watching her through narrowed eyes, the intense, laser quality of his gaze burning into her. There was no embarrassment or apology in his expression; he was a man, and reacted as such. Susan found, to her dazed astonishment, that the deeply feminine center of her didn’t want an apology. She wanted instead to drop her head to his shoulder and collapse into his lean, knowledgeable hands; but she was acutely aware not only of the people watching him, but also that if she followed her very feminine inclination, he was likely to respond by carrying her away like a pirate stealing a lady who had taken his fancy. No matter how he made her feel, this man was still a stranger to her.
“I don’t even know who you are,” she gasped quietly, her nails digging into his shoulder.
“Would knowing my name make any difference?” He blew gently on one of the tendrils that lay on her temple, watching the silky hair lift and fall. “But if it makes you feel better, sweetheart, we’re keeping it in the family.”
He was teasing, his teeth glistening whitely as he smiled, and Susan caught her breath, holding it for a moment before she could control her voice again. “I don’t understand,” she admitted, lifting her face to him.
“Take another deep breath like that, and it won’t matter if you understand or not,” he muttered, making her searingly aware of how her breasts had flattened against the hard planes of flesh beneath the white jacket. His diamond-faceted gaze dipped to the softness of her mouth as he explained, “I’m a Blackstone, too, though they probably don’t claim me.”
Susan stared at him in bewilderment. “But I don’t know you. Who are you?”
Again those animal-white teeth were revealed in a wicked grin that lifted the corners of his moustache. “Haven’t you heard any gossip? The term ‘black sheep’ was probably invented especially for me.”
Still she stared at him without comprehension, the graceful line of her throat vulnerable to his hungry scrutiny as she kept her head lifted the necessary inches to look at him. “But I don’t known of any black sheep. What’s your name?”
“Cord Blackstone,” he replied readily enough. “First cousin to Vance and Preston Blackstone; only son of Elias and Marjorie Blackstone; born November third, probably nine months to the day after Dad returned from his tour of duty in Europe, though I never could get Mother to admit it,” he finished, that wicked, fascinating grin flashing again like a beacon on a dark night. “But what about you, sweetheart? If you’re a Blackstone, you’re not a natural one. I’d remember any blood relative who looked like you. So, which of my esteemed cousins are you married to?”
“Vance,” she said, an echo of pain shadowing her delicate features for a moment. It was a credit to her strength of will that she was able to say evenly, “He’s dead, you know,” but nothing could mask the desolation that suddenly dimmed the luminous quality of her eyes.
The hard arms about her squeezed gently. “Yes, I’d heard. I’m sorry,” he said with rough simplicity. “Damn, what a waste. Vance was a good man.”
“Yes, he was.” There was nothing more that she could say, because she still hadn’t come to terms with the senseless, unlikely accident that had taken Vance’s life. Death had struck so swiftly, taken so much from her, that she had automatically protected herself by keeping people at a small but significant distance since then.
“What happened to him?” the silky voice asked, and she was a little stunned that he’d asked. Didn’t he even know how Vance had died?
“He was gored by a bull,” she finally replied. “In the thigh…a major artery was torn. He bled to death before we could get him to a hospital.” He had died in her arms, his life seeping away from him in a red tide, yet his face had been so peaceful. He had fixed his blue eyes on her and kept them there, as if he knew that he was dying and wanted his last sight on earth to be of her face. There had been a serene, heartbreaking smile on his lips as the brilliance of his gaze slowly dimmed and faded away forever….
Her fingers tightened on Cord Blackstone’s shoulder, digging in, and he held her closer. In an odd way, she felt some of the pain easing, as if he had buffered it with his big, hard body. Looking up, she saw a reflection in those pale eyes of his own harsh memories, and with a flash of intuition she realized that he was a man who had seen violent deaths before, who had held someone, a friend perhaps, in his arms while death approached and conquered. He understood what she had been through. Because he understood, the burden was abruptly easier to bear.
Susan had learned, over the years, how to continue with everyday things even in the face of crippling pain. Now she forced herself away from the horror of the memory and looked around, recalling herself to her duties. She noticed that far too many people were still standing around, staring at them and whispering. She caught the bandleader’s eye and gave another discreet nod, a signal for him to slide straight into another number. Then she let her eyes linger on her guests, singling them out in turn, and under the demand in her clear gaze the dance floor began to fill, the whispers to fade, and the party once more resumed its normal noise level. There wasn’t a guest there who would willingly offend her, and she knew it.
“That’s a neat trick,” he observed huskily, having followed it from beginning to end, and his voice reflected his appreciation. “Did they teach that in the finishing school you attended?”
A little smile played over her soft mouth before she glanced up at him, allowing him to divert her. “What makes you think I went to a finishing school?” she challenged.
His bold gaze slipped down the front of her gown to seek out and visually touch her rounded breasts. “Because you’re so obviously…finished. I can’t see anything that Mother Nature left undone.” His hard, warm fingers slid briefly down her back. “God, how soft your skin is,” he finished on a whisper.
A faint flush colored her cheeks at the husky note of intimacy that had entered his voice, though she was pleased in a deeply feminine way that he had noticed the texture of her skin. Oh, he was dangerous, all right, and the most dangerous thing about him was that he could make a woman take a risk even knowing how dangerous he was.
After a moment when she remained silent, he prodded, “Well? Am I right or not?”
“Almost,” she admitted, lifting her chin to smile at him. There was a soft, glowing quality to her smile that lit her face with gentle radiance, and his heavy-lidded eyes dropped even more in a signal that someone who knew him well would have recognized immediately. But Susan didn’t know him well, and she was unaware of how close she was skating to thin ice. “I attended Adderley’s in Virginia for four months, until my mother had a stroke and I left school to care for her.”
“No point in wasting any more money for them to gild the lily,” he drawled, letting his eyes drift over her serene features, then down her slender, graceful throat to linger once again, with open delight, on her fragrant, silky curves. Susan felt an unexpected heat flood her body at this man’s undisguised admiration; he looked as if he wanted to lean down and bury his face between her breasts, and she quivered with the surprising longing to have him do just that. He was more than dangerous; he was lethal!
She had to say something to break the heady spell that was enveloping her, and she used the most immediate topic of conversation. “When did you arrive?”
“Just this afternoon.” The curl of his lip told her that he knew what she was doing, but was allowing her to get away with it. Lazily he puckered his lips and blew again at the fine tendril of dark hair that entranced him as it lay on the fragile skin of her temple, where the delicate blue veining lay just under the translucent skin. Susan felt her entire body pulsate,
