Читать книгу The Protectors - Beverly Barton - Страница 13

Deborah had thought about making a fire in her sitting room fireplace, but had neither the strength nor the determination. Although the October night was chilly, it wasn’t really cool enough for a fire. She’d simply thought a cosy glowing fire would be soothing. Instead she had settled for a nice warm bath and a cup of cinnamon tea.

She curled up on the huge padded window seat beneath the stained glass window in her sitting room alcove. Her room was her haven. Since early childhood, she had escaped into this luxurious old room with its high ceilings and aged wooden floors. Many days she had sat where she sat now, watching the way the sun turned the colors in the stained glass window to sparkling jewels.

She had written silly, girlish poems about love and life and Ashe McLaughlin. She had long ago burned those poems. Even now she could feel the tears on her face, the tears she had shed the night she’d tossed those hopeless professions of love into the fireplace and watched her youthful dreams go up in smoke.

She shouldn’t be dwelling on the past, not with so many problems facing her in the present. Between the constant harassing threats and Ashe’s presence, her nerves were raw. She wanted to scream, to cry, to break something—anything—into a thousand pieces.

She wanted Ashe to go away; she wanted Ashe to never leave her. She fantasized about telling Ashe that Allen was his son; she lived in fear Ashe would discover the truth.

Deborah set her teacup on the mahogany tea table beside the window bench, pulled the cream crocheted afghan over her legs and rested her head against the window frame. She should have been in bed an hour ago, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. The simple, orderly life she had worked out for herself had suddenly and irrevocably fallen apart. She had turned off on the wrong road, witnessed a murder and her life would never be the same again. Not only was her life being threatened by the most notorious hoodlums in the state, but the very man determined to protect her posed the greatest threat of all. How ironic, she thought, that she should fear Ashe McLaughlin even more than she feared Buck Stansell.

She heard a soft rap on her door. Her mother? Had she taken ill? Or Allen, who usually slept soundly the whole night through? No. Not her mother. Not Allen.

Ashe.

Dropping the afghan to the floor, she walked across the room, her heart hammering away in her chest. Just before opening the door, she readjusted her silk robe, tightening the belt around her waist.

Ashe McLaughlin stood in the hallway, one big hand braced against the doorpost. He still wore his charcoal gray slacks and his dove gray linen shirt, but the shirt was completely unbuttoned and the hem hung loose below his hips.

“May I come in? We need to talk.”

“It’s late, Ashe. After midnight. I’m tired.” She didn’t want him in her room, didn’t want to be alone with him. “Can’t this wait until morning?”

“It could, but since we’re both awake, I see no reason to postpone our conversation.” He dropped his hand from the doorpost, leaned toward her and looked her over from head to toe. “Are you going to let me in?”

If she said no, he would think she was afraid of him, that he still held some kind of power over her. She couldn’t let him think she cared, that he…Oh, who was she kidding? Any fool could see that Ashe McLaughlin made her act like a silly, lovesick schoolgirl.

“Come on in.” She stepped back, allowing him entrance.

He followed her into the sitting room, glancing around, taking note of the lush femininity of the room. All muted cobalt blues and faded rose colors with splashes of rich cream. Ruffles and lace and dainty crocheted items whispered “Lady.”

“Won’t you sit down?” She indicated the antique rocker covered in a vibrant floral pattern.

Ashe eyed the delicate chair, wondering if it would hold his weight. Deborah sat on the wide, plush window seat. Without asking permission, he walked over and sat down beside her. She jumped, then glared at him.

“I was afraid I’d break that little rocker,” he said, smiling.

“You could have sat in the arm chair, there by the fireplace.” She indicated the wing chair, a wide-brimmed, lace hat hanging from one wing.

“I’d rather sit beside you.” He knew he made her nervous, and he thought he knew why. No matter what had happened between them eleven years ago, no matter how betrayed either of them felt, the spark that had ignited a blazing fire between them that one night down by the river still burned inside both of them.

“Fine, sit beside me.” She glanced over at the tea service. “Would you care for some cinnamon tea?”

“No, thanks.”

“What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait until tomorrow to discuss it with me?” Feeling her robe slipping open across her thigh, she grabbed the blue silk and held it in place.

“Are you all right, Deborah?” he asked. “I mean really all right. You’ve had a rough day, and you barely said ten words at dinner. Miss Carol is worried. So is Allen.”

“I’m fine, and I’ll make sure Mother and Allen both know it. Now, if that’s all you came to say—” she started to rise.

“Sit down.”

She eased back down onto the bench.

“As you know, I paid a visit to Lee Roy and Johnny Joe, a couple of my cousins who work for Buck Stansell.”

