by Diana Palmer
Cy had tied the horses to nearby trees and led Meredith to a grove of huge cottonwood by the banks of the stream that cut through his property, He was wearing jeans, as she was, with a chambray shirt and a gray Stetson. Meredith had on a pink blouse. It was summer and hot, and the stream sounded cool. The area was deserted, miles from the house or anything else. There wasn't even a line cabin around.
"I thought you said this was a small ranch," Meredith murmured dryly, smiling at him as he leaned back against the tree trunk with his hat over his eyes.
"It is small, honey," he murmured. "Barely a thousand acres. That's a thimbleful of land by Montana standards."
"Well, it looks awfully big to me." She looped her arms over her updrawn knees and rested her chin on them as she watched the water flow. The wind blew her long blond hair all around her face. She didn't notice the tug on it at first, until Cy's hand buried itself in the tangled mass and dragged her backward, throwing her off balance so that she fell to the ground.
He flung a powerful leg across both of hers and looked down at her with glittering dark eyes.
It was like every dream she'd ever had of him. She could smell the expensive aftershave he wore, the scents of smoke and leather that clung to him. He was muscular, and she felt his warm strength and savored it. The press of his leg over hers was intimate, like the way his hard chest crushed her soft breasts. She loved the position. She loved him. For days she'd wanted so desperately for him to touch her, but he'd carefully kept his distance. This was the first time she'd been close to him, and it made her body throb in a new and frightening way.
Cy was feeling something similar. His hunger for her had kept him on the rack, but he couldn't wait any longer. He needed her. She was submissive and sweet and old enough to know her mind. There was no reason to hold back anymore.
"I've waited days for this," he said huskily. His eyes fell to her mouth. "Afraid of me, Meredith?"
"No. Not ever of you," she whispered, even though she was. A man's passion was something she'd never experienced, and in their present position she could feel the strength and heat of his arousal against her leg. It occurred to her that some men were much more generously endowed than others, and she had a moment's panic as she wondered if she could even accommodate him, with her lack of experience.
He didn't know that she was innocent, because she'd led him to believe otherwise. He thought she was twenty, when she was just eighteen. So many lies, and now the moment of truth was catching her unawares.
He bent to her mouth and brushed it open with his in lazy, smiling movements. "Soft," he whispered. "And sweet as sugar. Open it."
His tongue penetrated the dark recesses of her mouth with a slow, sensual rhythm that had a strange effect on her body. The rhythm seemed to call up something from her blood, because it made her nipples harden and kindled heat in her loins. She dug her fingers into his hard arms and heard him laugh softly under his breath.
His long leg insinuated itself between both of hers and began to move with the same rhythm as his tongue. And instantly the teasing stopped. Seconds later he stripped the blouse and bra from her, and his hard, hungry mouth fastened on her naked breast with a ferocity that almost convulsed her with pleasure. She never had time to be embarrassed about his eyes on her bare breasts, because he enmeshed her in a passion so sweeping that nothing mattered except the pleasure he was giving her.
After that, everything blurred into headlong ecstasy. He had their clothes off before she realized it, his hair-roughened body on hers, his thighs forcing hers apart.
He lifted his head and his dark eyes looked straight into hers as he went into her with one furious thrust.
The sharp pain was overshadowed by the incredible shock of penetration, so stark and raw that she felt him and only then realized that they were completely joined. Even so, she was vaguely aware that she couldn't quite absorb all of him.
"God, you're like a virgin," he said through his teeth. But his eyes closed as the heat of her burned around him, her involuntary movements triggering his desire to explosive force. He drove for satisfaction, barely lucid enough to catch her hips and ease her into the rhythm with him. He convulsed almost at once, groaning harshly at the most complete ecstasy he'd ever experienced in his life. He shuddered against her forever until his tense muscles gave, all at once, and left him shaken and sweating, dead weight on her soft body.
"I'm sorry," he whispered after a minute. His mouth found her eyes wet, but he smiled, thinking the tears were because he'd left her hanging. He nibbled gently at her mouth. "I'll wait for you this time, little one."
