Calhoun’s eyebrows lanced upward. “All I did was dance with Shelby.”
Justin stared at him coldly. “And if you hadn’t been my brother, I’d have broken your jaw for it.”
There was a faint sound behind them, and Justin turned to find Shelby standing two steps behind him.
“Go ahead, Shelby, get an earful,” Justin said icily. “Does it please you that after six years I still feel murderous when another man touches you?”
“That works both ways, Justin,” Shelby said quietly. “Or didn’t you know that it would kill me to see you with another woman?”
She turned and stormed off downstairs. Justin stared after her, shocked.
“Why don’t you carry her upstairs?” Calhoun asked his brother with pursed lips. “Then Abby and I could stand on the landing and block your way.”
Justin said something in Spanish that Abby was glad she didn’t understand and stomped off downstairs.
Calhoun glanced at Abby’s questioning face and grinned. “I’ll tell you after we’re married,” he whispered in her ear.
* * *
And he did tell her two days later as they lay together in the big soft bed at his penthouse, sated and close in each other’s arms as the sun drifted lazily through the blinds.
“What did Justin say to you the night you started to carry me upstairs?” she asked drowsily.
“He said that if he ever took Shelby to bed it would be on a desert island with mines on the beach.” he chuckled. “Poor Justin,” he added quietly. “To love like that and not even have a memory to live on.”
She lifted her eyes to his, her hand lazily stroking his thick, hair-matted chest. “What do you mean?”
“Justin never slept with Shelby,” Calhoun said softly. “And since the engagement broke off, he’s never slept with anyone else.”
She caught her breath.
“It isn’t so incredible, Abby,” he mused, rolling over to look down into her soft eyes. The covers had long since been thrown off, and his dark gaze slid over her nudity with possession and exquisite memories of the night before. “I couldn’t touch anyone else after I kissed you.”
“That’s very profound,” she whispered, trembling as his lean hand stroked gently over her taut breasts and down over her belly to the silken softness of her thighs.
“It’s that,” he agreed, bending to brush his lips across her mouth. “Have I hurt you too badly, or is it all right if we make love again?”
She flushed, remembering their first time, the softness of his voice whispering to her to lie still after he’d realized how difficult it was going to be. And then he’d bridled his own needs so that he could rouse her all over again. The pain had been minimal, because the savage hunger he’d kindled in her had surpassed pain or fear or even thought. She’d given everything he’d asked in the end, her body so completely his that he could have done anything to her.
“I’m all right now,” she whispered, adoring his hard face with her eyes. “You made it all right.”
“You were very much a virgin, Mrs. Ballenger,” he said with faint traces of satisfied delight. “And it wasn’t the easiest initiation.”
She traced his chin. “I love you. And any way you loved me would have been all right.”
He kissed her softly. “You make me feel humble.”
“You make me feel wild,” she gasped, arching as his hand moved. Her eyes widened as it moved again. “Yes…do…that…”
He smiled through his own excitement as she responded to him. He enjoyed her innocence as he’d never imagined he could. He held back this time, drawing out his possession until she was crying with her arousal, until she was almost in torment from the need. And then he eased down, tenderly, coaxing her to bank down her own fires and settle into a new and achingly sweet rhythm that brought with it a fulfillment beyond her wildest dreams, beyond even his experience.
Afterward, he cradled her against his hard, damp body, trembling as he held her, stroked her. She’d gone with him every step of the way, and she was exhausted. So was he. She made an adventure of lovemaking, an exquisite expression of shared love. It was something he’d never known in a woman’s arms. Whispering softly, he told her that.
She smiled as she lay nestled against him. “I don’t have anyone to compare you with,” she whispered. “But on a scale of ten, I’d give you a twenty.”
Calhoun laughed softly, closing his eyes and sighing contentedly as he felt her snuggle close to him, her body fitting perfectly against his.
“Abby, how would you feel about living in the old Dempsey place?” he asked unexpectedly.
She opened her eyes. “That big Victorian house that you and Justin bought last year? It’s been remodeled and furnished, hasn’t it? I thought you were going to use it for offices.”
“I’d thought about it,” he told her. “But I want to live there with you.”
“There, and not with Justin?” she asked softly.
He touched her hair. “It will make life hell for him if we’re under the same roof.”
“Yes, I know. To see how happy we are will only point out what he’s lost.” She smiled. “I’ll live with you wherever you say.”
He searched her eyes gently. Then he folded her up against him and drew the sheet over their damp bodies. “I love you, Abby,” he said drowsily.
“I love you, too.” She slid her arm across his broad chest and sighed contentedly. It was spring, and soon the pastures would be dotted with wildflowers and seed would begin sprouting everywhere. She closed her eyes, thinking about the long horizons and lazy summers and the promise of children playing around her skirts while she sat in the circle of Calhoun’s arm and watched the cattle graze. It sounded like the most exciting kind of future to share—with a long, tall Texan at her side.
* * * * *
Diana Palmer
SWEET DREAMS...
Sweet dreams had been all that lovely Shelby Jacobs had ever given Justin Ballenger. He’d loved her, wanted to marry her....and his sweet dreams had blown away. A Ballenger wasn’t good enough for Shelby...she’d broken their engagement and flaunted her rich society lover in Justin’s face. He vowed never again to be vulnerable to his beautiful Texas rose.
Shelby had never stopped loving dark, intense Justin, and seeing him only deepened her feelings. She was sure he despised her, but she knew he needed to hear the truth about the past. She was risking everything, but the heart of her lonesome cowboy was more than worth it...
It was a warm morning, and the weatherman had already promised temperatures into the eighties for the afternoon. But the weather didn’t seem to slow down the bidders, and the auctioneer standing on the elegant porch of the tall white mansion kept his monotone steady even though he had to periodically wipe streams of sweat from his heavily jowled face.
As he watched the estate auction, Justin Ballenger’s black eyes narrowed under the brim of his expensive creamy Stetson. He wasn’t buying. Not today. But he had a personal interest in this particular auction. The Jacobs’s home was being sold, lock, stock and barrel, and he should have felt a sense of triumph at seeing old Bass Jacobs’s legacy