Читать книгу The Millionaires' Club: Ryan, Alex and Darin - Cindy Gerard - Страница 11

Five

What she looked like, Ry thought, was a woman on the verge. Possibly of murder.

He wasn’t scared.

Much.

But he was pretty pleased with himself. His timing could have been a little better, though. That creep had had his hands all over her, his tongue jammed down her throat by the time Ry had found them, skirted around to the edge of the woods and let Shamu loose with a heartfelt command to “Kill.”

Of course Shamu wouldn’t kill a toad, so Beldon had never been in any real danger, but the big hairy lummox dearly loved a picnic so Ry had figured it was a pretty good plan. All in all it was—if you didn’t count the look on Carrie’s face right now.

He could take her anger. He couldn’t take her misery. And she was a riled-up mixture of both.

Guilt gradually took the satisfaction out of his victory. Uneasy, he scratched his jaw and tried to figure out where to go from here.

Here was the dilemma. If he offered her a ride home, she’d tell him to go to hell and walk the twenty blocks back to her house. If he said a quick goodbye, he’d up her anger to the boiling point, but she’d probably demand he give her a ride home.

He opted for effect.

“Well…see ya,” he said, and with a firm grip on Shamu, who was now panting in doggie adoration at Carrie, turned to go.

He got all of five steps before her clipped, incensed question stopped him.

“That’s it? You ruin my Valentine’s Day and all you’ve got to say is ‘See ya?”’

He stopped, turned and pretended to consider. “Let me think. Panic. Disorder. Chaos. Yep. I’d say my work here is pretty much done.”

His admission of sabotage threw her for all of about two seconds. It threw him, too. He hadn’t meant to own up to it…but she looked so miserable standing there, and while he didn’t feel any guilt where Beldon was concerned, he hated to see his little Carrie-bear unhappy.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she wailed, her fists clenched against her long coltish legs that were covered in snug, faded denim. And she literally shook with outrage; her cheeks had turned pink from the cold and embarrassment. Her hazel eyes were as big as dinner plates and misty with unshed tears.

Oh, damn. Please, don’t let her cry. He couldn’t stand it if she cried.

He compressed his lips, looked from her to his feet and shook his head. He couldn’t do this anymore. He had to explain. Maybe if he were able to convince her that Beldon was bad news—even though he didn’t know it for a fact—she’d come around.

“Come on, bear,” he said softly. “I’ll take you home. We’ll talk.”

She shot him a fierce glower, heaved a defeated breath then stomped past him toward his SUV. Without a word she jerked open the passenger door and climbed in.

She was sitting there, her arms crossed tightly over her breasts, glaring out the window when he let Shamu into the back then climbed behind the wheel.

He sat there for a moment, trying to figure out how to breach the tense silence when she very quietly said, “Save it, cowboy. Just drive.”

The threat was implicit. If he opened his mouth, the only thing that was probably going to come out of it was a couple of teeth when she busted his chops. He’d seen her in action. For a girl she had a helluva right hook—in her teens, she’d used it on Trav once or twice when his teasing had stirred her into a stew pot full of temper.

She was beyond riled at the moment and working her way toward a full-blown snit. He’d drawn a few broncs in his rodeo days sporting the same kind of attitude she was nursing right now. They’d slam-dunked him into the dirt like he’d been a wet noodle. He’d lived to ride again…but just barely.

He cleared his throat, turned the ignition and, opting for wisdom over valor, he did exactly what the lady had said. He kept his mouth shut and he drove.

“Inside. Now,” Carrie ordered when Ry pulled up in front of her house fifteen minutes later after a very silent ride.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said obediently, told Shamu to “Chill for a few minutes” and quietly followed her to her front door.

She could feel his eyes on her as she led the way up her front walk. She hoped he enjoyed the view because he wasn’t going to be seeing it again anytime soon.

