aunt’s silence not out of remorse for his actions, but from fear that Joe Colton would write him out of his will if he found out the truth had put a sick feeling in Jackson’s gut.
“Is that what you wanted, too?” Cheyenne asked. “To be a lawyer?”
“I thought I did until recently.” He moved his shoulders carelessly. “I don’t know. Could be I’m just in the wrong area of the law. One reason I’m hanging around Prosperino for a while is to figure that out.”
She sipped her latte. “What’s another reason?”
For the space of a heartbeat, he considered telling her that the police suspected him in the two attempts on his uncle’s life. That he could be arrested. Go to jail. And that she might be in a position to help the cops put him there.
Just as quickly, Jackson pushed away the urge. He was innocent and he planned to clear his name—maybe as early as the following day if the trip he planned to make to L.A. paid off. If it did, there wouldn’t be any reason for Cheyenne to know he’d even been questioned by Detective Law. No reason for this woman, who had slid into his thoughts so easily and often over the past months, to have cause to avoid him.
He took in her fine-boned features, dark eyes, the seductive arch of her throat. She looked…elegant, he decided. A kind of inner elegance that wasn’t the least diminished by the simple blouse and slacks she wore. Granted, he’d always preferred more flamboyant women, but this was the first time in his life he’d felt so intensely drawn to one woman. Right now, he didn’t know why. He was only sure that he wanted her in his world where he could see and touch her. And find out just what those secrets were he saw in her eyes.
“I’ve thought about you a lot since my uncle’s party,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to let you get away this time. I have to go into L.A. tomorrow. Will you have breakfast with me the day after?”
She regarded him steadily. He had the uncomfortable feeling she knew more was going on than what he’d said.
“I have an early archery lesson,” she said after a moment. “And a counseling session later that morning.”
“I’ll come to Hopechest Ranch. We can squeeze in breakfast between the two.” He linked his fingers with hers and thought of how good her hand felt against his. “Say yes, Cheyenne. I need to see you again. Say yes.”
“Yes, Jackson, I’ll have breakfast with you.”
Never before had she fascinated a man.
The thought tightened Cheyenne’s belly as she walked at Jackson’s side along the neat sidewalk illuminated by streetlights that took on the hazy glow of tiny moons.
When they’d sat across from each other at the café’s small table, it had not been a simple matter to ignore the heat that raced up her arm when he touched her. His hand wasn’t soft, but hard and callused. That had been the first wayward thought that stumbled into her brain. Now, with that same hand pressed against the small of her back, she felt the pressure of each of his fingers, the strength. Power.
Jackson Colton might make his living as a smooth, sophisticated attorney but he knew how to work with his hands. And the feel of those hands made her knees go weak.
She rubbed an unsteady palm across her throat. She knew she was breathing too fast. Feeling more than the brief contact of a man’s palm against her back warranted.
“Which car is yours?” he asked when they turned a corner and stepped into the parking lot on one side of the Cinema Prosperino.
She tried not to think about the fact that his arm was brushing hers.
“The white Mustang.”
As they neared the car, she dug in her purse for her keys. Very deliberately, she turned enough away from Jackson that he was forced to drop his hand.
Cool, common sense was the order of the day, she reminded herself. He was in trouble—that was the reason her vision had brought her to him. She didn’t yet know why, but she doubted fate had reunited her with Jackson Colton just so she could get a reminder of how a man’s touch could stir her. She’d found that out years ago. That knowledge had left her with a bruised heart. She wasn’t likely to ever forget that experience.
She shoved the key into the door’s lock, then swung it open. Before she could slide behind the wheel, Jackson’s hand settled on her shoulder.
“Cheyenne?”
She closed her eyes for an instant, then turned to find him standing only inches away. His face was bathed in a mix of moonlight and shadows; the woodsy scent of his cologne drifted to her on the cool, night air.
“Yes?”
“I’m glad we had the good luck to run into each other.” As he spoke, he ran a fingertip down her jawline.
The lightning response of her body to his touch sent a wariness through her that had her wanting to back away. Even if she chose to retreat, it wasn’t an option, she realized. She was trapped with him in the small V formed by the side of the car and the open door.
Her breath shuddered. Her gift of sight, not luck, had brought them together tonight. Destiny would guide them from here. “I enjoyed talking with you, Jackson.”
“Talking was good.” His fingers closed over one of her hands. “At my uncle’s party, I wondered if your skin felt as soft as it looks. Tonight I found out it does. Now I’m wondering if your skin tastes as rich as it feels.” Moonlight glittered in his gray eyes when he pressed his lips deep in the center of her palm. “It does,” he murmured.
Her heart shot straight up and lodged in her throat. “I don’t think…” Her voice trailed off when his lips brushed across hers, soft as a whisper.
“You don’t think what?” he asked, touching his mouth to hers again with a lightness that had the blood pounding in her head.
She had ignored her physical needs for so long, she had forgotten what it was to want a man. One man. “I…don’t know…what to think.”
“Me, either.” One of his hands slid beneath her heavy braid to cup the base of her neck. His fingers felt cool and strong against her heated flesh. He lowered his lips to within a whisper of hers. “Why don’t we forget about thinking and just let ourselves feel?”
Softly, slowly, his mouth roamed over hers, sending thick, liquefying pleasure seeping into her. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her hands went limp; in the recesses of her mind she heard the jingle of metal when her keys hit the pavement.
“You stir something in me, Cheyenne,” he murmured as his mouth took hers, warm and coaxing. His fingers stroked the back of her neck. She didn’t need a vision to see the teasing image of what his hands could do to her body.
Her arms moved upward; her fingers locked tight on his shoulders. Beneath her hands she felt the bunch of muscles that veered toward a hard, dangerous strength. Passion came to life inside her like a fire that had been smoldering beneath cold ash. Her lips parted beneath his, opening, accepting, urging.
His arm slid around her waist, drawing her closer until she fit tightly against his hard, lean body. His mouth became more greedy, taking her deeper, demanding equal response. Her legs trembled, and
