Diana Palmer Texan Lovers. Diana Palmer
Calhoun returned. “She left for Europe and went wild, just as she’s going wild now. She was in a wreck in Switzerland, Justin. In a sports car,” he added, watching the horror grow in his brother’s eyes, “just like the one she’s driving now. She was grieving for you. Even her father realized that, at last.”
Justin fumbled a cigarette into his mouth and lit it. “Nobody ever told me that.”
“When would you ever listen to anything about her?” Calhoun replied. “It’s only in the past few months that you’ve calmed down enough to talk about anything connected with the Jacobses.”
“I wanted her,” Justin ground out. “You can’t imagine how I felt when she broke it off.”
“Yes, I can,” Calhoun replied. “I was there. I know what it was like for you. But you never even considered that Shelby might have had a reason. She tried to explain it once, to tell you why she broke off the engagement. You wouldn’t even listen.”
“What was there to listen to?” Justin asked impatiently. “She’d already told me the truth, in the beginning.”
“I never believed it,” Calhoun replied. “And neither would you have, if you hadn’t been in love for the first time in your life and so damned uncertain about your own ability to keep Shelby. You were always worried about losing her to another man. Even to me. Remember?”
It was hard to argue with the truth. Justin knew he’d been possessive about Shelby. Hell, he still was. But how could he help it? She was a beautiful woman, and he was a plain, unworldly man. He’d never been able to understand why Shelby had stayed with him as long as she had.
“Even now,” Calhoun continued quietly, “it seems to me that you’re trying your best to make her leave you.”
Justin smiled mockingly. “What do you expect me to do, tie her in the cellar?” he asked reasonably. “I can’t make her stay if she doesn’t want to. Hell—” he laughed coldly “—I can’t even touch her. She flinched away from me the one time I tried to make love to her,” he said bluntly, remembering. His eyes went blacker and he looked away. “I can’t get near her. She’s afraid of me that way.”
“How interesting,” Calhoun said, choosing his words, “that such an experienced woman of the world could be afraid of sex. Isn’t it?”
Justin frowned. “What do you mean?”
Calhoun didn’t answer him. He was smiling a little when he started out the door, but Justin couldn’t see the smile. “I’ve got to get home. See you, big brother.” And before Justin could reply, he was gone.
Justin took a minute to get his temper under control. He went out the door behind Calhoun without a word to his secretary, his eyes narrow with concern. Calhoun had delayed him too long. Suppose Shelby wrecked that little car?
He went up and down the road, but he didn’t see any sign of the sports car. Later, he went to the house, and almost went down on his knees with relief when he found it parked at the steps.
He had to force himself to behave normally when his hands were almost shaking from fear that he might find her in a ditch somewhere. He walked into the house, tossing his hat onto the hat rack, and went into the dining room, where Shelby was sitting in a chair halfway down the long cherry-wood table, talking to Maria about some new recipe.
She looked toward the doorway, but when she saw him, all the laughter and animation went out of her like a light that was suddenly turned off. She was wearing a red and white dress and her hair was down around her shoulders in a pretty, dark, waving tangle. The wind, he thought absently, tearing through her hair in the convertible.
“I’ve traded cars,” she said defiantly. “How do you like it? It was Abby’s. You don’t even have to cosign with me, I can make the payments from my salary.”
Justin glanced at Maria, who knew the look and made herself scarce. He sat down at the head of the table, lit a cigarette and leaned back in the chair to stare intently at Shelby. “The last thing in the world you need is a sports car. You already drive too damned fast.”
She searched his dark eyes, reading the thinly veiled concern. “Somebody saw me in the car this afternoon,” she guessed.
He nodded. “Calhoun.”
“I thought it was him.” She studied her hands in her lap, turning the thin gold band on her wedding finger. “I like speed,” she said hotly.
“I don’t like funerals,” he shot back. “I don’t intend having to go to yours. You’ll take that sports car back tomorrow or I’ll take it back for you.”
“It’s mine!” she cried. Her green eyes flashed angrily. “And I won’t take it back!”
He took a long draw from his cigarette. In his reclining position, his white silk shirt was drawn taut over tanned muscles. His chest was thick with hair that peeked out through the unfastened top buttons of his shirt. His jacket was off, his sleeves rolled up. He looked devastatingly masculine, from his disheveled black hair to his sensuous mouth.
“I’m not going to argue about it, honey,” he replied. Through a veil of smoke, his black eyes searched hers. “Calhoun told me you wrecked a car overseas.”
She flushed. “That was an accident.”
“You aren’t going to have any accidents here,” he said. “I won’t let you kill yourself.”
“For heaven’s sake, Justin, I’m not suicidal!” she protested. She lifted her coffee cup to her lips and took a fortifying sip of the black liquid.
“I didn’t say you were,” he agreed. He moved his ashtray on the tablecloth, watching it spin around. “But you need a firmer hand than you’ve been getting.”
“I’m not Abby,” she said. Her finely etched features grew hard as she looked at him. “I don’t need a guardian.”
He looked back, black eyes searching, quiet. “And while we’re on the subject, I don’t like you working for Barry Holman.”
She blinked. She felt suddenly as if control of her own life was being taken away from her. “Justin, I didn’t ask how you liked it,” she reminded him. “I told you before we married that I wanted to keep on working.”
“There’s more than enough to do around here,” he said. He tapped an ash into the ashtray. “You can manage the house.”
“Maria and Lopez do that very nicely, thank you,” she replied. She stiffened. “I don’t want to stay home and swirl around the house in silk lounge pajamas and throw parties, Justin, in case you wondered. I’ve had my fill of charity work and flower arranging and social warfare.”
He was looking at the cigarette, not at her. “I thought you might miss those things. In the old days, you never had to lift a finger.”
She studied her neat hands in her lap, pleating the thin silky fabric of the red and white dress. “My father saw me as a parlor decoration,” she said tautly. “He would have been outraged if I’d tried to change my image.”
He frowned slightly. “Were you afraid of him?”
“I was owned by him,” she replied. She sighed, raising her eyes to Justin’s. The curiosity there puzzled her, but at least they were talking for a change instead of arguing. “He wasn’t the easiest man to live with, and he had terrible ways of getting even when Ty and I disobeyed.”
“He kept you pretty close to home,” he recalled. “Although he trusted you with me.”
“Did he really?” she laughed hollowly. “Justin, you were the second man I ever dated and the first I ever went out with alone. You look shocked. Did you think my father let me live the life of a playgirl? He was terrified that some fortune hunter might seduce me. I lived like a recluse while he was alive.”
Justin wasn’t sure