes. They’d never been able to fool each other. “Wish me luck, runt. I need all of it I can get.”

  Her expression grew gentle and serious. “I do, Scott. Somebody once told me not to sacrifice my happiness for the sake of the ranch. It was good advice. I hope you’ll take it.”

  Recognizing his own “words, Scott smiled. “If everything works out, I won’t have to sacrifice anything.”

  The rest of the meal was sweet torture for Scott. Maggie was so beautiful he had to ration his glances in order to stay coherent. She, on the other hand, was articulate and animated—able to discuss marketing strategy and garden manure with equal authority. His sister and brother-in-law kept sending him “hold on to this one” looks across the table.

  Pride swelled his chest. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine any of his previous dates earning such wholehearted approval.

  When their waiter arrived with the bill, Scott made a grab for it. He wasn’t fast enough.

  Folding his arms, he cocked his head at Alec. “All right, hotshot. But the next time you visit the ranch, Sunday lunch at Lucy’s Café is my treat.”

  Laura groaned. “Say it ain’t so.”

  “Don’t listen to her. She likes tofu. I’m tellin’ ya, Alec, the chicken fried steaks are as big as Frisbees. The cream gravy and biscuits keep comin’. And the coconut cream pie…” Scott rolled his eyes and sighed reverently. “Men have proposed to Lucy for her coconut cream pie.”

  Alec grinned. “So has she married any of them?”

  “They all died of heart attacks before the wedding,” Laura muttered.

  Maggie’s peal of laughter played hell with Scott’s pulse. For that matter, so did her moon-spun hair and dainty sandals and everything in between he’d avoided ogling all night. A man had his limits.

  He threw down his napkin and scraped back his chair. “Alec, Laura, thanks for the great dinner. Sorry to eat and run, but Maggie and I are trying to make a late feature.”

  Alec perked up. “Oh, yeah? What movie are you go—” He jerked and grimaced.

  Beside him, Laura smiled brightly. “Don’t worry about us. Actually I’m feeling kind of tired,” she said, initiating the general scramble for purses, last sips of water and credit-card receipt.

  Scott had never loved his sister more.

  At last they wove single file through the packed tables, the women drawing interested glances. Scott followed Maggie’s curvy backside and resisted the urge to hustle her through the restaurant faster.

  “What are you scowling at?” Laura asked him once they stood outside under the awning.

  He relaxed his face. “Nothing.”

  “Mmm. Right. Well, c’mere liar, and tell your fat sister goodbye.” She opened her arms.

  He wrapped her in a bear hug and closed his eyes. The feel of her extended abdomen brought a lump to his throat.

  She tightened her arms. “Tell Dad I love him. And y’all come see this baby when it’s born, you hear?”

  “Yeah, runt, we’ll do that. Take care of yourself.” He squeezed her briefly and stepped back.

  Laura turned to Maggie with a warm smile. Simultaneously they moved forward and hugged. Again Scott had trouble swallowing.

  Maggie pulled away shyly. “I’m so glad I met you, Laura. You’re as special as Scott said.” Her dimple flashed. “And your husband is a downright hunk.”

  “I know. I can’t take Alec anywhere without guarding his cute little—”

  “Hey!” Alec splayed a hand on his brawny chest and sniffed. “I’m not just some piece of meat, you know.”

  Laura smiled and patted his fanny. “That’s right. You’re my piece of meat, and don’t you forget it. Now give the valet your ticket, beefcake, so I can go home and get off my feet.” She glanced at Scott and Maggie. “Y’all want a ride to the truck?”

  Scott grabbed Maggie’s hand. “No, that’s okay, we’ll walk. It’s a nice night.” He lifted their joined fingers in a mutual wave and headed for the truck parked two blocks away.

  By consciously squelching memory of Maggie’s earlier passion, he’d managed to make it through the meal without tenting his napkin more than twice. Soon he would have her behind locked doors.

  Maggie stumbled. “Scott, please. I can’t keep up.”

  He glanced down in chagrin and stopped. He’d been dragging her by the hair to his cave, forgetting she had to take two steps for his every one. “I’m sorry, Maggie. Are you all right?”