Her eyes, wide and overly bright, looked right at him. Damn her, she was working hard at being brave, at pretending she wasn’t slowly falling apart. And he figured having him around wasn’t helping her any. But he couldn’t leave, couldn’t let Sam Dundee send another agent to protect her. Deborah was his responsibility, his to protect, his to defend against whatever harm came her way.

“What happened?” Deborah asked. “I’m sure they didn’t admit that Buck Stansell was harassing me, trying to convince me that he’d have me killed if I testify against Lon Sparks.”

“No, the boys didn’t admit to anything. They didn’t have to. I know my cousins. I know their kind. My father was one of them. They’re what I came from.”

Without hesitating, without thinking, Deborah touched his hand. Comforting. Caring. So much like the Deborah he’d known and liked.

“You were never anything like those people. You didn’t get into any real trouble when you were a teenager. Everything you did, you did to improve your life, to get away from your roots.”

He laid his open palm atop her small hand, trapping it between his big, hard hands. “You never looked down on me, never thought you were better than I was, like so many people did. Even though you were just a kid, you seemed to understand what I wanted, what I needed.”

Deborah shivered, her stomach quivering, warmth spreading through her like the morning sunshine slowly bathing the horizon with its life-giving light. She couldn’t bear feeling this way, longing to put her arms around Ashe, to tell him that she had loved him so dearly, had wanted nothing more than for him to return her love. She’d been a foolish girl; he’d been in love with her cousin.

She pulled her hand out of his gentle clasp. “So, your…you…” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “…your visit to your cousins didn’t accomplish anything.”

Dear God, how he wanted to kiss her. Here in the feminine confines of her sitting room, surrounded by all her frills and lace. The smell of her fresh and lightly scented from her bath. Her skin glowing. Soft. Begging for his touch.

“No, you’re wrong,” he said. “The visit did accomplish a few things. I made contact with the enemy camp. I found out Lee Roy and I still have a connection. And I sent a warning to Buck Stansell.” He reached out; she retreated. He reached out farther and touched her cheek. She trembled, but didn’t pull away from him. “I laid claim to you. I told them that Buck should know you are my woman, and if he harms you, I’ll seek revenge.”

“You…you…claimed me?” She widened her eyes, staring at him in disbelief.

He ran the tips of his fingers down her cheek, caressing her throat, then circled her neck, urging her forward. “I know Buck and his type. They’re wild, they’re ruthless, but they aren’t stupid. The one thing they respect and understand is brute force. Another man’s strength. They know who I am, the life I’ve lived. And they know that if I say I’ll come after them if they harm you, I mean it.”

“But Ashe, I don’t—”

“For as long as I’m your bodyguard, we will pretend to be a couple. We’re old friends who have become lovers. As far as Buck Stansell and the whole state of Alabama is concerned, you’re my woman, and this isn’t a job anymore. This is personal. In taking care of you, I’m simply defending my own against any harm. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Yes, she understood. She understood only too well. Not only would she have to endure constant threats on her life and Ashe’s daily presence in her life, but she would have to put on an act, playing the part of Ashe’s lover.

“I can’t do it,” she said, trying to pull away from him.

He held her in his gentle yet firm grip, raking his thumb up and down the side of her neck. “Why can’t you?”

“I can’t lie about something that important. I can’t pretend with Mother and with Allen.”

“Tell your Mother the truth, and I don’t think Allen will care if you have a boyfriend. He seems to think you need one.” Ashe continued stroking the side of her neck.

“You had no right to tell anyone that I’m your woman! I’m not. I never have been and I never will be.”

He jerked her up against him, his lips a whisper away from hers. “This pretense just might save your life or at least make Buck think twice about harming you. I don’t give a damn about your objections—I’m more concerned about saving your life. From this moment on, for all intents and purposes, you’re mine. Do I make myself clear?”

Deborah swallowed hard, then closed her eyes to block out the sight of Ashe’s face. She couldn’t pretend to be his woman. Dear Lord, didn’t he understand anything about her? Years ago she had lived in a fantasy world where she dreamed Ashe would leave Whitney and come to her, claiming her, making her his. And on that one night, the night she conceived Allen, she had given herself to the man she loved, and afterward he had told her he didn’t want her.

“You can’t order me around. You can’t make me do something I don’t want to do.” She clenched her teeth and stared him straight in the eye.

“You’re so damned stubborn.”

His lips covered hers with hot, demanding urgency, the need to override her objections forefront in his mind. But his body’s needs overcame his intention to bend her to his will. He didn’t want to force her to do anything; he wanted her compliance.

Deborah fought the kiss for a few brief seconds, then succumbed to the power of his possession, giving herself over to the feel of his arm around her, pulling her closer and closer, his fingers threading through her hair, capturing her head in the palm of his hand.