After unlocking the front door, she swung it open and, with a lift of her hand, indicated he should precede her inside. Compliant to a fault, he eased past her…then stood in the middle of her living room, hands on his hips, Resistol tugged low over his brow and waited…looking for all the world like an ad for pro rodeo or Wrangler jeans or Texas tourism, she thought in disgust as she tossed her house keys on the foyer table.

Damn him for being so gorgeous and so clever and so successful in his mission…whatever it was.

Well, she was about to find out and then she was going to put the skids to it. On the ride across town, she’d made herself hold her tongue, tried to settle herself down so when the words came out, they would be forceful, rational and decisive.

“I have had it,” she said slowly, distinctively and with enough force that he actually looked a little unsettled. “I’ve had it with your meddling. With your play-acting. With the humiliation.”

When he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Wisely, he held his silence.

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say because there is no explanation in Texas big enough, good enough or convincing enough to excuse your actions.

“Now, I want you to listen to me, Ryan Evans,” she said, marching up and getting right in his face.

“No more good-ol’-boy grins, no more misguided protector mentality. No more showing up and sabotaging my dates with Nathan Beldon. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself.

“Now, I’ve got a pretty good idea that Trav put you up to this and I know you feel loyalty to him, but so help me, if you don’t butt out of my life and my business, I will never speak to you again as long as I live. And Trav’s on the short list of dispensable people, too, so make sure he knows it.”

“Carrie—”

“I didn’t say you could talk yet. I’m talking. You’re still listening. I want to know if you understand what I’m saying to you. A simple nod will do.”

He tugged on his hat brim, set his mouth in a hard line and settled himself with a deep breath.

“Do. You. Un. Der. Stand?” she demanded.

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” he said, and she wasn’t at all surprised to hear an edge of anger creep into his voice.

Good, she thought. He’d brought this on. Let him have a taste of it, too. It made it that much easier to stay mad at him.

“Make that ‘Yes, ma’am, I understand that I am not to interfere with your life because it’s none of my business who you see and what you do.”’

He glared at her. “I’ve said it before. Nothing’s changed. You will always be my business.”

She ignored the dark insistence in his voice, drew on her anger to stay the course. “Say it, Ry. Promise me you will not so much as draw a breath within thirty feet of me when I’m with Nathan Beldon again.

“If I’m ever with him again,” she added with a little sinking sensation in her chest. A man could only take so much interference from testosterone-fueled protectors before he packed up his marbles for good and went home. Nathan had probably reached his limit.

“He’s not for you, Carrie.”

Her mouth dropped open at his outrageous assumption that he knew what was good for her. “That is not for you to decide!” she countered, frustration fueling the conviction in her words.

She closed her eyes and covered her face with her closed fists on a growl. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

There were tears in her eyes when she dropped her hands. “You don’t want me…so why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Oh, God.

Oh, God, oh, God. She couldn’t believe she’d said that. You don’t want me. Mortified, she turned her back to him.

Oh, man, Ry thought, his heart breaking at the defeated set of her slim shoulders.

Didn’t want her? He suppressed a groan. If only.

Look at her. She was beautiful, intelligent, caring and compassionate…and passionate as all get-out. And right now she was trembling with such an enticing mix of anger and vulnerability he ached with wanting her.

He gently cupped her shoulders and turned her back around to face him. And felt a current of longing and lust shoot through his blood like a freight train.

What sane man wouldn’t want her? What flesh-and-blood man couldn’t help but want to take her in his arms and kiss away the tear that escaped and tracked down her cheek? What man with an ounce of testosterone in his DNA wouldn’t kill to feel the fire of her passion?

He was all of those men…and out of control to boot. Suddenly he couldn’t stop himself. With his hands wrapped around her upper arms, he drew her slowly toward him, watching the emotions shift across her face as his left leg wedged between hers, and her full breasts pressed against his chest.

Her eyes shimmered with a mist of unshed tears…and a stunned and needy anticipation. And just that fast he was a goner.