  She balanced on one foot and massaged the other. “I thought I’d twisted my ankle, but it seems to be okay. Are…are we really going to a movie?”

  The sight of her small fingers rubbing that delicate ankle mesmerized him. She lowered her foot to the sidewalk, and he dragged his gaze up.

  “Do you want to go to a movie?” he managed hoarsely.

  Her cautious gray eyes searched his while he cursed himself for asking. If she said yes, he’d put a gun to his head and finish the job quickly.

  “I’d like to go back to the hotel,” she whispered finally.

  Praise God and country! Scott’s body saluted the sentiment.

  THE FRONT-DESK CLERK looked up as Margaret and Scott passed by. “Good night, folks.”

  Margaret summoned a vague smile, her focus centered on the man guiding her firmly by the elbow. So tall. So commanding. So very much a cowboy in the finest sense of the word.

  Unlike her father’s or Jim’s possessiveness, Scott’s wasn’t motivated by self-interest, but by masculine instinct. He made her feel safe and cherished—a trait far sexier than his handsome face. Little wonder her legs threatened to buckle.

  She stepped into the elevator and leaned against the mirrored wall. Scott followed, shrinking the space with his presence.

  “Quite a day, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  “The best,” she answered.

  Their gazes met and held, both of them thinking of the night ahead. Her heart rate tripled. He reached out and threaded his fingers through hers, the action more erotic than anything she’d ever experienced. And he was just holding her hand.

  The elevator doors opened. Her stomach dipped. They walked in charged silence to the door to her room and stopped.

  She released his fingers and fumbled in her purse for the plastic card key. “I hope it didn’t fall out when—Ah! Here it is,” she babbled, slipping in the card and pulling it quickly out of the lock.

  Green light. This was it. All the waiting, all the curiosity and yearning was about to end. She cracked the door open and turned, not quite meeting his eyes.

  “Well…thank you for a lovely dinner.” God, she sounded like Doris Day.

  “Thank Alec, not me.”

  He moved closer, to that prickly zone inches from body contact. She could feel his heat, smell his aftershave, hear his quickened breathing. He reached up and braced one palm on the doorjamb above her head, blocking her view of the hall. A dominating pose. Overwhelmingly masculine.

  “Well,” she repeated in a strangled whisper.

  “Tell me what you want, Maggie.”

  Heat floode
d her cheeks at the images crowding her mind.

  “C’mon, tell me,” he prompted, his husky baritone snapping the taut band of desire holding her still.

  She flung up her chin and stared. “What do I want, cowboy? I want everything. All of it. Everything your eyes have promised since the day we first met, with nothing held back!”

  Her outburst faded to absolute silence. Oh, God, had she really said that? Spinning around, she pushed through the door and slammed it on Scott’s boot. He shouldered his way in with ease.

  She took one look at his face and began backing up. He watched her with the wild, unguarded gaze of a man pushed to the limits of his sexual control. Her legs hit the bed and she sat hard.

  “You’re not goin’ anywhere, darlin’.” He shot the dead bolt home.

  A shocked thrill raced through her. She scrambled to the middle of the mattress.

  He tossed his hat onto a side chair, his gaze never wavering from hers. “We can do this like friends or like animals. But nothing short of death will stop me now, you understand, Maggie?”

  She nodded slowly, his words priming her body for his possession. He stood unmoving, letting the wondrous sexual tension build. She moistened her lips and watched his hungry gaze fasten on her mouth.

  He moved then, a sound of agonized pleasure escaping his throat. The mattress sank beneath the weight of his knees. They collided chest, stomach and thigh in the middle of the bed, their arms wrapping each other tight.

  Ah, to be held like this. To be wanted like this by a man she’d loved since she was sixteen. Admitting her feelings was cathartic. She wanted to laugh and cry and shout, “Look, Matt, I love him, too!”

  She tilted her head back and smiled.

  Scott ran a single fingertip from her hairline, down her nose and over her bottom lip, misshaping it while his eyes grew tender. “Your smile could make flowers grow, Maggie.”

  He lowered his head slowly, bypassing her mouth to strike random, petal-soft kisses over her face. She sought his lips blindly. Impatiently.

  With a capitulating growl, he locked his mouth over hers and ravished her with his tongue.