Her breasts pressed against his hard chest. His tongue delved into her mouth. Slipping her arms around inside his shirt, she clung to him, her nails biting into the muscles of his naked back. Deborah and Ashe sought to appease the hunger gnawing inside them, their lips tasting the sweetness, their tongues seeking, their hands laying claim to the feast of their aroused bodies.

Ashe felt hard and hot as Deborah ran her hands over his chest, across his tiny, pebble hard nipples, lacing her fingers through his dark chest hair.

Ashe reached between their bodies, separating the folds of her silk robe, feeling for her breast. He eased the robe off her shoulder, then the thin strap of her gown, exposing her left breast, lifting it in his hand.

When he rubbed his fingers across her jutting nipple, she cried out. He took the sound into his mouth, deepening their kiss. She curled against him. He dragged her onto his lap, lowered his head and covered her nipple with his mouth, sucking greedily. All the while he stroked a fiery path down her back, stopping to caress her hip.

The taste of her filled him, urging him to sample more and more of her soft, sweet flesh. He hadn’t meant for things to get so out of hand, but once he’d touched her, he couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t seem to control his desire.

Deborah’s breath came in strong, fast pants as she clung to his shoulder with one hand and held his head to her breast with the other.

They wriggled and squirmed, arms embracing, hands caressing, lips savoring, legs entwined. Losing their balance in the fury of their passion, they toppled off the window bench and onto the floor. Ashe’s leg rammed against the mahogany tea table, knocking it over, sending the tea service crashing onto the Oriental carpet.

Breathing erratically, Deborah glanced away from Ashe to the wreckage on the floor beside them. Reality intruded on the erotic dream. She shoved against Ashe’s chest.

He wanted her to ignore everything around them, to concentrate on recapturing the raw, wild need that had claimed them, but he saw the hazy look of longing clear from her eyes.

She pulled up her gown to cover her breast and lifted herself into a sitting position on the floor. Ashe rose to his feet, offered her his hand and lifted her, pulling her back into his arms.

“You’re Ashe McLaughlin’s woman. I think we just proved that it won’t be difficult for us to carry off the masquerade for as long as it’s necessary.”

He brushed her lips with his, then released her. Deborah staggered on her feet, but found her footing quickly, determined not to give in to the desire to scratch Ashe’s eyes out.

Damn the man! He had gotten his way. He had proved that she was just as vulnerable to him as she’d been at seventeen.

“I’d like for you to go now,” she said. “I’ll explain things to Mother and I’ll tell Allen what I think will pacify his curiosity.”

“There’s less than two weeks until the trial. I think we can pretend for that long. Then for another week or so, if Buck Stansell decides to retaliate for your testifying against Lon Sparks.”

“I suppose there’s always that possibility, isn’t there? If that happens, then this nightmare could go on forever.”

“Let’s take it one day at a time. We’ll get you through the trial, then worry about what might or might not happen afterward.”

Deborah nodded. Ashe glanced down at the overturned table, the scattered tea service, the spilled tea.

“I’ll clean up this mess,” he said.

“No, please.” She looked at him and wished she hadn’t. His gaze said he still wanted her. “I’ll take care of it. I’d like for you to leave. Now.”

He walked out of her bedroom. She stood there trembling with unshed tears choking her. I will not cry. I will not cry. She knelt down on the floor, righted the tea table and picked up the silver service. A dark stain marred the blue-and-cream perfection of the rug. She jumped up and ran into the bathroom, wet a frayed hand towel and glanced into the mirror above the sink.

Dear Lord. Her hair was in disarray, the long strands fanned out around her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes overly bright. Her lips were swollen. A pink rash covered her neck and the top of her left breast, a result of Ashe’s beard stubble. She looked like a woman who’d been ravished. Suddenly she felt like a woman who’d been ravished.

Tears gathered in her eyes. She laid her head against the mirror and cried.

In the week since they had begun their pretense, Ashe hadn’t kissed her again, indeed he’d barely touched her, except in front of others—a part of their performance as lovers. In another week Lon Sparks’s trial would begin. But when it ended, would the threats end, too, or would they turn deadly? Ashe screened all of Deborah’s calls and her mail. The daily threats continued, meaningless threats since Deborah never heard the messages or read the letters. Two more little gifts had arrived, both of these delivered by unknown messenger to her home. One, a green garden snake, Ashe had taken outside and released. The other had been more ominous, one he’d made sure neither Deborah nor Miss Carol saw. A newspaper photograph of Deborah, singed around the edges, a book of matches laid on top and the words “Your house might catch on fire” scrawled in red ink across the newspaper.