And he did. The second time, he kissed her and touched her in ways she'd only read about. Her body was on fire long before he drew her to him, lying on her side, and set about reducing her to tears and helpless ecstasy. She cried out, because the pleasure was so terrible she thought she might die of it, lost in the shivering oblivion of being so completely filled that she seemed to exist only as part of him.
Afterward he held her for a long time, her cheek pillowed on his damp, hairy chest while he smoked a cigarette and savored the silken brush of her bare skin against his chest, his hips, his legs, in the still afternoon. They didn't dress, because there was no need. His enjoyment in her nudity was obvious, even if he hadn't softly described her body with exquisite pleasure. He finished his cigarette and lay looking at her. Just looking, as if he found a beauty in her that he'd never thought to experience, from her long legs to the thrust of her soft pink breasts with their dark rose tips that grew slowly hard as he looked at her. She hadn't been embarrassed, she recalled. His delight in her had chased away all her inhibitions. Her first time had been sheer bliss. She wondered if he knew, but she didn't have the courage to ask.
At last he kissed her, with slow tenderness, and helped her dress. That had been the first of many long, sweet lovings. He never spoke of his feelings or made promises. Meredith in her naiveté assumed he took for granted that they would be married, since she'd given herself to him. She had no way of knowing that it was only her body he wanted, not forever.
Finally, she was reduced to tears after he took her to the penthouse and spent the day making love to her, that last time after they left the Custer battlefield. She accused him of making her his mistress, of being ashamed of her, of making her feel cheap.
Perhaps his conscience was hurting him even then, because he said that they'd get married, if that was what she wanted. But he didn't say it with pleasure, and there was no mention of a ring. He put off naming a date, even though he took her home to Myrna and mentioned to his mother in an offhand way that he and Meredith were thinking of marriage. His mother murmured something and left the room. She'd come around, Cy promised. Then he took her home and left her there.
It was three days later, early in the morning, that Myrna Harden phoned and asked her over to the house. She even sent a car for her. Meredith hoped it was an olive branch. She was so excited, waving to all Great-Aunt Mary's Crow neighbors on the reservation as the limousine wove around the small, pastel-painted houses and occasional backyard teepee on her way to the Harden estate. She was smiling.
The smile soon vanished when she got inside the house and found a cold-faced Myrna waiting for her.
"I know you're pregnant, you little tramp," Myrna whispered fiercely. "But it won't do any good to tell him, because your hold on him is about to be royally broken!"
She led a shocked Meredith into the waiting room. Cy was in there, quietly condemning her with his eyes. Tony Tanksley, who worked for Cy, was there as well, a nice young man whom Meredith liked. She smiled at him. She didn't know him well, but they'd talked often when he'd come to the café where she worked.
That smile helped tighten the noose around her neck.
In a cool, cultured voice, Mrs. Harden began to state the case against her. She'd helped Tony rob a safe in Cy's office. Meredith had been there frequently, and Cy knew that she'd seen him open it. She began to turn pale as she realized s
uddenly what was being done to her. She tried to protest, but Cy silenced her in a quiet, curt voice that had as much impact as a vicious shout.
Mrs. Harden went over the theft with a fine-tooth comb, prompting Tony, who said that Meredith had helped him get into Cy's office with a skeleton key made of a wax impression from the keys in Cy's pocket. Not only that, he and Meredith had been intimate, he said, many times when Cy was out of town on business.
Myrna didn't give Meredith a chance to say anything. She dragged up Meredith's real age, hoping that Cy didn't know the truth, and added a rider to the effect that Meredith had been bragging at the café about her rich suitor and how she was going to take him to the cleaners.
Cy cut Meredith off immediately when she started speaking, his eyes black with fury, his fists clenched at his sides in almost demonic rage and sexual jealousy. She was nothing but a two-timing tramp, he accused. She could get out of his life and take her lover with her, but she wouldn't get money for it. He was going to have her arrested for the theft and watch her rot in prison!
At last, Myrna's whispered warning hit home. She could tell him she was innocent, but she was damned in his eyes. She didn't dare even tell him about the baby, because now he'd think it was Tony's. Oh, how could Myrna Harden have been so cruel, and to someone she didn't even know!
