Gene arrived exactly on time. He was dressed for a casual evening, in jeans and hand-tooled black leather boots with a blue Western shirt and a turquoise-and-silver bola. He wore a new black Stetson tonight with a moccasin headband, and he was freshly shaved and showered.
He smiled down appreciatively at the way she looked in her skirt and T-shirt with her silky black hair in a ponytail. His body had given him no peace for the past few days, going over and over the sweetness of Allison’s response to him and the joy he’d felt in her company. They shared so many common interests that he actually enjoyed talking to her. Not that the way they exploded when they touched was any less potent. Not for worlds would he have admitted how much he’d looked forward to tonight. Looking at her made him feel good. Being with her was satisfying and sweet. And, unfortunately, addictive. He was going to have to do something about it; the sooner the better. She couldn’t be staying much longer, and she was beginning to interfere with not only his work, but his sleep. He found himself thinking of her constantly, wanting to be with her. He was acting like a lovesick boy and he didn’t want to disgrace himself by letting anyone know. The sooner he got her out of his system physically, the sooner he could get back to normal and deal with his worst problems.
The odd thing was that since Allison had been around, he hadn’t worried so much about his parentage or that will that had changed his life. In fact, he was more at peace than he’d ever been. She gave him the first peace he’d had in weeks. Months. He felt as if there was no problem he couldn’t overcome when he was with her. And that was disturbing. Really disturbing.
He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. “You look cute,” he murmured dryly. “I like the T-shirt.”
It read Women’s Revolutionary Sewing Society. She’d found it in an out-of-the-way shop, and she loved it. She grinned up at him, her eyes warm in her oval face with its exquisite peaches-and-cream complexion. “It appealed to my sense of the ridiculous. Do you really like it?”
“I like the way you fill it out better,” he said quietly, his eyes admiring her breasts and darkening with memory. “Is that skirt going to fall off without a belt?” he added, frowning at the way it fit in the waist—very loosely.
“I’ve lost a little weight in the past few weeks,” she said noncommittally. “But it will stay up. I couldn’t find my belt.”
Of course not. It was still in Central America, along with most of her other belongings. That brought back vivid memories of how she’d left foreign surroundings, and how the media had followed her. Being seen in public could put her in jeopardy, but it was unlikely that Gene would introduce her to anybody from the press. She relaxed, shifting restlessly as she pushed the worries to the back of her mind.
He glanced around. “Where’s Winnie?”
“Out with Dwight. Didn’t you know?”
He laughed curtly, and without any real humor, his lean face full of mockery, his pale green eyes narrow and cool. “Dwight doesn’t discuss his social life with me these days.”
She moved closer to him, and because of the heels on his boots and the lack of them on her sneakers, she had to look up a lot farther than usual. He smelled of spicy cologne, a fragrance that made her pulse race almost as much as being close to him did. “He might, if you didn’t make it so difficult for him,” she said gently, and with a smile that took the sting out of the words.
He’d have thrown a punch at any man who dared say something like that to his face. But somehow it didn’t offend him when Allison said it. One corner of his thin, disciplined mouth twitched and his eyes sparkled with faint amusement as he looked down at her.
“You standing in a ditch?” he asked unexpectedly. “Or did you get wet and shrink overnight?”
She laughed, her whole body on fire with life and love and his company. “I’m wearing sneakers.”
“Is that it?” He looked down at her feet in pink tennis shoes. “Dainty little things,” he mused.
“Nobody could ever describe your feet that way,” she replied with a meaningful glance at his long boots.
“I throw away the boots and wear the shoe boxes,” he agreed pleasantly. “Mrs. Manley isn’t here, either?” he added, glancing around.
“She went to a baby shower.”
He drew a slow breath, feeling a contentment he could hardly remember in his life stealing over him as he stared at her. “No lectures from your mother hen before she left with Dwight?”
She shook her head.
He chuckled. “She really has given up!”
“Yes.” She searched his face quietly, loving every strong, lean line of it, its darkness, its masculinity. She could have stood looking at him all day.
His eyebrow jerked. Her delight was evident, and it made him bristle with pride. “We’d better go,” he said after a minute.
“Yes.”
But he didn’t move, and neither did she. His eyes fell to her mouth, its pale pink owing nothing to lipstick. He caught her by the waist and drew her lazily against him, bending to brush his lips softly over hers in a delicate kiss that aroused but didn’t satisfy. She tasted of mint and he smiled against her soft mouth, liking the hungry, instant response he got. Her arms moved up to hold him and he half lifted her against him in an embrace that made her think inexplicably of Christmas and mistletoe and falling snow, because she was warm and safe.
He wasn’t thinking at all. The feel of her in his arms had stopped his mind dead. Everything was sensation now. Warm, soft breasts flattened against him,