There wasn’t a force in the world at that moment strong enough to keep him from lowering his head, touching his lips to hers and losing himself in her giving heat and surrendering sigh.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. The words hammered out from the part of his brain that was still functioning. But function gave way to feeling as he sank into the kiss, opening his mouth over hers, coaxing her lips apart, slipping his tongue inside and diving headlong into heaven.

Sweet.

Lord above, she was so sweet. And sassy and sexy as she rose up on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck and plastered her long, lush body against him like she was a blanket and he was an unmade bed and, heaven help him…he had to stop this now.

But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

It was too good. She was too…everything. Sensual, shy, wanton, wanting. And it made him want, too—like he’d never wanted in his life.

Against everything that was right, he took. He filled his hands with her tight, tidy behind, lifted and pressed her up and against his erection with a groan that left no question what he wanted and needed for both of them.

He didn’t know how it happened, but the next thing he knew he had her backed up against a wall. Her hands had tangled in his hair, knocking his hat to the floor, and their kiss just kept uncovering deeper levels of sensation while his hands tunneled up under her sweater and found bare skin. Silky. Hot. And not nearly enough.

He wanted her naked. He wanted inside of her. He wanted his mouth on her breast, his tongue between her legs. In zero-point-five seconds, she’d taken him from protector to plunderer and there wasn’t a single message his rational brain was sending to his libido that was powerful enough to break through the fog of arousal.

So this was spontaneous combustion.

So this was chemistry squared.

So this was…not going to happen.

The blood flow finally rerouted back to his brain and cognizant thought made a comeback. With a growl of frustration he lifted his head, sucked in air.

And looked at the face he’d just ravaged.

Her lips were wet and swollen and so pretty and pink; her eyes were glazed, her lush lashes fluttering slowly as if she, too, was trying to get her bearings and figure out what had just happened.

Insanity. That’s what had happened. Some cosmic blip had flashed across his radar screen and short-circuited his brain, hot-wiring him straight into sensual overload.

He wanted nothing more than to dive back in and kiss her again, strip off her clothes, lay her down on the closest horizontal surface and take this to the next level.

And when her soft sigh and desperately whispered “Ry, please…make love to me,” drifted through his mind like a drug, he almost…almost…did it.

But this was Carrie.

Little Carrie-bear.

Trav’s kid sister.

Trav’s virgin kid sister.

The truth hit him like a bucket of ice water. This couldn’t happen. And damn if it hadn’t just almost happened in the worst—and best—possible way.

Very carefully, very deliberately, he forced himself to pull away from her, drop his hands and take a step backward.

Damning himself for his lack of control, he stared into her glazed eyes and struggled with the words to set this right.

Only, there were no words to make it right. What he’d done was inexcusable. What he’d wanted—what he still wanted—was not what she needed.

Angry with himself, even a little angry with her for not having the instincts to protect herself from the likes of him or a predator like Beldon, he made an instant decision on how this had to be handled.

It wasn’t going to be pretty. It wasn’t going to be nice. But it would be effective. And it was necessary.

Carrie swayed on her feet and might have toppled like a tower of children’s blocks if the wall at her back hadn’t steadied her.

Oh, my.

Oh my, oh my, oh my.

So that’s what all the fuss was about. That feeling of…of being lost, of being found, of discovering for the first time a yearning so strong it made her knees weak. A desire so intense it made every muscle in her body clench and melt like butter, simultaneously. Helpless longing, endless need…everything she’d been hoping to experience with Nathan.

Everything she’d always known she’d find with Ry.

Make love to me.

She’d barely thought the words and then she’d heard herself saying them out loud.

And then she’d felt him pull away.

And now…now he was glaring at her…like some brooding grizzly. Like someone who didn’t even like her, let alone want her.

The passion she’d felt in his kiss had shifted to anger. And she didn’t understand.

“Ry?”

“So…do you understand now what happens when you don’t behave yourself?”

She blinked, chilled to the bone suddenly, where only moments ago she’d felt nothing but heat. She clutched her arms around herself, his anger slicing through the last of her longing and heightening her feeling of vulnerability. “Behave myself?”

