Chapter Four

She froze in the center of the entrance, staring at him helplessly. He made her nervous. He always had.

“I…was just going up to my room for a minute,” she faltered.

He came the rest of the way down without hesitation, his booted feet making soft thuds on the carpeted steps. He paused in front of her when he got to the bottom, towering over her, close enough that she could smell his woodsy cologne and the clean fragrance of his body.

“For what?” he asked with a mocking smile. “A handkerchief?”

“More like a shield and some armor,” she countered, hiding her nervousness behind humor.

He didn’t laugh. “You haven’t changed,” he observed. “Still the little clown.” His narrowed eyes slid down her body indifferently. “Why did you come back here?” he demanded abruptly, cold steel in his tone.

“Because Duncan insisted.”

He scowled down at her. “Why? You only work for Black.”

“I’m his partner,” she replied. “Didn’t you know?”

He stared at her intently. “How did you manage that?” he asked contemptuously. “Or do I need to ask?”

She saw what he was driving at and her face flamed. “It isn’t like that,” she said tightly.

“Isn’t it?” He glared at her. “At least I offered you more than a share in a third-class business.”

Her face went a fiery red. “That’s all women are to you,” she accused. “Toys, sitting on a shelf waiting to be bought.”

“Tess isn’t,” he said with deliberate cruelty.

“How lovely for her,” she threw back.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down his arrogant nose at her. There was a strange, foreign something behind those glittering eyes that disturbed her.

“You’re thinner,” he remarked.

She shrugged. “I work hard.”

“Doing what?” he asked curtly. “Sleeping with the boss?”

“I don’t!” she burst out. She looked up into his dark face, her own pale in the blazing light of the crystal chandelier. “Why do you hate me so? Was the bull so important?”

His face seemed to set even harder. “A grand champion, and you can ask that? My God, you didn’t even apologize!”

“Would it have brought him back?” she asked sadly.

“No.” A muscle in his jaw moved.

“You won’t…you won’t let your dislike of me prejudice you against the agency, will you?” she asked suddenly.

“Afraid your boss might lose his shirt?” he taunted.

“Something like that.”

He cocked his head down at her, his hard mouth set. “Why don’t you tell me the truth? Duncan didn’t invite you down here. You came on your own initiative.” He smiled mockingly. “I haven’t forgotten how you used to tag after him. And now you’ve got more reason than ever.”

She saw red. All the years of backing away dissolved, and she felt suddenly reckless.

“You go to hell, Jace Whitehall,” she said coldly, her brown eyes throwing off sparks as she lifted her angry face.

Both dark eyebrows went up over half astonished, half amused silver eyes. “What?”

But before she could repeat the dangerous words, Terry’s voice broke in between them.

“Oh, there you are,” he called cheerfully. “Come back in here and keep us company. It’s too early to turn in.”

Jace’s eyes were hidden behind those narrowed eyelids, and he turned away before Amanda could puzzle out the new look in them.

“Off again?” Marguerite asked pleasantly. “Where are you taking Tess?”

“Out,” he said noncommittally, reaching down to kiss the wrinkled pink cheek. “Good night.”

He pivoted on his heel and left them without another word, closing the door firmly behind him.

Terry stared at Amanda. “Did I hear you say what I thought I heard you say?”

“My question exactly,” Marguerite added.

Amanda stirred under their intent stares and went ahead of them into the living room. “Well, he deserved it,” she muttered. “Arrogant, insulting beast!”

Marguerite laughed delightedly, a mysterious light in her eyes that she was careful to conceal.

“What is it with you two?” Terry asked her. “If ever I saw mutual dislike…”

“My mother once called Jace a cowboy,” Amanda replied. “It was a bad time to do it, and she was terribly insulting, and Jace never got over it.”

“Jace took to calling Amanda ‘lady,’“ Marguerite continued. She smiled at the younger woman. “She was, and is, that. But Jace meant it in another sense.”

“As in Lady MacBeth,” Amanda said. Her eyes clouded. “I’d like to cook him a nice mess of buttered toadstools,” she said with a malicious smile.

“Down, girl,” Terry said. “Vinegar catches no flies.”

Amanda remembered what Marguerite had said about Tess, and when their eyes met, she knew the older woman was also remembering. They both burst into laughter, dissolving the sombre mood memory had brought to cloud the evening.

But later that night, alone in her bedroom, memories returned to haunt her. Seeing Jace again had resurrected all the old scars, and she felt the pain of them right through her slender body. Her eyes wide open, staring at the strange patterns the moonlight made on the ceiling of her room, she drifted back to that Friday seven years ago when she’d gone running along the fence that separated her father’s pasture from the Whitehalls’ property, laughing as she jumped on the lower rung of the fence and watched Jace slow his big black stallion and canter over to her.

“Looking for Duncan?” he’d asked curtly, his eyes angry in that cold, hard face that never seemed to soften.

“No, for you,” she’d corrected, glancing at him shyly. “I’m having a party tomorrow night. I’ll be sixteen, you know.”

He’d stared at her with a strangeness about him that still puzzled her years later, his eyes giving nothing away as they glittered over her slender body, her flushed, exuberant face. She’d never felt more alive than she did that day, and Jace couldn’t know that it had taken her the better part of the morning to get up enough nerve to seek him out. Duncan was easy to talk to. Jace was something else. He fascinated her, even as he frightened her. Already a man even then, he had a blatant sensuousness that made her developing emotions run riot.

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” he’d asked coldly.

The vibrant laughter left her face, draining away, and some of her nerve had gone with it. “I, uh…I wanted to invite you to my party,” she choked.