Nerve-racking threats to be sure, harassment to say the least, but not once had Deborah’s life actually been in jeopardy. Was Buck Stansell playing some sort of sick game or was he trying to throw them off guard, waiting to act at the last moment?

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the country club.” Carol Vaughn slipped her arm through Ashe’s. He looked away from the living room window where he’d been staring sightlessly outside while he waited for Deborah. He smiled at Miss Carol. “Eleven years.”

“The night Whitney announced her engagement to George.” Carol patted Ashe on his forearm. “She was such a selfish girl, but always so bubbly. Now she’s a very sad, selfish woman.”

“Are you trying to warn me about something, Miss Carol?”

“Do I need to warn you?”

“I haven’t been carrying a torch for Whitney all these years, if that’s what’s troubling you.”

“No, I didn’t think you had. You wouldn’t look at my daughter as if she were you favorite meal and you hadn’t eaten in a long time, if you were in love with another woman.”

Had he been that obvious? So apparent in his desire for Deborah that even her own mother had noticed? “Why, Miss Carol, what big eyes you have.”

“And sharp teeth, too. If for one minute I thought you’d hurt Deborah again, I’d have no qualms about chewing you up into little pieces.”

“And you could do it, too.” Taking her hand in his, he walked her across the room and seated her on the sofa. “I never meant to hurt Deborah. I made a mistake, but I tried to keep from making an even bigger mistake. I was honest with her, and I paid dearly for that honesty.”

“My husband adored Deborah. She was our only child. I didn’t agree with what he did to you, and I told him so at the time. But Wallace could not be reasoned with on any subject, and certainly not when he felt Deborah had been wronged.”

“I never made Deborah any promises eleven years ago, and I won’t make any to her now. None that I can’t keep.” Ashe heard Deborah’s and Allen’s voices coming from the upstairs landing. “I’m attracted to Deborah and she’s attracted to me. We’re both adults now. If things become complicated, we’ll deal with them.”

Carol nodded meekly. Ashe couldn’t understand the wary look in her blue eyes, that sad expression on her face. What was Miss Carol so afraid would happen?

Allen rushed down the stairs and into the living room. “Come see,” he said. “Deborah’s beautiful. She looks like one of those models on TV.”

Ashe helped Miss Carol to her feet and they followed Allen into the hallway. All three of them looked up to the top of the stairs where Deborah stood.

For one split second Ashe couldn’t breathe. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything as lovely as the woman who walked slowly down the stairs, the diamonds in her ears and around her throat dimmed by her radiance.

Allen glanced up at Ashe, then punched him in the side. “See, what’d I tell you?”

“You’re right, pal. She’s beautiful.”

Deborah descended the staircase, butterflies wild in her stomach. How many times had she dreamed of a real date with Ashe McLaughlin? Now, it was a reality. Now, eleven years too late.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs, Allen to his left. The sight of her son at his father’s side tugged at Deborah’s heart. What would Ashe say if she told him the truth about Allen? Would he be glad? Or would he be sorry?

Ashe looked at Deborah, seeing her as if for the first time, all sparkling and vibrant, beautiful beyond description. How could any man see her and not want her?

The royal blue satin draped across her shoulders in a shawl collar, narrowing to her tiny waist and flaring into a full, gathered skirt, ankle-length gown. Her satin shoes matched the dress to perfection, and when she stopped at the foot of the stairs, Ashe noticed that the deep rich color she wore turned her blue eyes to sapphires.

“You look lovely, my dear.” Carol Vaughn kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Please give my regrets to Whitney. I’m sure she’ll understand that I’m not quite up to these late-night social affairs.”

Deborah hugged her mother close. Her beautiful, brave mother, whose bout with cancer had taken its toll on all of them. “I dread going,” Deborah whispered so low that only Carol heard her words. “I have no idea what Whitney will do. She’s bound to make a play for Ashe.”

Pulling out of Deborah’s arms, Carol smiled. “You two run along now and have a wonderful time.” Carol glanced at Ashe who hadn’t taken his eyes off Deborah. “And don’t feel that you need to come home early.”

Allen rushed out of the hallway and into the library, returning quickly with a gold foil-wrapped gift. “Don’t forget George’s birthday present.” Allen shook the small package. “What is it anyway?”

“It’s a fourteen-karat gold money clip.” Deborah took the gift. “Whitney mentioned that George had misplaced his money clip.”

“Hocked it, no doubt.” Carol nudged Ashe in the center of his back. “I do believe you’ve taken Ashe’s breath away with your loveliness.”

“Yeah, he looks like somebody hit him in the head.” Allen laughed. “Hey, man, have you got it bad or what?”

