The Rancher Takes a Bride Page 10

  The door opened and the cook, who had been with them for most of Travis's life, stepped through the portal. Without a word he set the food on the table and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  "Besides, I just knew you were going to come back from town and tell me to get my things so you could take me back to jail." She stared at him, as if she was ready to take him on. "And I'm prepared to fight you every step of the way."

  He glanced over at her in the semi-darkness. She'd thought he was taking her back to jail. The memory of the smell of the Tarrant county jail almost made him gag. Somehow he couldn't blame her for her reaction. "So, that's what this little rebellion is all about."

  "I overheard you and Eugenia arguing the other night."

  "Hmm."

  "So, do I have a fight on my hands or what?" she challenged.

  "You're the séance woman—you tell me!" he said.

  The tempting aroma of roast beef rose in the air, steam twirling through the candlelight like wisps of fog on a warm fall night.

  Desirée leaned back in her chair and smoothed the napkin in her lap. "I only speak for the dead. From the way you looked at me coming down those stairs, you're not dead."

  Travis watched as she flipped a wayward curl back over her shoulder. So his shock and arousal at the sight of Desirée in men's clothing had been that obvious. No wonder his poor mother had practically run. "No. I'm not taking you to jail. At least not yet."

  "Thank God." She breathed a sigh of relief and picked up her wineglass and sipped carefully. "So what changed your mind?"

  He shrugged. It was better she didn't know he was having her investigated. That was certain to cause problems he didn't need just yet. "No rush."

  "Well, it won't be necessary at all. I'll be gone before you find it necessary to return me there."

  He raised an eyebrow and let the comment slide. Unless the ring turned up soon, she could plan a trip to the county seat in the next couple of weeks. But for now he didn't want to think of her behind bars.

  Picking up her plate, he put a slice of roast and some potatoes and gravy on it, and returned it to her. "By the way, your trunk should be here day after tomorrow. I'll send someone into town to pick it up for you."

  "You did check on it. Thanks." She pulled at the top of his Western-cut shirt, which fit her snugly. "You know, I don't know how you men can stand to wear these clothes. The pants feel like they're going to cut me in two, and the shirt feels like it might bust a button any moment now."

  Travis had just taken a bite of food and choked at her comments. God, the woman was determined to kill him. The image of buttons flying off her shirt and revealing her creamy white breasts made him gasp. He coughed, trying to clear his windpipe.

  She jumped up and pounded him on the back. "Raise your arm. That's what Isaiah always did for me whenever I got choked."

  As she returned to her chair, he glanced at her over the top of his wineglass and tried not to react. What he wanted to do was pick her up, carry her upstairs, and slowly peel his clothes off that well- curved body, one piece at a time. He ached to strip her naked and bury himself in the soft folds of her flesh.

  But from somewhere down deep he managed a smile. "Losing a button could be dangerous."

  A blush materialized on her high cheekbones. "You're right, a flying button could possibly hit someone or poke an eye out."

  "That's not exactly the kind of danger I was referring to."

  "Oh?"

  "No. I was more concerned about you exposing yourself. But then again, sometimes exposure is good for the soul."

  "Ah, cowboy, I talk to souls, not expose them."

  He took a deep breath and tried to calm his pulsating body, tried not to think about how much he wanted to forget his conscience, forget the fact that she had stolen from his mother. He only wanted to remember the taste of her lips, the feel of her hot, luscious body pressed against his.

  "I think it's time we retired to the parlor, so that I can sip a glass of brandy," he said, jumping up from the table, eager to get away from the candles, the wine, and the cozy atmosphere.

  "But we haven't had dessert."

  He stared at the beautiful woman staring back at him in her delightful pants. If she wasn't careful, she was going to wind up being dessert. "Not now, maybe later."

  ***

  Rose sat in a high-backed chair and stared uncomfortably around the lavishly furnished room. She'd never stayed anywhere as nice as the Burnetts' home. It was a mansion compared to some of her temporary homes.

