me. And I’ll fight off the rest of the male population for you, if that’s what frightens you.”
For once she was without her customary defenses. “You would?” she asked hesitantly, her olive eyes wide and unblinking.
That gaze knocked him in the stomach. She had eyes that seduced. She probably didn’t even know it, but she was working on him in ways he hadn’t expected.
“Yes,” he said, answering her at last. “I would. I might take you out to dinner and dancing one night.”
Her breath stilled and then became quick and sharp. “You might?”
His lips parted. He was talking to her, but the words were superfluous. The real communication was between his black eyes and her olive ones, and the tension was beginning to build in a feverish way.
“Why not?” he asked, his voice becoming deep and slow, like dark velvet. “Do you dance?”
“Not really. Don’t you remember? At that dance in college, I stumbled all over you and finally gave up.”
He did remember, all too well.
“You might try teaching me again,” she ventured.
He felt his body going taut. The effect of the words was visible and he thanked his lucky stars that she was too green to see it. “Yes. I could teach you.” It wasn’t dancing he was thinking about. His eyes dropped to her soft mouth and lingered there. He could teach her passion. It was there, inside her, he knew it. All it would take was a little tenderness...
“Bowie?” she whispered.
His eyes lifted slowly to hold hers. He was close enough that she felt the warmth of his body striking into her, and she could feel the coiled strength in him as his hand came up very slowly to her upper arm. His fingers spread over it, encompassing it, testing its silky warmth.
“I want your mouth,” he whispered. His hand pulled her gently toward him, moving her inches closer, so that they were almost touching.
She let him. The sensations she was feeling were new and overwhelming. It was like being drugged, she thought, and the dragging sensation in her stomach and upper thighs was oddly crippling. She was trembling inside, in a way she’d never expected. Her breasts ached. It was as if just the feel of those black eyes on her mouth had made some basic change in her chemistry. She felt the threat of his great strength at the same time she wanted to feel his body against the length of hers. She wanted to put her arms around him and be hugged until her breasts ached, kissed until her mouth was swollen and sore. She went pale. Was she going to be able to face the past at last and move into womanhood?
It almost seemed so. Her lips parted on a shaky breath, and her eyes searched Bowie’s fierce ones.
“Do you want my mouth on yours, Gaby?” he asked huskily, and his head started to bend. His gaze fell to her parted lips. “Do you want to feel me kissing you?”
“Oh... God,” she groaned, her legs going weak as the passionate need snapped in her. “Bowie...!”
She was reaching up to him, shaking with anticipation. And that was when the voice, stark and bleak, shattered the fever that was building in the pool house.
“Sẽnor Bowie!”
Bowie’s hands contracted sharply on Gaby’s arms, almost bruising. His eyes met hers, black with frustration and shocked fury. Then she was free and he was striding out into the hall.
“What is it, Montoya?” he asked in a steely but perfectly normal tone.
“Lunch is served, sẽnor,” Montoya called, grinning at the end of the hall. “Is Gaby with you?”
“She’s around somewhere. I’ll go hunt her up.” He paused, waiting until Montoya disappeared back into the dining room before he turned and motioned to Gaby.
She walked out into the hall on shaky legs, avoiding his eyes. But he didn’t move and she cannoned into him.
“It’s only a reprieve,” he said quietly, holding her wide eyes. His face was hard and his expression dogged. “I’m going to have that kiss. I’m going to take the breath out of your body and the strength out of your arms, and you’re going to want me like hell. That’s a promise.”
He slid his hand into hers and pulled her along with him toward the dining room, his profile intimidating. His fingers contracted and he glanced down. “Don’t start looking for excuses, either,” he added. “You and I aren’t related in any way. We can hold hands, we can go on dates. We can even make love. There aren’t any barriers.”
Her breath felt shaky. “That’s what you think,” she said under her breath.
“I’ll get past those hangups, honey,” he mused. “I’m not a rounder by any stretch of the imagination, but I know very well what to do with a woman. I won’t hurt you—not ever.”
She wanted to argue, to tell him that she couldn’t, she wouldn’t. There were so many secrets from the past, so much hidden pain and fear and guilt. But she couldn’t pour all that out. She couldn’t let Bowie know what had happened—she couldn’t let him get close to her at all. That knowledge was like a thorn in her heart. She wanted him—really wanted him. It was a new and exciting feeling. But what a pity to find it now, with the one man in the world she didn’t dare love. Her love could destroy everything the McCaydes had built up for themselves. And she couldn’t even tell Bowie why. She should never have gone near him in the first place.
She tried to disengage her fingers from his strong, lean ones, but he refused to let go as they walked into the dining room.
When Aggie looked at them, she knew why. Aggie had been sure that Bowie and Gaby had come down to protect her from her new friend, but when she saw them holding hands and felt the blinding tension radiating from their set faces, she formed a new opinion. She pursed her lips and her eyes began to show sheer pleasure rather than astonishment.
Gaby looked up at Bowie to see a raised eyebrow and an amused twinkle in his dark eyes. She glared at him. So that was his game—throwing Aggie off the track with a red herring. She wondered how much of what he’d said to her in the pool house had been part of the plan. Had he meant it, or had he just been stirring her up so that Aggie would read even more into her expression?
She didn’t trust men at the best of times, but she’d always felt that she could trust Bowie. Now she wasn’t sure anymore. She felt vulnerable and afraid.
“Hello, mother,” Bowie said. He let go of Gaby’s hand and seated her before he leaned over to kiss Aggie’s cheek. “How was Jamaica?”
“Jamaica was lovely,” Aggie murmured dryly. She glanced at her friend and put her thin hand over his big one. “Bowie, this is Ned Courtland.” She made a caress of his name.
“How do you do?” Bowie said pleasantly enough, but his features were rigid and his eyes were already damning the other man to hell.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Ned returned in a slow drawl. “How are you, son?”
Bowie bristled, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He smiled coolly. “I hear you run a few head of cattle.” He sat down beside Gaby and lit a cigarette,