He studied her narrowly over the cigarette he put between his chiseled lips and lit. “And what did your mother think about that idea?”

“She said it was fine with her,” she returned rebelliously, omitting how hard she’d had to fight Bea to make the invitation to the Whitehall brothers.

“Like hell,” Jace had replied knowingly.

She’d tossed her silver-blond hair, risking her pride. “Will you come, Jason?” she’d asked quietly.

“Just me? Aren’t you inviting Duncan as well?”

“Both of you, of course, but Duncan said you wouldn’t come unless I asked you,” she replied truthfully.

He’d drawn a deep, hard breath, blowing out a cloud of smoke with it. His eyes had been thoughtful on her young, hopeful face.

“Will you, Jace?” she’d persisted meekly.

“Maybe,” was as far as he’d commit himself. He’d wheeled the horse without another word, leaving her to stare after him in a hopeless, disappointed daze.

The amazing thing was that Jace had come to the party with Duncan, dressed in immaculately stylish dark evening clothes. He looked like a fashion plate, and, to Amanda’s sorrow, he was neatly surrounded by admiring teenage girls before he was through the door. Most of her girlfriends were absolutely beautiful young debutantes, very sophisticated and worldly. Not at all like young Amanda, who was painfully shy and unworldly, standing quietly in the corner with her blond hair piled on top of her head. Her exposed throat looked vulnerable, her pink lips soft, and her brown eyes stared wistfully at Jace despite the fact that Duncan spent the evening dancing attendance on her. She’d looked down at her green-embroidered white organdy dress in disgust, hating it. The demure neckline, puffed sleeves and full, flowing skirt hadn’t been exciting enough to catch and hold Jace’s eye. Of course, she’d told herself, Jace was twenty-five to her sixteen, and probably wouldn’t have been caught dead looking at a girl her age. But her heart had ached to have him notice her. She’d danced woodenly with Duncan and the other boys, her eyes following Jace everywhere. She’d longed to dance just one dance with him.

It had been the last dance, a slow tune about lost love that Amanda had thought quite appropriate at the time. Jace hadn’t asked her to dance. He’d held out his hand, and she’d put hers into it, feeling it swallow her fingers warmly. Even the way he danced had been exciting. He’d held her young body against his by keeping both hands at her waist, leaving her hands to rest on his chest while they moved lazily to the music. She could still smell the expensive oriental cologne he’d been wearing, feel the warmth of his tall, athletic body against the length of hers as they moved, sense the hard, powerful muscles of his thighs pressed close to her even through the layers of material that made up her skirt. Her heart had gone wild in her chest at the proximity. New, frightening emotions had drained her, made her weak in his supporting arms. She’d looked up at him with all her untried longings plain in her eyes, and he’d stopped dancing abruptly and, catching her hand, had led her out onto the dark patio overlooking the night lights of Victoria.

“Is this what you want, honey?” he’d asked, crushing her against him with a curious anger in his voice. “To see how I rate as a lover?”

“Jace, I didn’t—” she began to protest.

But even as she opened her mouth to speak, his lips had crushed down on it, rough and uncompromising, deliberately cruel. His arms had riveted her to the length of him, bruising her softness in a silence that had combined the distant strains of music with the night sounds of crickets and frogs, and the harsh sigh of Jace’s breath with the rustle of clothing as he caught her ever closer. His teeth had nipped her lip painfully, making her moan with fright, as he subjected her to her first kiss and taught her the dangers of flirting with an experienced man. With a wrenching fear, she’d felt his big, warm hand sliding up from her waist to the soft, high curve of her breast, breaking all the rules she’d been taught as he touched and savored the rounded softness of her body.

“It’s like touching silk,” he’d murmured against her mouth, drawing back slightly to stare down at her. “Look at me,” he’d said gruffly. “Let me see your face.”

She’d raised frightened eyes to his, pushing at his hand in a flurry of outrage and embarrassment. “Don’t,” she’d whispered.

“Why not?” His eyes had glittered, going down to the darkness of his fingers against the white organdy of her bodice. “Isn’t this why you asked me here tonight, Amanda? To see if a ranch hand makes love like a gentleman?”

She’d torn out of his arms, tears of humiliation glistening in her eyes.

“Don’t you like the truth?” he’d asked, and he laughed at her while he lit a cigarette with steady fingers. “Sorry to disappoint you, little girl, but I’ve gone past ranch hand now. I’m the boss. I’ve not only paid off Casa Verde, I’m going to make a legend of it. I’m going to have the biggest damned spread in Texas before I’m through. And then, if I’m still tempted, I might give you another try.” His eyes had hurt as they studied her like a side of beef. “You’ll have to round out a bit more, though. You’re too thin.”

She hadn’t been able to find the right words, and Duncan had appeared to rescue her before she had to. She’d never invited Jace to another party, though, and she’d gone to great lengths to stay out of his way. That hadn’t bothered him a bit. She often suspected that he really did hate her.

* * *

That night, Amanda slept fitfully, her dreams disturbed by scenes she couldn’t remember when she woke up early the next morning. She dragged herself out of bed and pulled on the worn blue terry-cloth robe at the foot of her bed, her long blond hair streaming down her back and over her shoulders in a beautiful silver-blond tangle that only made her look prettier. She huddled in the robe in the chill morning air that blew the curtains back from the window. She’d opened it last night so that she could drink in the fresh clean country air.

A knock at the door brought her to her feet again from her perch on the vanity bench, and she yawned as she padded barefoot to the door. Her eyes fell sadly to the old robe, remembering satin ones she used to own that had dainty little fur scuffs to match. Her shoulders shrugged. That life was over. It was just a dream, washed away by the riptide of reality.