  She glanced across the room at Travis and sighed. She'd worn the pants to get back at him for his attitude that morning, but somehow the plan had backfired. Now, instead of feeling in control of the situation, she felt uncomfortable in the tight clothes, particularly since they had not had the desired effect on Mr. Burnett.

  Of course, she hadn't really thought of what kind of effect she had expected beyond blustering anger. She'd thought he would come unhinged at the way she had carried out his command. Yes, she had taken needle and thread and sewn, but not a dress. And to be honest, she'd done very little of the sewing. Eugenia had quickly and efficiently altered Travis's old clothes, which the two of them had found in the attic.

  But the conforming clothes hadn't created the desired effect. He wasn't reacting at all as she'd expected. Instead of venting his wrath, all he'd done was stare. And his stare left her feeling flushed and warm. She'd felt almost naked standing in front of him. Naked and more self-conscious than when he'd barged in and found her in her chemise.

  She hadn't planned on feeling so vulnerable when she and Eugenia had come up with this plan.

  Swinging her legs, her feet dangling from the chair like a small child, she watched Travis reading his newspaper, sipping his brandy. The homey atmosphere left her slightly bored and a little anxious. If she sat here one more second thinking about what she was wearing, she would go absolutely mad. He wasn't paying her the least bit of mind, but was completely engrossed in that silly newssheet.

  She ran her fingers across a cherub sitting on a table. "So, you believe in angels?"

  He glanced up and looked at her, his eyes traveling down the front of her shirt. "Don't know. Never gave it much thought."

  He went back to his paper.

  "I believe in angels. I think they carry us to heaven when we die."

  "Hmm." Travis reached across and lifted his brandy snifter to his lips. "You would."

  "Well don't you?'

  "I don't spend much time sitting around thinking about what's going to happen when I die. I guess I'll find out when it happens."

  He set the glass of amber liquid down and went back to his paper.

  Unable to sit a moment longer, Rose stood and wandered to the window. "Look, the moon's as full as a butterball tonight. A sparking moon, my dad would call it."

  "Hmm. What was your father doing sparking?" he asked.

  "Papa was the type of man the ladies loved. He knew how to sweet-talk his way into getting just about anything he wanted. I guess that's why he eventually married my mother."

  Travis lowered the paper and looked at her. "Where are your parents?"

  "My father's dead. My mother died when I was six. I barely remember her. But people still remember Rosalyn Severin." She sighed. "She was a great stage actress. Played Broadway up until she died."

  Travis glanced at her above his paper, his eyes coolly curious. "What about your father—was he an actor?"

  Rose laughed. Telling Travis the truth about her father would be like handing him a key to her jail cell. She'd be looking between bars before daybreak.

  No, her childhood fantasy was much better than the truth and safer besides. The last time she'd seen her father had been in Kansas City, and frankly she hoped she'd never see him again.

  "My father was a banker's son who loved the theater. My grandfather disapproved of the performing arts—and my mother. When he was a youngster, Dad would leave the family business and sneak down to t
he opera house. It was there that he met my mother and they fell madly in love. Papa left behind a life of luxury and money for my mother."

  She sighed and gazed at Travis. For some reason, this fabricated tale had always brought her peace and a sense of security when she was a child, but Travis looked skeptical.

  Quickly, before he asked questions, she changed the direction of the conversation. "What about your parents? How did they meet?"

  Travis shook his head. "Don't know. They moved from Virginia to Texas, but that's all I know. Dad never spoke too much about his past, and Mom only spoke of her family."

  "You never asked?" Rose questioned.

  He shrugged. "Not really."

  "Why not? Weren't you curious?"

  "Nope."

  She watched him turn the page of the newspaper. "Did your parents love one another?"

  "They were committed to one another. My mother ran the house, and my father took care of the ranch," he said, his voice almost uninterested.

  "But was there passion between the two of them?"

  Travis frowned. "My father loved my mother. Not because of passion, but because she was a decent woman who took care of their home and raised his children."

  "Oh," Rose said, a smile on her lips. "But if there wasn't passion and love, what kept them together all those years?"

