the car’s speed, she caught a glimpse of a tall, muscular man emerging from a car that he’d just backed out of the garage. She instantly knew he was Reed Conway. He was older, bigger. His once-pale ash blond hair was now a dirty blond, almost light brown. Ella’s heartbeat accelerated. Her stomach muscles knotted painfully.
There he is. Stop and talk to him. Confront him with the letter and demand that he leave you alone.
She drove on by, her hands trembling, her nerves rioting. The Jag picked up speed as Ella cruised up West Fifth Street, passing rows of houses, many in ramshackle ruins, others in various states of repair and renovation. Anybody who was someone in this town lived on the east end, but the middle-class version of nouveau riche was restoring the houses on the west end, some now rivaling the stately old homes that had been kept up generation after generation across town.
Coward! You’re running away. You don’t have the guts to face him and tell him what you think of him…how you feel about his explicit, threatening love letter. Love letter? No, it was smut, pure and simple. But it had implied a threat, hadn’t it? Just as those two letters he’d written years ago had done.
Ella turned off West Fifth, made the block, and headed back toward the garage. She was not going to run to her father. She was not going to let her mother find out about the letter, knowing how much it would disturb her. She, Ella Porter, was going to handle this little problem herself. Now!
Mustering every ounce of courage she possessed, Ella whipped her Jag off the street and onto the Conway Garage parking area. She killed the engine, snatched the keys from the ignition, and held them tightly in her hand as she took a deep, fortifying breath. When she stepped out of the car onto the pavement, she found her legs wobbly and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She snapped open her shoulder bag, eyed the white envelope tucked inside, and then dropped her keys on top of her wallet before closing her purse.
You can do this. You will do this. After all, what can he do to you in broad daylight, with witnesses all around?
Squaring her shoulders and tilting her chin, she took several tentative steps and then stopped dead still. Reed Conway turned abruptly as he wiped his soiled hands on a dirty orange rag and looked right at her. She’d never forgotten those ice-cold blue eyes of his. The few times she’d run into him at her aunt and uncle’s house, he’d always stared at her. Never smiled; never spoke. Just glared at her with those incredible sky blue eyes.
But he can’t see your eyes, she reminded herself, not with your sunglasses on. He can’t look into your eyes and know what you’re thinking. He can’t see the fear…the disgust…or the curiosity. She’d always been curious about Reed, always wondered what it would be like to find out firsthand just what it was about him that had fascinated the girls and intimidated the boys.
Without realizing what she was doing, Ella surveyed him from head to toe. A good six-three. Broad shoulders. Big arms. Biceps bulging, plainly visible, bared by his sleeveless blue-and-white tank top. He was surprisingly tan. He must have served on an outdoor work crew while he was in prison, she surmised. His thick tawny hair curled about his neck and ears. He needed a haircut. His long, thin sideburns met the brown stubble that covered his face. Obviously the man hadn’t shaved this morning. The stonewashed jeans hugged his lower body. Ella swallowed hard.
Reed Conway was the sexiest man she’d ever seen, bar none. A lazy, raw sensuality oozed from his pores.
He continued staring at her, as if he were gauging her worth as a desirable woman. She was unaccustomed to men taking stock of her physical assets. Men appreciated her for her intelligence, her warm and caring personality, and her social status. She was no great beauty—a fact that disappointed her mother. But Carolyn assured her that being beautiful was often more a curse than a blessing. So why was Reed looking at her as if he found her attractive? Did he know who she was? Had he recognized her and was only toying with her?
Enough of this! she told herself. You didn’t come here to fall victim to Reed’s obvious charms. Nor did you come here to have him ogle you. Marching across the space that separated them, Ella kept reminding herself of who she was and why she was here. Show him the letter and tell him you’re giving him fair warning that sending another letter would be useless, that you’re not going to show the damn thing to your father.
Reed watched the woman as she approached him. Classy. Well-dressed in a simple gray pinstriped suit and pale gray blouse. Even her gray leather shoes and shoulder bag matched. And she was driving a Jag. A rich, classy broad. That’s what Briley Joe would call her. Shiny black hair, secured in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Pale olive skin. Smooth and creamy. Even on a hot day like today, she looked cool. What was someone like her doing here? He glanced past her and eyed her car. He’d thought she might have a flat tire, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Maybe a little car trouble?
When she stopped directly in front of him, he flashed her his I’d-like-to-strip-you-naked-and-screw-you-right-here-and-now smile.
She didn’t return the smile. Okay, so she wasn’t interested. No big deal.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“You’re Reed Conway, aren’t you?”
She knew him? Was she someone from his past? An old girlfriend? He’d managed to lay several Spring Creek debutantes when he was in high school. But not this one. If he’d ever gotten in her pants, he’d remember her.
“Who wants to know?” He gave her a once-over, concentrating on the area from breasts to knees. Giving a lady that kind of sexual appraisal had a way of separating the women from the girls, as well as the available from the unavailable. Besides, he enjoyed looking. She had nice tits—big, but not too big. A small waist. And wide hips. Not today’s fashionable figure, but still the kind that gave a guy a woody.
She removed her sunglasses and held them tightly in her left hand. A hand without rings. Short, neatly manicured nails with clear polish. Not flashy. Not married. Not engaged.
He took a good look at her face, but didn’t instantly recognize her. Had he known her? She was pretty. Not beautiful the way his mother and sister were, but alluring in an almost exotic way. Full lips, glazed with a colorless sheen. A square face, a well-defined nose, and a pair of large, striking, dark eyes—eyes so brown they appeared almost black.
She stared at him, her gaze boring into him and her lips slightly parted. Suddenly he remembered those eyes. Other things about her had changed. She’d lost weight, grown an inch or two taller, and now possessed an air of confidence that had been lacking in the young girl who’d watched him with those remarkable black eyes.
“Ella Porter, my, how you’ve changed.” He grinned when a look of shock drained the color from her face.
“So have you, Mr. Conway.”
“Why so formal, Ella? Call me Reed.”
“Mr. Conway, I have a reason for coming here, and it isn’t so that we can get to know each other on a first-name basis.”
“Then I take it you didn’t stop by to welcome me home on behalf of the Porter family.” He sensed the tension in her tighten, and he couldn’t help enjoying being able to irritate her so easily.
“I received a rather disturbing letter today.”
She snapped open her small gray shoulder bag. That was when he noticed her hands were trembling. She was scared. Scared of him. Son of a bitch! She jerked a white envelope from her purse and held it between them as if it