She opened the door, expecting Maria, and found Duncan grinning down at her, brown-eyed and boyish.

“Good morning, ma’am,” he said merrily.

“Duncan!” she cried, and, careless of convention, threw herself into his husky arms. They closed around her warmly and she caught the familiar scent of the spice cologne he’d always worn.

“Missed me, did you?” he asked at her ear, because he was only a couple of inches taller than she was—not at all as towering and formidable as Jace. “Not even a postcard in six months, either.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” she murmured.

“Why not? It wasn’t my bull you ran over.” He chuckled.

“No, it was mine,” came a rough voice from behind Duncan, and Amanda stiffened involuntarily.

Tugging away from Duncan, she shook back her wealth of soft, curling hair and glared at Jace’s set face. He was dressed for work this morning, in expensively cut but faded jeans and a gray shirt that just matched his cold, narrow eyes. Atop his head was the old black Stetson.

“Good morning, Jace,” she said with chilling sweetness. “So sorry I forgot my manners yesterday. I haven’t thanked you for your warm reception.”

Jace threw up an eyebrow, and there was something indefinable in the look he gave her. “Don’t strain yourself, Lady.”

Her face burned. “My name is Amanda. Or Miss Carson. Or hey, you. But don’t call me Lady. I don’t like it.”

One corner of Jace’s hard mouth went up in a taunting smile. “Brave in company, aren’t you? Try it when we’re alone.”

“Make sure your insurance is paid up first, won’t you?” she said, smiling venomously.

“Now, friends,” Duncan interrupted, “this is no way to start off a beautiful morning. Especially when we haven’t even had breakfast.”

“Haven’t we?” Amanda asked. “Your brother’s had two bites of me already.”

Jace cocked his head at her and his eyes sparkled dangerously, like sun on ice crystals. “Careful, honey. I hit back.”

“Go ahead,” she challenged bravely.

“On my own ground,” he said with the light of battle kindling in his face. “And in my own time.” He looked from Amanda to Duncan. “What came out of the meeting?”

“Jenkins is interested,” the younger man replied with a smile. “I think I hooked him. We’ll know tomorrow. Mean-while, has Black explained what the ad agency can do for us on that Florida development?”

“Briefly, but not in any detail,” Jace replied.

“What do you think?” Duncan persisted, his brown eyes questioning Jace’s gray ones.

Jace stared back. “I’ll have to hear more about it. A hell of a lot more.”

“Sounds like we’re in for a long week.” The younger man sighed.

“It may be too long for some of us,” came the curt reply, and a pair of silvery eyes cut at Amanda. “And if Lady here doesn’t get that chip off her shoulder, Black can damned well take his proposal back to San Antonio without my signature on any contract.”

Amanda hated him for that threat. It was all the more despicable because she knew he meant it. He’d carry his resentment of her over into business, and he was ruthless enough to deny Terry the account out of sheer spite. Jace never bluffed. He never had to. People always came around to his way of thinking in the end.

“Now, Jace,” Duncan began, mediating as always.

“I’ve got work to do,” Jace growled, pivoting on his booted heel. “Come on down to the Kennedy bottoms when you’ve had breakfast and I’ll show you the young bull I bought at the Western Heritage sale last week.”

“Can I bring Amanda?” Duncan asked with calculating eyes.

Jace’s broad shoulders stiffened. He glanced back angrily. “I’d like to keep this one,” he said curtly, and kept walking.

Amanda’s face froze. She glared at the long, muscular back with pure hatred. “I wish he’d fall down the stairs,” she muttered.

“Jace never falls,” he reminded her. “And if he ever did, he’d land on his feet.” He grinned down at her. “My, my, how you’ve changed. You never used to talk back to him.”

“I’m twenty-three years old, and he’s not using me for a doormat anymore,” she replied with cool hauteur.

Duncan nodded, and she thought she detected a hint of smugness in his eyes before they darted away. “Get dressed and come on down,” he told her. “I’m anxious to hear about the ad campaign you and Black have worked up.”

“Do Tess and her father have to see it, too?” she asked suddenly.

“Tess!” he grumbled. “I’d forgotten about her. Well, we’ll cross that bridge later. Jace and I have a bigger investment than the Andersons, so we’ll have the final say.”

“Jace will side with them,” she said certainly.

“He might surprise you. In fact,” he added mysteriously, “I’d bet on it. Get dressed, girl, time’s a-wasting!”

She saluted him. “Yes, sir!”

* * *

Later in the day, Duncan took his guests out for a ride around the ranch on horseback, taking care to see that Terry—an admitted novice—got a slow, gentle mount.

The ranch stretched off in every direction, fenced in green and white, with neat barns and even neater paddocks. It was a staggering operation.

“Jace’s computer stores records on over a hundred thousand head,” Duncan told Terry as they watched the beefy Santa Gertrudis cattle graze, their rich red coats burning in the sun. “We’re fortunate enough to be able to run both purebred and grade cattle here, and we have our own feed-lot. We don’t have to contract our beef cattle out before we sell them. We can feed them out right here on the ranch.”

Terry blinked. Ranch talk was new to him, but to Amanda, who knew and loved every stick and horn on the place, it was familiar and interesting.

“Remember how that old Brahma bull of your father’s used to chase the dogs?” Amanda asked Duncan wistfully.

He nodded. “Mother always threatened to sell him for beef after he killed her spaniel. When Dad died, she did exactly that,” he added with a shake of his head. “Over a hundred thousand dollars worth of prime beef. We actually ate him. A vindictive woman, my mother.”