He gave her a stern stare and bent to snag his hat from the floor. “You just got a lesson, little girl…I hope you learned it well.”

“A lesson?” She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand any of this. “What…what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about what happens when a woman teases a man beyond reason.”

He brushed some imaginary dust from the brim of his hat, then settled it jerkily on his head. “I saw the way you let Beldon kiss you in the park. I saw the way you let him put his hands all over you.”

For what felt like an eternity, all she could do was stare. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then finally found her voice. “What does Nathan have to do with what just happened between us?”

He shook his head, then smiled…the picture of tolerant benevolence. “Sweetie…that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Nothing happened between us but a little adult-education class.”

She felt as if she’d just walked into a theater in the middle of a movie—a horror movie or a foreign movie—French with German subtitles. “Adult education?”

“Exactly. Honey, I just taught you that if that had been Beldon instead of me—someone who cares about you—you’d be flat on your back and compromised by now.”

Time stopped while her mind wrestled with his reaction and his words until finally she pulled it all together.

He hadn’t kissed her because he wanted her. He’d kissed her because he thought she needed protection from herself when it came to the opposite sex and he needed to show her the error of her ways. He’d kissed her because he thought she hadn’t behaved appropriately with Nathan and if he hadn’t intervened, she might have ended up, God forbid, compromised.

An incredulous laugh pushed out from somewhere in the vicinity of her horribly bruised pride. “Compromised? Was that really the word you used?”

She laughed again, covered her face with her hands, then on a deep breath let them drop. She glared at him. “What Victorian tome did you pull that out of?”

He actually flinched and turned a shade of red she’d never seen on him before. To cover his discomfort, he shook his finger at her. “Beldon wouldn’t have stopped like I did.”

“So…let me get this in perspective. You kissed me and backed me up against the wall to scare me straight, is that it?”

“Damn right I did. And I hope it worked. If you have an ounce of sense in you, you’ll think twice before you—”

“Before I what?” She cut him off, her anger firing with a vengeance. “Before I go out and throw myself at another man’s feet and beg him to deflower me? Now, there’s a word for you. You can probably find it right next to compromise.”

She sucked in a ragged breath. Dragged her hands through her hair. How pathetic was she? How pathetic was she to actually have thought he had kissed her because he’d wanted her? Because he’d been as excited and aroused and as in love with her as she was with him?

Well. He was right about one thing. She’d definitely learned a lesson: Trust her intellect not her heart. Her head had known weeks ago that she had to give up on him. It was her heart that hadn’t been on board with the plan.

Well, it was on board now…bruised and bleeding, but on board. And one shot at this kind of humiliation was all he was going to get at her.

“Get. Out,” she ordered, walked to the door on shaky legs and opened it wide.

“Oh, now, bear,” he began in that condescending, cajoling voice that made her want to grind her teeth…preferably into some very tender part of his body that created immeasurable pain. “Don’t get all huffy. You know this was for your own good.”

“I do know,” she said with all the sweetness of vinegar and the sincerity of Jerry Springer, as he stepped out the doorway and onto her front stoop, “and I thank you so very much for presuming to know what’s best for me.”

She watched his face as tolerance transitioned to suspicion. “That was um…sarcasm, right?”

“So you do have some functioning brain cells,” she ground out through a nasty smile, then whipped the door shut in his face.

Ry heard her throw the dead bolt. Heard her snarl of rage. Heard her give in to the tears.

He hung his head, closed his eyes, laid his closed fist against the door…and almost begged her to let him back in.

He wanted to hold her…to tell her the truth. That he was stupid crazy about her. That he hadn’t meant to hurt her…that he actually had damn few functioning brain cells left when it came to her or he never would have kissed her in the first place then bumbled out that lamebrain, dull-witted excuse to cover up his mistake.