  His brow rose, and he took a deep breath. "Desirée, it's obvious you don't understand. Love is what naturally happens between a good man and a good woman who spend a lifetime getting to know each other. Passion is just a momentary feeling that, once explored, is gone."

  "No!" Rose couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Passion is what causes love to take root and grow. It's a natural occurrence between two people who are attracted to one another."

  "Passion is a short-lived emotion that happens when a man wants a woman. She doesn't have to be a good woman. She's just convenient at the moment."

  Rose studied him. She'd never tried her hand at seduction, but this seemed the perfect opportunity and a chance to prove him wrong. She walked around the furniture until she was standing in front of Travis. She leaned down until they were eye to eye.

  "If you were to feel passion for me, you would not consider me to be a nice woman?" she asked, her voice low and sultry.

  He frowned, wrinkling his forehead, and his eyes raked her from head to foot. "Now, I'm having trouble with this question for several reasons."

  He paused. "All the nice women I know don't dress in men's clothing that has been resized to fit them like a second skin. Secondly, they don't run a séance parlor or steal. And last, they don't tempt a man the way you do."

  She leaned even more toward Travis, who was pinned to the couch, blocked in by Rose's presence, but he wasn't resisting. In fact, his eyes widened and darkened with an emotion that seemed to reach deep inside her and start a flash fire.

  "I don't tempt men, Travis. I don't try to entice you." She paused a moment, then added, "Most of the time. So am I to be blamed for the fact that I attract you?"

  "Yes," he said. "I'm a man. When you dress this way, you're provoking, and I respond like any man."

  "So you don't think I'm a lady."

  "Nope."

  A flash of anger burst through her, but she quickly tamped down the hurtful feeling. She didn't like his response, but getting angry would get her nowhere.

  Yet her voice sounded harsh in her ears. "You're right—ladies don't wear men's clothing. I guess it would have been better if I'd gone naked. At least then I wouldn't be breaking that rule. And it would be better for me not to try to help others who have lost loved ones get over their grief, and let myself starve, since I wouldn't have a job. And I guess a real lady wouldn't lean so close to you and think about how your lips felt against mine when you kissed me. Or admit to the passion created by your kiss."

  She took a deep breath and leaned within a hairs-breadth of him. "Maybe I don't want to be a lady."

  He gazed at her, and then his hands reached up and pulled her into his lap. "Good. Then I feel free to do this."

  His lips covered hers, and she tasted the sweet brandy on his mouth. She traced the edges of his lips with her tongue, feeling awkward yet boldly allowing his kiss.

  God, he made her crazy. Nothing ever seemed easy with Travis, yet passion burst forth every time she touched him. Passion that felt so right, so natural that she forgot everything but the feel of his lips on hers.

  His newspaper fell to the floor in a forgotten heap as he pulled her deeper into his embrace. His kiss became explosive as his lips moved over hers, devouring her. His hands were caressing her, moving up and down her arms as if he couldn't decide whether to continue or to stop. He pulled her across his lap, cradling her in his arms, his lips never leaving hers. The feel of his callused fingers trailing down her neck to her opened shirt drove her crazy with need.

  Why this man? Why this man, who thought she was a wanton, who wanted a lifeless, dull woman? Why this man when she could never be a woman who lived by the social mores dictated to ladies?

  And he definitely wanted a lady.

  She'd never met a more faithful, dependable man in her life, and for the first time realized what her life had been lacking until this moment. Travis Burnett was true to his word, and she wondered how he could make her feel a sense of refuge and safety, a sense of security she hadn't realized was missing, until he'd held her in his arms. It was almost as if she'd come home, to a feeling she'd never experienced before. Though she would never understand why

  Travis Burnett was the man who had awakened her sensuality.

  Cool air fanned across her delicate skin, and she realized that somehow the buttons of her shirt had been loosened. She felt his hand slip inside her chemise and tenderly pluck her nipple, rubbing it between his fingers. She moaned deep in her throat. She wanted more, so much more, as she arched her back fervently, giving him access to her aching breasts.

