this woman. That kind of climax is worth a thousand words and I don’t know one that would accurately describe it.”
He kissed her forehead, his fingertips drawing little circles on her shoulder, memorizing the feel of her.
“Neither do I.”
He continued to hold her as he listened to the sound of his breathing, her breathing, and the heated waves of silence.
She shivered and said, “I think it’s stopped raining.”
“Are you cold?” he asked, but made no effort to pull up the covers.
“No. Cold is the last thing I am.”
“You shivered.”
“I think it’s because this is a little awkward. I’ve never been in exactly this situation before.”
“What kind of situation?”
“This may happen to you all the time, but I generally don’t end up naked in the arms of a man I don’t know.”
“You don’t? You did say men were your business, didn’t you?”
“But that’s different,” she started to explain, then stopped. He wouldn’t understand. He was right. She made her living off men’s bodies. She even sampled their attributes once in a while. But her partners always knew that it was casual and temporary. By staying in his arms, she’d broken one of her own rules tonight.
“I know. You do your thing, then move on and it’s all over.” He couldn’t pretend he expected anything else. From the beginning, everything about her looks, clothes, those heart-attack legs said big bucks and the expertise to demand it.
“Well, yes.”
“So this is over?” His words came out before he had known what he was going to say.
“Certainly. I mean, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Business as usual?” he said, wondering why he was bothered by her statement. He agreed with her. Didn’t he?
“Well, no. This isn’t business,” she admitted, a curious catch in her voice. “It’s personal. Normally, I make it a point to enjoy each…encounter, recognize it for what it is and move on. But this is different.” She was beginning to get a strange feeling about what was happening between them. “Like you said, I’m a direct woman. Since I’m being honest, I’ll confess I wanted you like I’ve never wanted any man. And you wanted me. How does that make you feel?”
“Horny as hell,” he admitted. “This was possibly a mistake, yet I’m about one touch away from making another.”
She laughed dryly. “Well, at least you’re man enough to admit when you’ve made a mistake.”
“And to admit when I’ve broken a few of my own rules.”
“Maybe we both did.”
The warm cocoon was dissipating. Cat didn’t like the awkward feeling. Always before, she and her partner had been on the same page. Tonight neither she nor her one-night stand had taken the lead and the result felt like two pieces of wire still sparking but no longer connected. It was time to go, before she did or said something dumb like “Can I live with you and have your children?”
Finally she made an uneasy move away. When he didn’t pull her back, she said the first thing that came to mind. “You think that coffee’s ready?”
“I’m sure it is,” he said, then stood and held out his hand to help her up. “By the way, if this were a business arrangement and I wanted to hire you, what would you have said to me?”
She stood, slid her arms into his flannel shirt, gathered up her damp clothes and headed to the fire in the other room, trying to put some distance between her and the man who’d just ravished her gloriously. “You don’t understand. It’s me that would be hiring you. And, that’s easy. I would have started by asking you to strip. Then I’d make you an offer.”
She didn’t know why she’d said that. That was her wise-cracking, break-the-ice line for models. But this wasn’t a wise-cracking kind of man. Suddenly she was confused. She had to get dressed and leave. Granted, her El Camino was low to the ground. Granted, the flat areas of Texas flooded quickly. Granted, he wasn’t an ax murderer. And he hadn’t done anything she hadn’t wanted. In fact, he’d done exactly what she’d wanted. Yet, she had the urge to run.
She heard him pad to the kitchen. Then she grabbed her clothes out of the bathroom, and as she leaned down and pulled on her jeans, she caught the scent of him again—as if he’d just removed his shirt and handed it to her. With nervous energy she crossed her arms over her chest and hugged the fabric close. For a long moment she held her breath, then let it out, chastising herself for being bewitched—for that was the only excuse she could come up with for how she was feeling. Clasping the towel with both hands, she leaned her head forward and began rubbing her wet hair.
“Coffee’s ready. Sorry, it’s black.” Wearing a pair of worn jeans, riding low on his hips, and a University of Texas T-shirt, he was carrying two mugs.
He walked over to her chair, handed her one, then moved toward the television. “Hope you don’t mind, but I want to catch the news.” He turned on the television and collapsed in his easy chair as if nothing had happened between them. Flipping channels, he seemed to focus all his attention on the news reports as if she wasn’t there. Was he finding this as strange as she was? Was he going to ignore her reply about stripping?
Moments later he was totally involved in the story of the solving of a five-year-old case, an undertaker who’d killed his wife and buried her in the same casket as the elderly aunt of one of San Antonio’s leading citizens. At the time, the undertaker appeared to be grief stricken. With no body or evidence to support foul play, the police had been forced to release him. The mortician’s wife had disappeared. Only the determined efforts of a Texas Ranger had finally solved the case. The problem was, he’d neglected to get permission from the family whose plot he’d disturbed.
Cat stood and walked over to the fireplace. The rain had stopped. It was time she left. As she turned to tell him, she noticed a desk in the corner and the pictures under the glass top. They appeared to be his family. Boys playing football. A girl hugging a guy.
No, not just a guy, it was the man she’d just made love with. He was wearing a white Stetson and a badge.
The woman was Bettina Dane.
“Now, for a word with the officer,” the television reporter was saying. Cat turned to the TV and watched him walk toward a tall, dark man wearing the customary white shirt and white Stetson worn by the Texas Rangers. “He’s the newest member of the San Antonio unit and he’s setting a remarkable record. A champion of law and order, he’s being called San Antonio’s supercop. Excuse me, Ranger—”
Cat leaned forward. She recognized that silhouette.
“—Jesse James Dane. Could we have a word with you?”
“No comment,” was the icy reply as he turned away.
Jesse James Dane. Bettina’s brother. The very man she’d planned