Ashe jabbed Allen playfully in the ribs, lifted him up off the floor with one arm and rubbed his fist across the top of the boy’s head before placing him back on his feet. “You wouldn’t make fun of a guy for mooning over his girl, would you?”

“Naw, as long as you don’t kiss her in front of me.” Putting his hand on his hip, Allen stood up straight and gave Ashe a hard look. “If I catch you kissing her, then, as the man of the house, I’d have to ask you what your intentions are, wouldn’t I?”

“Yes, Allen, I suppose you would,” Ashe said. “So, I’ll tell you what, I’ll try to make sure I kiss Deborah when you’re not around.”

“Will you two stop this.” Deborah tried to hug Allen, but he wriggled away from her. “What’s the matter? Have you gotten too big to give me a hug and a kiss?”

“No, that’s not it.” Grinning, Allen swiped his hand in front of him in a negative gesture. “I’m just afraid your boyfriend will get jealous and sock me.”

Allen broke into peals of boyish laughter. Ashe chuckled. Carol covered her mouth to hide her giggle. Deborah shook her head in mock disgust.

“Let’s go now, Ashe, before I wind up socking Allen,” Deborah said.

Taking the long satin jacket from where Deborah carried it across her arm, Ashe wrapped it around her shoulders. He slipped his arm about her waist and escorted her out to her repaired and newly painted Cadillac waiting in the drive.

When he opened the door, he turned and lifted her hand to his lips. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He kissed her wrist. Chills shivered through her. She looked into his eyes. “Thank you.”

He helped her into the car, rounded the Caddy and got behind the wheel. “No matter what happens tonight, there are a few things I want you to keep in mind.”

“Such as?” Deborah smoothed the gathers in her skirt, her fingers gliding nervously over the heavy satin. She didn’t look at Ashe.

“Such as I didn’t come back to Sheffield to protect Whitney. I wouldn’t have, for any amount of money. And I’m not staying in town because of her or issuing threats to dangerous men because of her.”

“Did she hurt you so badly back then that you hate her now? You know they say there’s only a fine line between love and hate. Maybe you still care about her more than you’d like to admit. After all, she was your first love and—”

Ashe grabbed Deborah so quickly that she didn’t have time to think of resisting. His kiss came so hard and fast that it obliterated every thought from her mind, filling her with the heat of his anger, the determination of his desire. His mouth devoured hers, the kiss turning from bold strength to gentle power. Her hands crept up around his neck. He stroked her waist. The satin jacket fell from her shoulders leaving them bare. Ashe allowed his lips to retreat from hers, as he nibbled at her bottom lip and tasted her chin. He lowered his head to her shoulder, his mouth closing over her soft flesh.

Shutting her eyes and tossing back her head, Deborah moaned. “Ashe…”

“Don’t ever try to tell me how I feel.” Lifting his head, he stared into her blue eyes. “Whitney wasn’t my first anything. I’d had a dozen girls before her. You should remember all the girls I dated. And as far as my being in love with her, I wasn’t. I was infatuated with what she represented. She represented a dream. That night at the country club when she announced her engagement, I saw my dream come to an end.”

“Neither of us has ever been able to forget that night, have we? But for different reasons.”

He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “If you think I’ve ever forgotten what it was like making love to you, then you’re wrong.”

“I suppose you remember all of them, don’t you? Whitney, the dozen before her, and God only knows how many since.”

Ashe fell backward against the soft leather of the seat, shook his head and laughed. “You’re jealous! You are honest-to-goodness jealous.”

“I am not!” Deborah jerked the satin jacket up around her shoulders.

“Somewhere deep down inside, Deborah Vaughn, you’re the one who still cares. I still mean something to you, don’t I?”

Yes, she wanted to scream. Yes, you mean something to me. You are my first and only lover. You are the father of my child, the child I can never claim as my own. Oh, yes, Ashe McLaughlin, you most definitely still mean something to me.

“I think you’re taking the part of playing my lover far too seriously.” Deborah turned around in the seat, focusing her attention on the front porch lights. “We are pretending to care about each other. That’s all.”

“That’s not all,” Ashe said. “You asked me if I remember all the women I’ve had sex with. Well, yes, I do remember. Some more than others. But I didn’t have sex with you, Deborah.” There in the darkness his voice sounded deeper and darker and more sensuous than ever. “I made love to you. I took all that sweet, innocent passion you offered and I drowned myself in your love. I had never been in so much pain, and I had never needed a woman’s unselfish love the way I needed yours that night. Don’t you think I know that I did all the taking and you did all the giving.”

“Please, Ashe, I don’t want—”

“What? You don’t want to hear the truth? You don’t want to hear how much I wanted to keep on taking what you offered? How much guts it took for me to reject you? Hell, I knew I couldn’t give a girl like you what you should have. I knew the best thing I could do for you was to get out of your life and stay out.”