“Didn’t Jace try to stop her?” Amanda asked incredulously.

“Jace didn’t know about it.” He chuckled. “Mother dared me to open my mouth. And he was off the property so much checking on the other ranches, he didn’t notice the animal was missing.”

“What did he do when he found out?”

“Threw back his head and laughed,” Duncan told her.

Both eyebrows went up. “All that money…!”

“Strange how different Jace is with you,” he remarked. “He’s the easiest man in the world to get along with, as far as the rest of us are concerned.”

Amanda turned away from those probing eyes and looked out across the range. “Did you mention something about showing us the new bull?” she hedged.

“Sure. Follow me.” Duncan grinned.

* * *

It was roundup at its best, and hundreds of calves were being vetted in a chuted corral with gates opening into paddocks on all four sides. In the midst of the noise, bawling cattle, dust, yelling cowboys and blazing sun was Jace Whitehall, straddling the fence, overseeing the whole operation. His interest in ranch work had never waned, even though he could have gone the rest of his life without ever donning jeans and a work hat again. He was rich now, successful, and his financial wizardry had placed him in a luxurious office in a skyscraper in downtown Victoria. He didn’t have to work cattle. In fact, for a man in his position, it was unusual that he did. But then Jace was unconventional. And Amanda wondered if he hadn’t really enjoyed ranch work more before it made him wealthy. He was an outdoor man at heart, not a desk-bound executive.

He caught sight of Amanda at once, and even at a distance, she could feel the ferocity of his look. But she straightened proudly and schooled her delicate features to calmness. It wouldn’t do to let Jace know how he really affected her.

“Don’t let him rattle you, Mandy,” Duncan said under his breath. “He picks at you out of pure habit, not malice. He doesn’t really mean anything.”

“He’s not walking all over me anymore,” she returned stubbornly. “Whether or not he means it.”

“Declaring war?” he teased.

“With all batteries blazing,” she returned. She put up a hand to push a loose strand of her silvery hair back in place.

“I came to see the calves,” Duncan called to his brother.

Jace leaped gracefully down from the fence and walked toward them, pausing to tear off his hat and wipe his sweaty brow on the sleeve of his dusty shirt. “Did you need to bring a delegation?” he asked, staring pointedly at Amanda and Terry.

“We did think about hiring a bus and bringing the kitchen staff,” Amanda agreed with a bold smile.

Jace’s glittering silver eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you come down here and get cute,” he invited curtly.

“Grass allergy,” she murmured. “Dust, too. Horrible to watch.”

Duncan chuckled. “Incorrigible child,” he teased.

“How do you stand the dust and the heat?” Terry asked incredulously. “Not to mention the noise!”

“Long practice,” Jace told him. “And necessity. It isn’t easy work.”

“I’ll never complain about beef prices again,” Terry promised, shading his eyes with his hand as he watched the men at work sorting and tagging and branding.

“Hi, Happy!” Amanda called to an old, grizzled cowboy who was just coming up behind Jace with his sweaty hat pushed back over his gray hair.

“Hello, Many!” the old cowboy greeted her with a toothless grin. “Come down to help us brand these little dogies?”

“Only if I get a nice, thick steak when you finish,” she teased. Happy had been one of her father’s foremen before…

“How’s your mama?” Happy asked.

Amanda avoided Jace’s mocking smile. “Fine, thanks.”

Happy nodded. “Good to see you,” he said, reading the hard look he was getting from Jace. “I’d better get back to work.”

“Damned straight,” Jace replied curtly, watching the older man move quickly away.

“It was my fault, Jace,” Amanda said quietly. “I spoke to him first.”

He ignored her soft plea. “Show Black the Arabians,” he told his brother. “They’re well worth the ride, if he thinks his anatomy will stand it,” he added with an amused glance at Terry, who was standing up in the stirrups with a muffled groan.

“Thanks, I’d love to,” Terry said through gritted teeth.

Jace chuckled, and just for a moment the hard lines left his face. “Don’t push it,” he advised the younger man. “It’s going to be tough walking again as it is. Plenty of time.”

Terry nodded. “Thanks,” he said, and meant it this time. “I’ll pass on the horses today.”

“We’ll head back, then,” Duncan said, wheeling his mount. “Amanda, race you!” he called the challenge.

“Hold it!” Jace’s voice rang out above the bawling cattle.

Amanda stopped so suddenly that she went forward in the saddle as a lean, powerful hand caught at the bridle of her mount and pulled him up short.

“No racing,” Jace said curtly, daring her to argue with him as he averted his gaze to Duncan. “She’s too accident-prone.”

Duncan only looked amused. “If you say so.”

“I’m not a child,” Amanda protested, glaring down at the tall man.

He looked up into her eyes, and there was a look in his that held banked-down flames, puzzling, fascinating. She didn’t look away, and something like an electric shock tore through her body.

Jace’s firm jaw tautened and abruptly he released the reins and moved away. “If Summers calls me about that foundation sale, send somebody out to get me,” he told Duncan, and then he was gone, striding back into the tangle of men and cattle without a backward glance.

Duncan didn’t say a word, but there was an amused smile on his face when they headed back to the house, and Amanda was glad that Terry was too concerned with his aching muscles to pay much attention to what was going on around him. That look in Jace’s eyes, even in memory, could jack up her heart rate. It wasn’t contempt, or hatred. It was a fierce, barely contained hunger, and it terrified her to think that Jace felt that way. Ever since her disastrous sixteenth birthday party, she’d kept her distance from him. Now, finally, she was forced to admit the reason for it, if only to herself. Fastidious and cool, Amanda had never felt those raging fires that drove women to run after men. But she felt them when she looked at Jace. She always had, and it would be incredibly dangerous to let him know it. It would give him the most foolproof way to pay her back for all his imagined grievances, and she wouldn’t be able to resist him. She’d know that for a long time, too.

