Friends and Lovers. Diana Palmer
to hold him down until the fever broke. And she remembered vividly the feel of his hair-roughened skin under her hands as she’d bathed him to bring down the fever….
“Who else was there?” she muttered self-consciously. “Josito couldn’t manage alone.”
He smiled at her, a quiet, tender smile that made her want to fling herself into his arms. “I’d have done the same for you,” he said. One eye narrowed and the mustache twitched wickedly. “In fact, I’d have enjoyed it tremendously.”
The thought of his big, rough hands touching her the way she’d touched him made her go weak in the knees. It was an odd reaction, a frightening one.
“Go home,” she grumbled, slamming the door.
She started toward the house, digging for her key.
“Seven a.m. sharp!” he called out the window.
She turned and gave him her best fairy-princess curtsy before he reversed the Ferrari and roared away into the night with a chuckle.
Chapter Three
John’s ranch was small by Texas standards, but then it wasn’t his main source of income. Oil was, and the ranch was more of a hobby than a business. He raised thoroughbred Santa Gertrudis cattle, and his champion bulls brought high prices at market. The older ones, the ribbon winners whose photographs lined the walls of his office and his den, were worth up to a half-million dollars apiece. Even the young bulls brought good prices, though, for their superior bloodlines.
Riding along beside John, between the neat white fences that separated the pastures stretching to the flat horizon, she was struck by the difference in him. He was in denims and boots and that battered black Stetson he wore around the ranch—this was a far cry from the elegantly dressed man who’d driven her home the night before.
“You’re staring again,” he observed with a wry glance, the habitual cigarette in his long, brown fingers.
“I was just thinking how different you are here,” she admitted.
His eyes ran over her slender body in jodhpurs and a short-sleeved green print blouse. The morning was cloudy and a little chilly, but she hated the idea of a sweater. John must have, too, because his denim shirt was rolled up to his elbows.
“I like you in green,” he said thoughtfully.
She smiled, shaking back her loosened hair, and then wondered at the way his eyes followed the movement. “They say it’s a restful color,” she murmured.
“Just what I need,” he replied dryly. “I didn’t get much sleep.”
She stared at him, the smile fading. She tugged on the reins and increased the pressure of her knees, forcing the little Appaloosa mare she was riding into a canter. She could have ridden the horse right over John Durango. Damned arrogant man, flinging his one-night stand in her face!
He effortlessly caught up with her on his big Appaloosa gelding.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he growled.
She wouldn’t look at him. “Nothing,” she said tersely. “Are those cows new?” she asked, changing the subject.
“No, they’re not new. Answer me.”
She flashed him a glance before she urged the mare into a gallop, leaning over her mane. The wind lashed her face, tore through her hair. She needed the burst of excitement that the speed gave her. She needed the element of danger.
She raced wildly down the wide dirt road between the pastures, laughing, her hair trailing behind her. He’d never catch her now!
But he was right alongside, his eyes biting into hers, and all at once he leaned over and caught the reins in a big, strong hand, easing her mare to a canter, a trot, and then reining her in completely. They were beyond the road now, in the meadow, in a grove of tall pecan trees near the highway.
Madeline glared at him. “I was having fun…!”
“You were about to break your damned neck!” he countered, faintly pale beneath his dark tan, his craggy face unusually hard. “What’s gotten into you, you little fool?”
“Don’t shout at me!” she defended.
“I’m not shouting!” His eyes narrowed and he drew in an annoyed breath. “I could beat the breath out of you when you do crazy things like this, Madeline, I swear to God….” He dismounted, almost jerking her off the horse. He glared down at her, his mouth making a thin line, his eyes blazing. His big hands were gripping her shoulders painfully, and he shook her once, roughly.
“John!” she burst out, shocked. “I was just riding. I’ve done it before!”
His eyes bored into hers and suddenly the world spun crazily around her and the universe dissolved into a pair of steely gray eyes. Her hands were pressing unconsciously against the front of his denim shirt, where it was casually unbuttoned over his massive chest. She moved slightly, and her fingers came into sudden, staggering contact with hair and warm, damp flesh.
He flinched at the light contact, his eyes dilated, his heavy brows drew together.
Sensing something new, something vulnerable in him, she moved her hands deliberately, sensuously, under the edges of the shirt and ran them tentatively across his chest, her lips parting as she felt the tensing, the sudden thunder of his heart under them.
His eyes seemed to blaze down at her. His fingers tightened painfully on her shoulders, his body tensed. She’d never seen John out of control, she’d never seen him anything but in perfect command of himself. But he looked as if he were about to explode, and the dangerous game she was playing only excited her.
She moved closer, her eyes studying the contours of his mouth as her fingers grew bolder and her palms flattened against his powerful chest.
All at once he caught her wrists and jerked them away. “That’s enough,” he growled harshly. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”
While she was trying to figure that out, the sound of an approaching car diverted his scorching eyes from her face.
“Oh, hell, tourists,” he said curtly, glaring toward a big touring car with two women in the front seat.
He let Madeline go as the car stopped nearby and the elderly blonde at the wheel leaned out the window, smiling pleasantly.
“Howdy!” she called.
John’s mustache twitched. “Howdy,” he drawled back.
“Is this the way to Houston?” came the reply.
“Only if you plan to cut the road as you go,” John said pleasantly. “This is the Durango ranch.”
“It is?” The woman’s huge blue eyes got wider, matching the cornflowers on her printed blouse. She murmured something to the thinner woman beside her and leaned farther out the window. “This is Big John Durango’s ranch?” she persisted.
John grinned slyly. “Heard of him?”
“My goodness, yes! I retired from business this year, and I never miss my financial magazines. Why, when oil was making headlines, John Durango was a cover story! Imagine, a man that handsome being a tycoon as well!”
John looked sickeningly modest. He tilted his hat back on his head. “What kind of business were you in, ma’am?” he asked with characteristic curiosity.
“Corporate law,” the woman said, smiling.
“Tough profession,” he said.
“Not really. It just takes some study and a lot of practice.”
Catching her breath, Madeline wondered at his charm. The blond woman was staring at him intently. “Do you suppose we might actually get a glimpse of Mr. Durango as