“And that’s exactly what you did.” Deborah cringed at the accusatory tone of her own voice. “You couldn’t even stay in the same town with me, could you? You couldn’t hang around long enough to find—”

Dear God, she’d been about to say find out if you’d gotten me pregnant!

“None of this matters now, does it?” Pulling the shoulder harness across her, she snapped the seat belt in place. “If we don’t leave for the country club right now, we’re going to be more than fashionably late.”

“Sooner or later we’ll have to finish this conversation,” Ashe said. “I think we both have quite a lot to get off our chests.”

“It’ll have to be later.”

“Fine.” He turned on the overhead lights. “You might want to check your makeup. I think most of your lipstick is on my mouth.” Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his face.

Deborah opened her evening bag, took out her lipstick and glanced in the mirror to see how much repair was needed. She worked quickly, trying not to notice that she looked like a woman who’d just been thoroughly kissed.

“I’m ready,” she said.

Ashe backed the Cadillac out of the drive and headed toward the country club.

“Ashe McLaughlin, you old dog. I never thought I’d see you back in Sheffield.”

Keeping his arm firmly around Deborah’s waist, Ashe jerked his head around, seeking the familiar voice. “Peanut Haygood?”

The skinny teenage boy who’d lived down the street from Ashe’s grandmother had turned into a heavyset, bearded man wearing a uniform and carrying a gun. By the looks of old Peanut, Ashe figured he was part of the private security for George Jamison’s big birthday bash.

“Peanut? Man, you’ve changed since the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well, a guy grows up and fills out,” Peanut said. “I heard you were in town.” He nodded politely to Deborah. “Nice to see you, Ms. Vaughn. Sorry to hear about all your problems. One of these days we’re going to get the goods on Buck Stansell and put him away for life.”

“Are you on the police force?” Deborah asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Over in Muscle Shoals.” Peanut slapped Ashe on the back. “Looks like you and me wound up in the same business, huh? You a Green Beret and me a policeman. Now you’re a private security agent and I moonlight as a guard for these fancy shindigs at the country club.”

“Ashe, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the ladies’ room and then check my wrap.” Forcing a smile, Deborah nodded toward the rest room.

“I’ll be waiting right outside.” Ashe followed her down the corridor, Peanut right behind him keeping up a steady stream of conversation.

From where he stood, Ashe could see the entrance to the ballroom. He spotted Whitney immediately. Her loud laughter echoed out into the hallway. She had her arm draped around a young man who seemed utterly fascinated by her.

“Who’d ever thought Deborah Vaughn would turn into such a looker, huh?” Peanut jabbed Ashe in the ribs. “You two were always friends, weren’t you? Rumor was her daddy had you run out of town.”

“Rumors aren’t always reliable,” Ashe said.

“Well, Ms. Vaughn sure got herself into a mess with ol’ Buck and his bunch of roughnecks. It’s too bad she come up on Lon Sparks shooting Looney. Neither one of those boys was worth a cuss.”

“Do you think Buck would kill to protect Sparks or seek revenge if he goes to the pen?”

“I’d say Buck would be more likely to have Lon Sparks killed to keep him from talking than he would to kill Ms. Vaughn. Sparks is a liability to them now. Me and some of the boys at work have got us a theory.” Peanut stretched his five feet nine inches and placed his hand atop the gun holster resting on his hip.

“What’s your theory?”

“We think Buck is putting on an act of trying to scare Ms. Vaughn, trying to make Lon Sparks think he’s protecting him. You get my drift?”

“Yeah, I get it. Buck always was one for playing games.” Ashe knew he should be comforted at the thought that it was possible Buck Stansell had no intention of killing Deborah, but Ashe’s gut instincts told him that he should take nothing for granted. No matter what Buck’s intentions were, the man was dangerous, a highly explosive bad boy, who was capable of anything.

Ashe caught a glimpse of Whitney coming his way. She swayed her narrow hips, encased in silver lame? as she sauntered out of the ballroom.

“Now there’s a real piece of work,” Peanut said. “Sexy as hell and so gorgeous she gives a man ideas. But not worth the cost of the lead it’d take to shoot her.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about Whitney Jamison.” Ashe watched his old lover flirting outrageously with every man in her path as she made her way through the influx of late arrivals congested in the hallway.

“Hey, I’ve been moonlighting on this job for a good many years and I’ve seen quite a bit of Mrs. Jamison. She really works these social occasions, and I’ve rarely seen her leave with her husband, if you know what I mean.”

Ashe grinned. “Not the faithful type?”