She glanced back over her shoulder at the branding that was proceeding without a hitch in the corral. If Jace hadn’t been there, Amanda would have loved to stay and watch the process. It was fascinating to see how the old hands worked the cattle. But Jace would have made her too nervous to enjoy it. She urged her mount into a trot and followed along behind the men.

* * *

Terry didn’t move for the rest of the afternoon. He spread his spare body out in a lawn chair by the deep blue water of the oval swimming pool, under a leafy magnolia tree, and dozed. Amanda sat idly chatting with Duncan at the umbrella table, sipping her lemonade, comfortably dressed in an aged ankle-length aqua terry-cloth lounging dress with slit sides and white piping around the V-necked, sleeveless bodice. She could no longer afford to buy this sort of thing and the dress was left over from better days. Her feet were bare, and her hair was loose, lifting gently in the soft breeze. All around the pool area, there were blooming shrubs and masses of pink, white and red roses in the flower gardens that were Marguerite’s pride and joy.

Her eyes wandered to the little gray summer house further along on the luscious green lawn, with its miniature split rail fence. It was a child’s dream, and all the family’s nieces and nephews and cousins had played there at one time or another.

“What do you really think of the campaign we’ve laid out?” Amanda asked Duncan.

“I like it,” he said bluntly. “The question is, will Jace? He’s not that keen on the real estate operation, but even so he’s aware that it’s going to take some work to sell the idea of an apartment complex in inland Florida. Most people want beachfront.”

She nodded. “We can make it work with specialty advertising,” she said quietly. “I’m sure of it.”

Duncan smiled at her. “Are you the same girl who left here a few years ago, all nervous glances and shy smiles? Goodness, Miss Carson, you’ve changed. I noticed it six months ago, but there’s an even bigger difference now.”

“Am I really so different?” she mused.

“The way you stand up to Jace is different,” he remarked dryly. “You’ve got him on his ear.”

She flushed wildly. “It doesn’t show.”

“It does to me.”

She looked up. “Why did you insist that I come with Terry?” she asked flatly.

“I’ll tell you someday,” he promised. “Right now I just want to sit and enjoy the sun.”

“I think I’ll go help Marguerite address invitations to her party.” She rose, willowy and delightful in the long dress, her bare feet crushing the soft grass as she walked and her long hair tossing like silver floss in the breeze.

Duncan let out a long, leering whistle, and she smiled secretly to herself, pulling off her sunglasses as she walked, to tuck them into one of the two big pockets in the front of the dress.

She went around to the back entrance, where masses of white roses climbed on white trellises. Impulsively, she reached out to one of the fragrant blossoms just as a truck came careening around the house and braked at the back steps.

Jace swung out of the passenger seat, holding his arm where blood streamed down it through the thin blue patterned fabric.

“Go on back,” Jace called to the driver. “I’ll get Duncan to bring me down when I patch this up.”

The driver nodded and wheeled the truck around, disappearing at the corner of the house.

Amanda stared dumbly at the blood. “You’re hurt,” she said incredulously, as if it was unthinkable.

“If you’re going to faint, don’t get between me and the door,” he said curtly, moving forward.

She shook her head. “I won’t faint. You’d better let me dress it for you. I don’t think it would be very easy to manage one-handed.”

“I’ve done it before,” he replied, following her through the spotless kitchen and out into the hall that led to the downstairs bathroom.

“I don’t doubt it a bit,” she returned with a mischievous glance. “I can see you now, sewing up a gash on your back.”

“You little brat,” he growled.

“Don’t insult me or I’ll put the bandage on inside out.” She led him into the bathroom and pulled out a vanity bench for him to sit on. He whipped off his hat and dropped it to the blue-and-white mosaic tile on the floor.

While she riffled through the cabinet for bandages and antiseptic, his eyes wandered over her slender body moving down the soft tangle of her long hair to the clinging aqua dress. “Water nymph,” he murmured.

She looked down at him, shocked by the sensuous remark, and blushed involuntarily.

“What have you been doing, decorating my pool?” he asked when she turned back to run a basin of water and toss a soft clean cloth into it.

“I’ve been listening to Terry moan and beg for a quick and merciful end,” she replied with a faint smile. “You’ll have to take off your shirt,” she added unnecessarily.

He flicked open the buttons with a lazy hand, his eyes intent on her profile. “Tess would be helping me,” he remarked deliberately.

“Tess would be on the floor, unconscious,” she retorted, refusing to be baited. His flirting puzzled her, frightened her. It was new and exciting and vaguely terrifying. “You know blood makes her sick.”

He chuckled softly, easing his broad, powerful shoulders out of the blood-and-dust-stained garment, dropping it carelessly on the floor.

She turned with the washcloth held poised in her slender hand, her eyes drawn helplessly to the bronzed, muscular chest with its mat of curling black hair, to the rounded, hard muscles of his brown arms. She felt her heart doing acrobatics inside her chest, and hated her own reaction to him. He was so arrogantly, vibrantly male. Just looking at him made her weak, vulnerable.

His glittering silver eyes narrowed on her face. “You’re staring,” he said quietly.

“Sorry,” she murmured inadequately, feeling her whole body stiffen as she leaned down to bathe the long, jagged gash above his elbow. “It’s deep, Jace.”