  She throbbed with a need she'd never known before, and she wanted him in the worst possible way. His lips wildly covered hers, sucking the very life breath from her as he plundered her mouth.

  He roused every emotion within her, from anger and despair to laughter and happiness. She'd never given her heart to a man before, yet this man left her feeling out of control.

  Suddenly he broke off the kiss, his absence leaving her with a sense of loss. Dazed, she opened her eyes and gazed up at him in surprise, seeing the turbulent emotions warring in his dark brown eyes just as he pushed her off his lap.

  She scrambled to keep from falling onto the floor as he jumped up from the couch.

  "Stop!" he commanded, his eyes piercing in the dim light from the lamps.

  Travis ran a hand through his hair and began to pace, his breathing rapid and shallow, his face flushed. He'd been on the verge of losing control here in his mother's parlor. Dear God, she could have walked in on them at any moment and found Desirée sprawled on her sofa, her son all over the female thief.

  Another five minutes and his sweet little mother could have had heart failure at the sight of the two them deep in the throes of passion. Desirée had taken him to the edge, and somehow he'd managed to crawl back. Barely.

  Travis breathed in and out, forcing himself to relax as he paced the floor. How was he going to keep his hands off this woman? How could they continue to live in the same house, if all she was going to do was tempt him? "We can't keep kissing like this."

  Her hand reached up and touched her swollen lips. "What's wrong with kissing? I was kind of enjoying it."

  Desirée quickly buttoned her shirt.

  "Because it's not right."

  "Felt good to me."

  He sighed, the sound heavy in the room. How could he explain nicely that he was not interested in a woman like Desirée—at least not permanently? How did you describe a woman whose reputation was definitely colorful?

  "Look, I'm not looking for a woman like you. I want . . . hell, I don't know what I want in a woman anymore. But I want s
omeone honest. Someone who's not been ..."

  "Yes?" Her green eyes flashed like a thunderstorm and for a moment he thought she was going to strike out at him.

  "Like I said, you know nothing about me," she said passionately. "And though it's probably a big disappointment for you, I'm not trying to tempt, seduce, or entice you. Just let me go."

  The gall of the woman. She was going to stand right there and lie to him. Blatantly disagree with him after she had kissed him. She had bewitched him from the moment they met!

  "Yes, you are. Look at you—you're a tempting vixen. You're always there with that twinkle in your eye and a smile on your lips, bustling around the room like a—like a—hussy!"

  Damn! He'd lost his temper after all, after he'd promised himself he wouldn't let her get to him. It seemed that no matter what he did, invariably she had a knack for getting him riled.

  "How dare you call me a hussy!" She took a deep breath, the buttons on her shirt almost exploding. "That twinkle is not seduction, it's outrage. You big lout! And you don't even know the difference."

  "No decent woman would kiss me like that."

  "Your definition of a decent woman lives in a nunnery, hasn't had to work for a living, and couldn't take care of a dog, let alone herself. And her kisses would be boring."

  He took a deep breath. That hurt! So he wanted an innocent, a woman who lived by the rules—his rules—and depended on him. What was wrong with that?

  They were practically screaming at one another, and still the urge to grab her and kiss her was getting stronger and stronger. He wanted to kiss her until she was dazed, breathless, and, with luck, speechless.

  But he couldn't. "Look. Just leave me alone. I don't want to get mixed up with a gal like you."

  "What makes you think I want to be involved with you? I can be packed within five minutes and ready to leave. We can pretend we never met and this never happened."

  There was no way he was going to let her go. He couldn't just let her walk out of his life. Not yet.

  "You know the answer to that riddle. Give me the ring back, and I'll take you into town tonight."

  "Quel abruti, "she said, with a toss of her hair. "I'm sick of arguing that belabored point. I'm not wasting my breath."

  She turned her back on him and strolled toward the stairs as if she were a queen and he was one of her subjects. What did she mean, she wasn't going to argue that one anymore? If she were innocent, she'd defend herself, right?