“Can’t say I blame her, married to a loser like George Jamison. The man hasn’t held a job in years. They live off her inheritance, you know. Her shares in that real estate firm Ms. Vaughn runs. And Georgie Porgie likes to gamble. They’re always flying off to Vegas and Atlantic City and down to Biloxi.”

Whitney walked up to Ashe, slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Still draped around him, she smiled. “Come dance with me, darling. If I remember correctly, you were a marvelous dancer.”

“You were the marvelous dancer,” Ashe said. “I just followed your lead.”

Whitney’s throaty laughter rumbled from her chest. Her almost naked chest, Ashe noted. Her strapless silver lame?dress crisscrossed over her full breasts, just covering her tight nipples. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Whitney sighed. “Come on, let’s see if we’re still good together.” She rubbed herself intimately against Ashe.

Peanut cleared his throat. Ashe stared at him. The guard gave his head a few sharp jerks in the direction of the ladies’ room. Glancing over his shoulder, Ashe saw Deborah watching him.

Grasping Whitney’s arms, he pulled them from around his neck and stepped backward, putting some distance between them. Whitney’s gaze followed Ashe’s. She laughed again, an almost hysterical giggle.

“You’ll have to find yourself another partner,” Ashe said. “I’m afraid my dance card is filled.”

Whitney leaned over and whispered in Ashe’s ear, “If you think my little cousin is going to give you what you need, then you’d better think again. She doesn’t know the first thing about men, and most certainly nothing about a man like you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mrs. Jamison.” Ashe walked over to Deborah, slipped his arm around her rigid body and pulled her up against his side. “Would you like to dance, honey?” he asked Deborah.

Unsmiling, every nerve in her body tense, Deborah glared at Ashe. “Perhaps, after I’ve wished George a happy birthday and given him his present.” She held up the shiny golden gift.

When Ashe guided Deborah past Whitney, Deborah paused. “You look lovely tonight, Whitney. But then I’m sure you already know that. No doubt every man at the party has told you at least once.”

Whitney grinned, a rather shaky grin, one that didn’t reach her eyes, one that didn’t begin to compare with the smile spreading across Deborah’s face.

“And you look adorable,” Whitney said, giving Deborah a quick hug. “And aren’t you the lucky one, having Ashe McLaughlin as your escort. But then, I suppose Aunt Carol is paying him extra, isn’t she?”

“And he’s worth every cent.” Deborah tugged on Ashe’s arm. She led him away from her cousin, down the hallway and into the ballroom.

Ashe and Deborah heard Peanut Haygood’s hardy chuckle, but neither turned around to see Whitney’s reaction.

“When did you learn to play hardball?” Ashe asked.

“When my father died and I had to take responsibility for his business as well as my mother and Allen.”

“Let’s find George and give him his present.” Ashe ran his hand up and down Deborah’s arm. “I want to dance with you.”

Deborah wasn’t quite sure what she thought or how she felt. A mixture of anger and exhilaration rioted along her nerve endings. All the old jealousies she’d felt for her cousin had come racing to the forefront when she’d walked out of the ladies’ room and seen Whitney wrapped around Ashe. But when she had won their verbal sparring match, she’d felt as if she were walking on air.

She couldn’t help wondering what would happen if she spent the night in Ashe’s arms, dancing with him here at the country club? Perhaps the safest course of action would be to give George his present, stay long enough to appease her social set’s curiosity and make a quiet, discreet exit. If Whitney indulged in her usual weakness for champagne, there was a chance she might make a scene later on. And Deborah wanted to avoid a real confrontation that would put her in the spotlight.

The whole town knew she was the prosecution’s star witness, and that her life was in danger. And she had no doubt that Ashe McLaughlin’s constant presence at her side had set tongues wagging. What would they say once Ashe had shown everyone that their relationship was intimate?

She didn’t give a damn what they would say. She never had. She’d always been a lot like her mother. Carol Allen Vaughn had known who she was—an Allen—and had never considered herself subject to the rules and regulations of the society biddies. And no one had ever dared question Carol’s judgment or suggest her actions were inappropriate. In that respect, Deborah was her mother’s daughter.

But Carol had given in to Wallace Vaughn’s authority, always the dutiful wife. If only her mother had gone against her father’s wishes. If only—

“Deborah, such a smashing dress!” George Jamison III smiled his widemouthed, white-toothed smile and gave his cousin-in-law a peck on the cheek. “For me?” George eyed the gold foil-wrapped gift.

“Oh, yes. This is for you.” Deborah hadn’t realized that while she’d been thinking, Ashe had led her straight to the birthday boy. Although boy was hardly the appropriate word for a balding man of forty. Then again, perhaps boy was the correct word to describe George, who, in many ways, was far more immature than Allen.