“I know. Just clean it, don’t make unnecessary remarks,” he bit off, tensing even at the light touch.

“It needs stitches,” she said stubbornly.

“So did half a dozen other cuts, but I haven’t died yet,” he replied gruffly.

“I hope you’ve at least had a tetanus shot.”

“You’re joking, of course,” he said tightly.

He was right. It was ridiculous to even think he wouldn’t have had that much foresight. She finished cleaning the long gash and turned to get the can of antiseptic spray.

“Spray the cut, not the rest of me,” he said, watching her shake the can and aim it.

“I ought to spray you with iodine,” she told him irritatedly. “That,” she added with an unkind smile, “would hurt.”

He lifted his arrogant face and studied her narrowly. “You wouldn’t like the way I’d get even.”

She ignored the veiled threat and proceeded to wind clean white gauze around the arm. “I wish you’d see a doctor.”

“If it starts to turn green from your amateurish efforts, I will,” he promised.

Her eyes flashed down at him and found, instead of menace, laughter in his dark, hard face. “You make my blood burn, Jace Whitehall!” she muttered, rougher than she meant to be as she tied the bandage.

“Revealing words, Miss Carson,” he said gently, and watched the color run into her cheeks.

“Not that way!” she protested without thinking.

Both dark eyebrows went up. “Oh?”

She turned and started to put away the bandages, refusing to look at him. It was too dangerous.

“From riches to rags,” he commented, a lightning eye appraising the age of her aqua dress. “Can’t your partner afford leisure clothes for you?”

She stiffened. “He doesn’t buy my clothes.”

“You’ll never make me believe it,” Jace replied coldly. “Those suits you wear didn’t come out of anybody’s bargain basement. The latest fashion, little girl, not castoffs, and you don’t make that kind of money.”

“Can’t I make you understand that they’re old?” she cried, exasperated. “I bought clothes with simple lines, Jace, so they wouldn’t be dated!”

He flexed his shoulders as if the conversation had wearied him, and reached over to retrieve his shirt from the floor. “Nice try, Lady.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” she said through her teeth. “Why can’t you be like Duncan and just accept me the way I am without believing every horrible thing you can imagine about me?”

His eyes cut into hers. “Because I’m not Duncan. I never was.” His jaw clenched. “Do you still want him? Is that why you came with Black?”

She threw up her hands. “All right. Yes, I want him. I’m after his money. I want to marry him and steal every penny he’s got and buy ermine for all my friends! Now, are you satisfied?”

One dark eyebrow lifted nonchalantly. “I’ll see you in hell before I’ll see you married to my brother,” he said without heat.

Her eyes involuntarily lingered on his broad chest, the hard, unyielding set of his face that never softened, not even when he was in a gentler humor.

“Why do you hate me so?” she asked quietly.

His eyes darkened. “You damned well know why.”

She dropped her gaze. “It was a long time ago,” she reminded him. “And it isn’t a pleasant memory.”

“Why not?” he growled, his hand crumpling the shirt in his lap. “It would have solved your problems. You’d have been set for life, you and that flighty mother of yours.”

“And all I’d have had to sacrifice was my self-respect,” she murmured gently, glancing up at him. “I won’t be any man’s mistress, Jason, least of all yours.”

He looked as if she’d slapped him, his eyes suddenly devoid of light. “Mistress?” he growled.

She lifted her chin proudly. “And what name would you have put on our relationship?” she challenged. “You asked me to live with you!”

“With me, that’s right,” he threw back. “In this house. My mother’s house, damn you! Do you think her sense of propriety would have allowed anything less than a conventional relationship between us? I was proposing marriage, Amanda. I had the damned ring in my pocket if you’d stayed around long enough to see it.”

Death must be like this, she thought, feeling a sting of pain so poignant it ran through her rigid body like a surge of electricity. Marriage! She could have been Jason Whitehall’s wife, living with him, sharing everything with him…by now, she might have borne him a son…

Tears misted her eyes and, seeing them, a cruel, cold smile fleetingly touched his chiselled lips.

“Feeling regrets, honey?” he asked harshly. “I was on my way to the top about then. We were operating in the black for the first time, the first investments I’d made were just beginning to pay off. But you didn’t stop to think about that, did you? You took one long look at me and slammed the door in my face. My God, you were lucky I didn’t kick the door down and come after you.”

“I expected you to,” she admitted weakly, her eyes downcast, her heart breaking in half inside her rigid body. “I wouldn’t even have blamed you. But you looked so fierce, Jason, and I was terrified of you physically. That’s why I ran.”

He stared at her. “Afraid of me? Why?”

She put the repackaged gauze back in the medicine cabinet. “You were very rough that night at my birthday party,” she reminded him, blushing at the memory. “You can’t imagine the secret terrors young girls have about men. Everything physical is so mysterious and unfamiliar. You were a great deal older than I was, and experienced, too. When you asked me so coolly to come and live with you, all I could think about was how it had been that night.”

There was a long, blistering silence between them.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?” he asked quietly, his eyes intent on her stiff back. “I meant to. Duncan told me that you only invited me out of courtesy, that you hated the sight of me.” He laughed shortly. “He’d added a rider to the effect that you didn’t think I’d know what to do with a woman.”

She turned back toward him, the shock in her eyes. “I didn’t tell him why I invited you,” she said. Her head lowered. “The other part…I was teasing. Isn’t it true that we sometimes joke about the things that frighten us most?” she mused. “I was frightened of you, but I used to dream about how it would be if you kissed me.” She turned away. “The dreams were…a little less harsh than the reality.” She shrugged, laughing lightly to mask her pain. “It doesn’t matter anymore. They were girlish dreams and I’m a woman now.”