“Hell, Shamu could have come up with a better story to make sure she didn’t read the truth in that kiss. No offense, buddy,” he told the dog, who gave him a soulful look when he climbed behind the wheel.

And what was the truth in that kiss? The honest truth, he asked himself grimly.

He slumped back in the driver’s seat. The truth was that the moment he’d touched his lips to hers he’d stopped thinking of her as little Carrie-bear. She’d become a woman in his arms. A woman whose response had sizzled with instant arousal…and fueled his libido to flash point.

Hell. He was still aroused…his damn hands were shaking.

He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel to steady them, then stared through the windshield at…nothing.

And came up with nothing.

There was no good answer to the what-ifs that, despite the futility of the situation, had been rattling around in his head since he’d kissed her. Yet they were still forming. What if he had made love to her? What if she wasn’t Trav’s sister? What if she wasn’t off-limits because of it…because of a hundred other reasons that didn’t add up to what she needed him to be?

He felt as low as the cracked asphalt beneath the wheels of his four-by-four as he turned the key, shifted into Drive and pulled slowly away from her house. Damn Trav for putting him in this position. Damn Beldon for putting the moves on her. And damn the sleepless nights he’d spent agonizing about the possibility of another man making love to her for the first time. And all the times after that.

A fist curled in his gut at the thought. He knew he couldn’t be that man. He’d known it for years. Carrie had always had a crush on him. For her sake he’d always done his darnedest to discourage it. Truthfully, he’d figured she would grow out of it…eventually. Her response just now said she hadn’t.

He drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel as he headed across town for the Cattleman’s Club and the bar, where a tall cold one wouldn’t substitute for what he wanted but would give him something to do with his hands—and his mouth—other than kiss the one woman he had no business kissing.

He’d never quite understood why she was attracted to him anyway…had always assumed it might have had something to do with his rodeo background. Women seemed to go for rodeo riders, and Lord knew he’d had his share of fun with the ladies over the years. But he didn’t see himself as any prime catch—certainly, he wasn’t good enough for Carrie.

Yeah, he could take care of her financially. He was loaded, but that was an accident of heritage, not any great doing on his part. His granddaddy had struck it rich in oil and his daddy had kept up the tradition in real estate. But she didn’t need his money, anyway. Trav had seen to it that she’d never want for anything.

Besides, he’d learned a long time ago that money didn’t make a man…not the kind of man Carrie needed to make her happy. She needed someone who wanted to settle down. And that just wasn’t him. He wasn’t cut out for home and hearth and sharing at the end of the day.

At least he didn’t think he was, but he figured it was telling that he’d never held on to a relationship with a woman long enough to find out. And that was telling in itself. If he was into commitment, it seemed he’d have tried it on for size by now. He wasn’t sure he’d be any good at it…or answering to anyone but himself.

He was content alone, if not darn right hunkered in on the Dusty E since his folks had retired from ranching and resettled in Palm Beach. He was happy raising cattle and riding the range with Shamu and setting off on sporadic TCC missions. He liked the solitude—along with the occasional night with a pretty, attentive woman. Although, lately the only pretty woman who came to mind was the woman he’d just left crying.

He’d probably make her cry a lot if he gave in and made love to her. And that was something he just didn’t want to do. Carrie deserved an anchor she could stake a future on…and he was still floating with the currents.

Bottom line, she needed someone better than a busted-up former rodeo star who had tried to get into the marines when Travis had but couldn’t pass the physical because of all the injuries he’d gotten riding broncs on the high school rodeo circuit.

She needed a guy who would take care of her and protect her from the trouble she was bound to get into if left to her own devices. Beldon being a case in point.

And then there was Trav. Trav was Ry’s best friend. If he started something with Carrie, he’d end up losing Trav’s friendship—not to mention there was the possibility of getting his block knocked off, and he liked it fine where it was, thank you very much.

He pulled into the TCC parking lot, resolved, if not enthusiastic, about why their first kiss had to be their last.

But damn, did he hate hurting her.

And damn, did he still want that woman.