an affronted glare and proceeded to talk her out of it. He was a past master at convincing people to do things his way—most people, she amended silently—which probably explained the extent of his oil empire. He’d won two proxy fights in the past five years, retained control of Durango Oil with an expertise that dumbfounded even old-timers in the business. What Big John wanted, he got. From everyone except Madeline.
She caught a glimpse of him across the room, already in the steely clutches of a petite little blonde with eyes like cash registers. Madeline thought, as she had often before, that nobody could hold a candle to Big John Durango. He was six foot four with a big, muscular frame to match, and despite his thirty-nine years, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He had straight, dark hair swept neatly back over a broad forehead—so neatly that Madeline’s fingers often itched to muss it. His eyes seemed dark at a distance, but were actually a slate gray at close range. His nose had been broken at least once, and it showed. He had a mouth that was utterly sensuous under a thick, neatly trimmed mustache as black as his hair. A square jaw that hinted at determination and a strong will completed the portrait. Although she and John had been friends, just good friends, for over two years, she couldn’t help being aware that he was a man. The sight of him in his dark evening clothes would draw any woman’s eyes, and Madeline, feeling a chill go down her spine, was no exception. Probably, her mind insisted, a survival mechanism. God knew she needed one around John.
She lifted the brandy snifter to her lips and took a long sip. Her eyes idly studied John and the blonde. It looked as though he was making quite an impression and she felt an unpleasant twinge of annoyance. Perhaps it was the strong friendship she shared with the oil tycoon that made her feel so possessive about him.
John certainly hadn’t given her any other reason to feel possessive. He knew what her disastrous affair with Allen had cost her. She and Allen had been engaged—or so she thought. But the morning after he’d seduced her, she’d learned that the would-be writer already had a wife and child.
John had understood her horrified reaction to that incident from the start. He’d respected her fear of physical involvement, and he hadn’t approached her sexually, not ever. Madeline, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in his money, which meant he could trust her in a very special way. Madeline guessed he hadn’t been able to trust anyone that way since Ellen’s death. He knew that she liked him for himself, not for what he could give her.
She sighed, sipping at her brandy. But now things seemed to be changing. John was usually the easiest man in the world to get along with, her best friend. Yet for the past few weeks he’d been alternately impatient and downright unpleasant with her. Last week things had gotten completely out of hand when one of John’s cowboys had been drinking on the job and had made a blatant pass at Madeline.
Madeline had always been friendly with Jed—not flirtatious, just friendly. But while she was waiting for John at the stables, Jed had suddenly grabbed her and tried to kiss her. John had come out of nowhere and sent the man flying onto the hard ground with one powerful blow.
“Get out,” John had growled at the downed cowboy. “Draw your pay and don’t ever set foot on Big Sabine again!”
Madeline, standing shocked and tongue-tied a little distance away, had stared at John as if she’d never seen him before. With his gray eyes blazing like silver, his face granite hard, he was suddenly a stranger. The easygoing, pleasant companion she’d known for the past two years had vanished.
John hadn’t said a word while the bruised cowboy picked his husky figure up off the ground, glared at Madeline and went ambling off toward the ranch office.
“I…thank you,” Madeline had stammered. Her hands had brushed idly at the smudges on her blouse while she fought for composure. The incident had shaken her terribly. She hadn’t realized Jed had been drinking until he’d come close, and then it had been too late. If John hadn’t come along when he had, it might have been much worse than a little rough handling and a kiss that hadn’t landed anywhere near her mouth.
John had turned then, with a freshly lit cigarette in his bruised hand, and his eyes had been frightening, with a silver glitter that intimidated as much as his size.
“When will you learn,” he’d demanded harshly, “that there’s a difference between friendly and being provocative?”
“I wasn’t!” she protested. “Jed’s always been nice to me. I thought…”
“He was a good man—sober,” he’d shot back. “I hate to lose him.”
The unfamiliar harshness in his deep, slow voice, the censure in his gaze, had hurt. “Don’t be mad at me,” she’d murmured gently, putting out a tentative hand to touch his bronzed forearm in a conciliatory gesture.
The muscles in his arm had contracted as if he’d been subjected to a barrage of bullets. She’d felt them tense individually until he was as steely as drawn rope beneath her hand. Increasingly he hadn’t liked for her to touch him, but she hadn’t expected what he’d done next.
With a muffled curse, he’d caught her by the wrist, his fingers hurting, and forcibly removed her hand.
“Don’t think you’ll wrap me around your finger, Satin,” he’d said harshly, giving her the nickname he’d coined because she “moved like satin when she walked.” “And from now on, keep your distance from my men. If you’re looking for a little excitement, look for it off my ranch!”
That had pricked her temper. His harsh words had hurt, but being accused of enticing his ranch hands was more than she could stand.
“It’ll be a pleasure to stay off your ranch, John Cameron Durango,” she’d flung at him, her green eyes spitting sparks. “You’ve been the very devil to get along with lately, anyhow. And I wasn’t trying to wrap you around my finger, I was trying to thank you!”
Without another word, she’d stomped off toward her car. And they hadn’t spoken since.
Now she was feeling repentant and she wanted to make up. But that money-hungry little blonde made it impossible to approach him, and John wasn’t even trying to ward her off.
The worst of it all was that she recognized the blonde, now that she’d gotten a good look at her. Her name was Melody something-or-other, and she was well-known in Houston circles for her habit of stalking wealthy older men. Her name had been linked with two Houston businessmen in the past year, and not in a nice way. For heaven’s sake, didn’t John know what kind of company he was keeping? Couldn’t he see through that facade of kittenlike sweetness? Madeline scowled at the sight of the dark head bent so close to the blond one, aware of an ache deep inside her that she couldn’t quite identify.
“Don’t look now, sweetheart, but you’re glaring,” came the sound of a familiar voice at her shoulder.
She half turned, smiling at Donald Durango, whose boyish face was wearing a look of pure mischief.
“Is that what it’s called?” she asked in mock amazement.
“You wouldn’t be jealous of her?” he murmured dryly.
She felt herself bristling. “John and I are friends—nothing more,” she said curtly.
“So you keep telling me,” he agreed pleasantly. “And a gorgeous creature like you wouldn’t lie.”
“My, but you’re good for my ego,” she murmured with a forgiving smile. She couldn’t help thinking