“Are you?” he asked, rising to tower over her in the small room, moving closer and smiling sarcastically at the quick backward step she took. “Twenty-three, and still afraid of me. I won’t rape you, Amanda.”

She flushed angrily. “Must you be so insulting?”

“I didn’t think you could be insulted,” he said coolly, his eyes stripping the clothes from her. “Poor little rich girl. What a comedown. How old is that thing you’re wearing?”

“It covers me up,” she said defensively.

“Barely,” he replied. His eyes narrowed. “Mother mentioned something about buying you some clothes while you were here. Apparently she’s seen more of your wardrobe than I have. But don’t be tempted, honey,” he added with a narrow glance. “I don’t work like a fieldhand to keep you and that mother of yours in silks and satin. If you need clothes, you see to it that Black furnishes them, not Mother.”

Her lower lip trembled. “I’d rather go naked than accept a white handkerchief that your money paid for,” she said proudly.

“No doubt your boyfriend would prefer it, too,” he said curtly.

“He’s my partner!” she threw at him. “Nothing more.”

“He’s not much of a horseman, either,” he added with a half-smile. “If he couldn’t handle that tame mount Duncan put him on, how does he expect to handle you?”

She turned away. “What would you do for pleasure if I wasn’t around to insult?” she asked wearily.

“Speaking of the devil, where is he?”

“Out by the pool with Duncan, discussing the account.” She glanced at him icily. “Not that it’s going to do any good. You’ll just say no.”

“Don’t presume to think for me, Amanda,” he said quietly. “You don’t know me. You never have.”

She licked her dry lips. “You don’t let people get close to you, Jason.”

“Would you like to?” he asked coolly.

“I don’t think so, thanks,” she murmured, turning. “You’ve had too many free shots at me already.”

“Without justification?” he queried, moving closer. “My God, every time you come here there’s another disaster.”

“I didn’t mean to hit the bull,” she said defensively. “And you didn’t have to yell…”

“What the hell did you expect me to do, get down on my knees and give thanks? You could have been killed, you crazy little fool,” he growled.

“That would have suited you very well, wouldn’t it?” she burst out. She turned away, just missing the expression on his face. “I meant to apologize, but I sprained my wrist and I couldn’t even think for the pain.”

“You sprained your wrist?” His eyes exploded. “And you drove from here to San Antonio like that? You damned little fool…!”

“What was I supposed to do, ask you for a ride?” she threw back, her brown eyes snapping at him. “You’d already shot the bull. I thought you might turn the gun on me if I didn’t make myself scarce!”

She whirled and started out the door, ignoring his harsh tone as he called her name.

He caught up with her in the hall, catching her arm to swing her around, his eyes fierce under his jutting brow. With his shirt off, and that expanse of powerful bronzed muscles, he made her feel weak.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“To seduce Duncan by the pool,” she said sweetly. “Isn’t that why you think I came?”

“You’ll never marry him.” The threat was deliberate, calculated.

“I don’t have to marry him to sleep with him, do I?” she asked with a toss of her long, silvery hair. “What’s the matter, Jace, does it bother you that your brother might have succeeded where you failed?”

It was the wrong thing to say. She only got a second’s warning before he started after her, but it was enough to make her turn and run. There was a peculiar elation in rousing Jace’s temper. It made her feel alive, light-headed.

She ran into the living room and whirled to shut the door behind her, but she was too slow. Jace easily forced his way in, catching the door with his boot to slam it shut behind him, closing the two of them off from the world.

He stood facing her, his silver eyes blazing under his disheveled hair, his face hard and frankly dangerous, pagan-looking with his broad, bronzed chest bare, its pelt of dark hair glistening with sweat.

“Now let’s see how brave you really are,” he said in a voice deep and slow with banked anger as he began to move toward her.

She backed away from him slowly, all the courage ebbing away at the look on his face. “I didn’t mean it,” she said breathlessly. “Jace, I didn’t mean it!”

The desk caught her in the small of the back, halting her as effectively as a wall, and he closed the gap quickly, his hands catching her upper arms in a viselike grip that hurt.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, wincing. “You’re hurting me!”

“You’ve been hurting me for years,” he said in a rough undertone, his eyes blazing down into hers as he jerked her body against the hard, powerful length of his and pinned her to the desk in one smooth motion. “Has Duncan had you? Answer me!”

“No!” she whispered. “He’s never touched me that way, never, Jace, I swear!”

She watched some of the strain leave his hard face even as she felt the tension grow in the powerful muscles of his legs where they pressed warmly into hers. His hands shifted around to her back. She wasn’t wearing a bra under the terry-cloth dress, and she could feel his bare chest against her soft breasts through the thin fabric. The intimacy made her tremble.

He looked down at her, where her slender hands were pressed lightly against the mat of hair over his bronzed skin, and she was aware of the heavy, hard beat of his heart against the crushed warmth of her breasts.

“Is there anything but skin under this wisp of cloth?” he asked in a taut undertone. “I might as well be holding you in your underclothes.”

“Jace!” she burst out, embarrassed.

“No, don’t fight,” he warned shortly when she tried to struggle away from him. His hands moved slowly, caressingly on her back, easing down below her waist to hold her tightly against the hard muscles of his thighs.

“Doesn’t Black ever make love to you?” he asked curiously, watching the reaction in her flushed face, her frightened eyes. “You’re too nervous for a woman who’s used to being touched.”

