love my wife,” came the defensive reply.
“And I want Julia. So if you ruin this for me, I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
“Screw you, Dylan.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He paused, stalked the room again, hit a snag with the cord and nearly dropped the phone.
“Promise me you’ll call the feds,” Aaron said. “Promise me you’ll do the right thing.”
“Fine. I’ll call them.” But he would do it on his own time, at his own pace. Not that he was going to admit that to Aaron.
“Good,” his cousin said. “This isn’t something to play around.”
Dylan’s heart tensed. “I wish I didn’t want her.”
“I guess it’s too late for that. So when is she coming home with you?”
“Tomorrow,” he responded, too damn anxious to see her again.
The moment JJ saw Dylan’s ranch, the horse farm he owned, she struggled with her emotions. The kidnapping site was just miles away.
Was her mother’s grave close by, too? Had Dylan chosen a resting place near his home?
If only her mom were still alive. If only they could work past the destruction.
Dylan turned toward her. “Are you okay?”
She feigned a positive response, wishing he wasn’t so observant. When he glanced away, she looked out the window. The airport limo took them down a long paved driveway leading to a sprawling adobe structure where the desert swerved into what seemed like an endless expanse of acreage.
Dylan’s success was showing. But so were his Native roots. Not that JJ knew anything about his culture. She didn’t even know what tribe he was from.
The car stopped, and once they were standing on the pavement, Dylan took charge of their luggage and paid the driver.
Without speaking, Dylan escorted her inside. She looked around the spacious living room and saw Old Mexico-style furniture, clay-tiled floors and roughly textured walls. Tiered windows curved in a sweeping line. A brick fireplace dominated the center of the room, with wooden crosses, Indian artifacts and brass relics on the mantle.
“Are we alone?” she asked.
“My ranch hands live out back.”
“I was talking about a housekeeper.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do I look like I have a housekeeper?”
She couldn’t help but smile. As beautifully primitive as his custom-built home was, it was ruggedly messy, too. Charmed with cowboy-type clutter. “No, I suppose not.”
“Do you want the job?” he asked.
“You didn’t bring me all this way to clean your house.”
“No. But if I stole you away from Henry, you could be my mistress.” When she widened her eyes, he added, “I don’t see the problem with a woman being a housekeeper and a mistress. That’s the kind of wife I want someday.”
Stunned, she could only stare. What was he? A throwback from the fifties? A young, Stella-screaming Marlon Brando? “Please tell me you didn’t really say that.”
He shrugged, laughed. “You’re so easy to tease, Julia. You fall for everything.”
Because Julia was a fool, she thought. And JJ was learning to know better. “So what kind of wife do you want?”
“I’ll take you,” he said staring her down.
Her breath lodged in her throat.
“It was a joke,” he said.
Was it? She couldn’t tell. Either way, he’d just dropped a stick of dynamite onto her lap. As a little girl she’d secretly planned her wedding. She’d even dressed up in front of the mirror, holding a hand-picked bouquet of her favorite flowers.
Suddenly neither of them spoke. Not a word.
Finally, he defused the dynamite. “Do you want to see your room? Get settled?”
“Yes…please.”
He picked up her bag and escorted her down the hall.
The guest room he offered was decorated with pine furniture and animal-skin accents. A calfskin throw was draped over the headboard of a queen-size bed.
“The bathroom is attached.” He gestured. “Right through that door.”
“Thank you. This is nice.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He moved closer and reached out to touch her hair, getting personal once again. “Are you going to dye it back to its natural color?”
“No. I’m going to keep being a blonde.” Because Julia had dark hair, she thought. And JJ needed to be different from Julia.
He lifted her chin, looked into her eyes, spoke much too softly.
His voice all but caressed her. “You should stop fighting your identity. You are who you are.”
The woman who still wanted to kiss him, she thought.
But worse yet was the child she used to be. The dreamy little girl standing in front of the mirror, dressed in white and waiting for Prince Charming to sweep her into his arms.
The way Dylan had done on the day he’d rescued her.
Before she leaned into him, before she lost what was left of her sanity, she panicked, clouding desire with death.
“We need to get ready to go to the cemetery,” she said suddenly.
He started, frowned, stepped back. “We can’t. It’s too late. It’ll be dark soon. We’ll have to go tomorrow.”
Trapped, confused, beguiled, she fussed with her suitcase, with the metal latch. Suddenly the airtight container seemed as constricting as a coffin. “Then I need to be alone.”
His frown deepened, striking premature crow’s feet near the corners his eyes. “For how long?”
Forever, she thought. But she told him to check on her in a few hours. After JJ had enough time to control Julia.
And convince her to stop wanting him.
Dylan came for her two hours later, but she’d expected as much. She was ready for him, or so she told herself.
But it was a lie.
“Do you want to have dinner on the patio?” he asked, standing in her doorway in a white T-shirt, slightly frayed jeans and the beautifully crafted belt buckle he favored. “I ordered takeout.”