“I’ll just put it here with my other goodies.” George laid the gift on top of a stack of presents arranged on the table behind him. “I suppose Whitney greeted y’all at the door. She’s such a marvelous hostess. And she does love a good party.”

“Yes, she met us in the hallway, actually,” Deborah said.

Ashe tightened his hold around Deborah’s waist. “Happy birthday, George.”

George glanced at Ashe, his long, thin nose slightly tilted upward. He made no move to offer Ashe his hand. “McLaughlin.” George’s pale gray eyes met Ashe’s vibrant hazel glare. “I was surprised to hear you’d come back to Sheffield to act as Deborah’s bodyguard. Of course, we’re all pleased that someone is looking out for her. I understand that you’re highly qualified to handle brutes like Buck Stansell. Then, of course, it must be a help that you’ve had ties to those people all your life.”

“Yes, it is a help.” Ashe lifted the corners of his mouth just enough to hint at a smile, but he knew George Jamison would recognize the look in his eyes for what it was. Contempt. Dislike. Disgust.

“We can’t stay too long,” Deborah said. “I don’t like to leave Mother alone.”

“I quite understand.” Glancing across the room, George waved at someone. “Do enjoy yourselves. I’m sure this is a bit of a treat for you, McLaughlin. Finally getting to come to the country club through the front door. Rather different from the last time you were here, isn’t it?”

“George, you’re being—” Deborah said.

“You’re right.” Catching sight of Whitney dancing with the young man she had cornered earlier, Ashe nodded in her direction. “Eleven years ago you and I were the only two guys Whitney was seeing.”

“How dare you!” George’s thin, white cheeks flushed pink.

Ashe led Deborah away from George, quickly ushering her through the crowd and onto the dance floor.

“That was a horrible thing to say to George,” Deborah said.

“I was justified, don’t you think?” Ashe pulled her close, leaning over to nuzzle her neck with his nose.

She gulped in a deep breath of air. “Yes, you were most definitely justified. George always has been a little snot! He’s so immature.”

“A little snot?” Ashe chuckled. “I guess that does aptly describe George, doesn’t it?”

Deborah loved the feel of Ashe’s arms around her, the security of his strength, the sensuality of his nearness. She didn’t know what she had expected to happen tonight. Between Ashe and Whitney. Between Ashe and George. But she certainly hadn’t expected to feel so light and free and thoroughly amused.

It suddenly hit her that neither she nor Ashe were the same two people who had left this country club eleven years ago. They had both grown up.

Ashe was no longer in awe of the wealthy social set that ruled the county. His dreams weren’t wrapped up in a sexy package called Whitney Vaughn. He wasn’t an angry, outraged, spurned lover.

And Deborah no longer saw herself as a wallflower beside her exquisite cousin. Any residue of leftover jealousy she might have once felt disappeared completely. She was strong. She was successful. She was attractive.

And Ashe McLaughlin wanted her!

They moved to the music, giving themselves over to the bluesy rendition of an old Glenn Miller song. They spent nearly an hour on the dance floor, wrapped in each other’s arms. Occasionally Deborah noticed some curious stares and heard a few whispered innuendoes. None of it mattered, she told herself. She and Ashe were presenting themselves to the world as lovers. She could not allow herself to think otherwise. When the danger to her life ended, Ashe would be gone.

But during the duration of his stay, they could become lovers. She didn’t doubt for one minute that Ashe wanted her. He had made that abundantly clear. The question was did she dare risk giving herself to him? Did she dare risk falling in love with him all over again? How could she become his lover and continue lying to him about Allen?

“Are you about ready to leave?” Ashe whispered, then kissed her ear.

Deborah shivered. “Yes. I think everyone has seen us and drawn their own conclusions.”

“We don’t have to go back to your house.” Ashe ran his hand up and down her back. “We could find some place to be alone.”

“No. I’m not…Just take me home. I can’t handle a repeat performance of that night eleven years ago when we left the country club together.”

“It wouldn’t be the same. We aren’t the same,” he said. “We’d both know what we were getting into this time.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? At least for me.”

The music came to a end. Couples left the dance floor, while others waited for the next set to begin. Deborah pulled away from Ashe, intending to make a quick exit. Ashe jerked her into his arms, grasped the back of her head with his hand and kissed her, long, hard and devouring. Every rational thought went out of her head.

When she was weak and breathless, he ended the kiss, draped his arm around her shoulders and escorted her off the dance floor, past a glaring Whitney and her openmouthed guests.

“Every person in this room knows you’re mine,” he whispered as they walked out into the hall. “And since they’re aware of my reputation, no one will doubt that I’m the kind of man who’d kill to defend his own.”