“Maybe I’m nervous because it’s you,” she burst out. Her fingers clenched together where they were forced to rest against his chest, as she fought not to give in to the longing to run her hands over his cool flesh. Her nostrils drank in the faint scent of cologne and leather that clung to his tall body.

“Because it’s me?” he prompted, eyeing her.

She bit her lower lip nervously, all too aware of the privacy the closed door provided. “The last time, you hurt,” she murmured.

“The last time you were sixteen years old and I was mad as hell,” he reminded her. “I meant to hurt you.”

“What did I do,” she asked miserably, “except make the mistake of having a huge crush on you?”

He was so still, she thought for a moment that he hadn’t heard her. His hands pressed into her soft flesh painfully for an instant, and a harsh sigh escaped from his lips.

“A crush on me?” he echoed blankly. “My God, you ran the other way every time I looked at you!”

“Of course I did—you terrified me!” she burst out, her eyes wide and dark and accusing as they met his. “I knew you and Mother didn’t get along, and I thought you disliked me the way you did her. You were always and forever snapping at me or glaring.”

His eyes ran over her face lightly, lingering pointedly on her mouth. “I suppose I was. I got the shock of my life when you invited me to that party.”

She searched his hard face. “Why did you come?” she asked softly.

His shoulders rose and fell heavily. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was out of my element in more ways than one. I’d had women by then. I was used to females a hell of a lot more sophisticated than the crowd that surrounded me that night.”

A surge of inexplicable jealousy ran riot through her body as she stared up at him. “So I gathered,” she grumbled.

One dark eyebrow went up. “And how would you have known? You were obviously a virgin. I remember wondering at the time how many boys you’d kissed. You didn’t even know enough to open your mouth to mine.”

She lowered her eyes to his chest before he could see the embarrassed flush that spread down from her cheeks.

“I’d never been kissed by anyone,” she said quietly. “You were…the first. You were almost the last, too,” she added with an irrepressible burst of humor. “I was scared silly.” Her eyes glanced up and down again. “It was a terribly adult kiss.”

He lifted a lean hand and tilted her face up so that he could study it. “Did I leave scars on those young emotions?” he asked gently. “All I could remember about it later was the way you trembled against me, the softness of your body under my hands. I had a feeling I’d frightened you, but I was too angry to care. If I’d known the truth…”

“It probably wouldn’t have made much difference,” she put in. “I…get the feeling that you’re not a gentle lover, Jason.”

“Do you?” He drew her slowly up against him again, feeling the sudden tension in her body as his hands spread around her waist and trapped her there. “Maybe it’s time I did something about that first impression.”

“Jason, I don’t think…” she began nervously.

“Shhhh,” he whispered, bending his dark head. “We won’t need words…it’s been so long, Amanda,” he murmured as his mouth brushed hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip to make it part for him before his warm mouth moved on hers with a slow, lazy pressure that knocked any thought of resistance out of her mind. His arms swallowed her gently, folding her into his tall, powerful body while he taught her how much two people could tell each other with one long, slow kiss.

She could hardly believe it was happening, here in broad daylight, in the living room where they had sat like polite strangers the night before and never even touched.

It was almost like going back in time, to her sixteenth birthday party, but the kiss he’d given her then was nothing like this. He was easy with her, gentle, coaxing her mouth to open for him, to admit the deep, expert penetration of his tongue. The silence was only broken by the rough whisper of their breath as they kissed more and more hungrily. Her hands caressed his hair-roughened chest with an ardour that came not from experience, but from longing. She felt the need to touch, to explore, to learn the contours of his body with her fingers. She could feel the length of him, warm against her, and she trembled with the force of the new sensations he was arousing with the slow, caressing motions of his hands.

She felt his fingers move to the zipper at the front of the terry-cloth dress with a sense of wonder at his expertise. He was already beginning to slide it down when her nervous fingers caught at his and stilled them.

He drew back a breath, his eyes narrow and glittering with silver lights, his mouth sensuous, slightly swollen from the long, hard contact with hers.

“I want to look at you,” he said huskily. “I want to watch your face when I touch you.”

Shudders of wild sensation ran down her body like lightning. She realized with a start that she wanted his eyes on her, the touch of those hard fingers on her bare skin. But through the fog of hunger he’d created, she still remembered what the situation was between them. Jason was her enemy. He had nothing but contempt for her, and allowing him this kind of intimacy was suicide.

“No,” she whispered tightly.

He lifted his face, looking down his arrogant nose at her. “Are we going to pretend that this is another first?” he asked curtly. “Sorry, honey, I’m an old fox now, and wary of woman-traps. I know one when I see one.”

She tried to get away in a flurry of anger, but he held her effortlessly. “Let go of me!” she cried. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“No?” he returned coldly. “You’re full of tricks all right, Amanda, but don’t think you’ll catch me. Deliberate provocation can be dangerous, and you’d better think twice before you try it again. Next time, I’ll take you,” he said harshly, watching the shock darken her eyes, “and teach you things about men you never knew.”

“I wouldn’t let you!” she burst out.

“Why not?” His eyes were faintly insulting as he released her abruptly. “Women like you aren’t all that particular, are they? Why not me, Amanda?”

“I hate you!” she whispered unsteadily, and at the moment, she meant it. How dare he make insinuations about her?

He only smiled, but there was no humor in his look. “Do you? I’m glad, Amanda, I’d hate to think you were dying of unrequited love for me. But if you change your mind, honey, you know where my room is,” he added for good measure. “Just don’t expect marriage. I know how badly you and your mother need a meal ticket. But, honey,” he said, as he opened the door, “it won’t be me.”

He went out, closing the door behind him.