She ran. It was the hurt of having him believe such lies about her that made her run. Myrna Harden caught up with her at the back door and pressed a wad of bills into her hand. Get out quick, she told Meredith, and leave Billings. She'd try to hold Cy off long enough for her to get away, but she must never think of coming back again, as long as she lived. She'd be arrested if she even thought of it.
Meredith was hysterical, scared to death, completely at the mercy of her emotions. What if Cy called the police? Tony had already confessed and blamed her. If he testified against her, how would she manage in jail and pregnant? And what would it do to Great-Aunt Mary and Great-Uncle Raven-Walkingespecially since her great-uncle worked for Harden Properties?
She ran and kept on running. She let the limousine take her back to Great-Aunt Mary's house, where she said nothing. She simply packed and kissed the worried old lady goodbye, telling her tearfully that she'd write and explain everything very soon. She gave Mary the things Cy had given her as presents, all neatly wrapped up, along with the wad of money Myrna had given her, and asked her aunt to make sure it got back to Cy Harden. Then she went to the bus station and caught the first outbound bus, which happened to be headed to Chicago. There, fate caught her up and changed her life.
Meredith opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Full circle, she thought numbly. Her life had started here. Now it was all but ending here. Cy might never stand again. Not that it would matter, because she could have accepted him even without legs. But bitterness and regret were poor foundations for a relationship, and pity was even worse. She still couldn't resist him physically. He was, as usual, bulldozing over her wishes. Now he'd have to ease off, while he healed. After he was back in good health again, she could begin sorting out her feelings.
Then, too, there was Blake. He was the one wild card in the deck. She didn't know how Cy was going to react to being a father. He might blame Myrna and Meredith, or he might blame himself for those six years of Blake's life he'd lost. There was also the possibility that he'd meant what he said years ago about not wanting children, and he might reject the boy entirely.
Meredith closed her eyes again and tried to force her working brain to relax. She'd just have to face those problems as they arose. Meanwhile she was Kip Tennison and she couldn't just give up the corporation because her nerves were shot. She had work to do.
Work. That brought Don to mind. She pursed her lips and smiled. So her brother-in-law was making a play for Henry's legacy and Cy's company all at once. Good enough. Perhaps Don was entitled to Tennison International, but he wasn't going to get it without a fight, not even if Meredith had to take on her brother-in-law and Cy at the same time.
If a challenge was what it took to get Cy in fighting shape, it might as well serve Meredith, too, by honing her own combat skills. She felt suddenly equal to anything fate threw at her, and she gave a silent nod of gratitude to Henry, who'd taught her a great deal about how to come out ahead.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
» ^ «
If Meredith's suspicions about her brother-in-law hadn't been cemented, Don's phone call late that afternoon would have reinforced them.
"Listen," he said after she'd told him about Cy's accident, "why don't you take a few weeks off. Think of it as a vacation. There's nothing urgent, and I can handle anything that comes up. I'll send Foster overseas in my place and I'll ramrod this Harden Properties takeover for you."
"I'm in a better position to handle that than you are," she reminded him dryly.
"Well, of course, proximity and all that," he said after a minute. "I meant the paperwork."
She could almost read his mind, and she smiled to herself. "Okay. I'll need a little time while I cope with my past. But I still want to be advised of any decisions you make, and I'll handle my own correspondence. Nell can fax it down daily and I'll fax my replies back for her."
There was a pause and a sigh. "Very well."
"And, Don, thank you for your support," she said softly. "I know Henry would approve of the way you're helping me."
He cleared his throat. "I'll be speaking with you soon. Take care."
"You, too."
She put the receiver down on a harsh laugh. You can't trust anyone, she thought. Not even people who are supposed to be on your side. Henry would roll over in his grave if he knew how Don was trying to control the operation.
But as she went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, she had to rethink her position. After all, Don was Henry's own flesh and blood. He had every right to resent the fact that half the corporation had been given over to a very young woman with no real experience of business except what she'd been taught. Henry might have been besotted with Meredith, but Don certainly wasn't, and the corporation was his whole life.
She frowned as she sipped coffee, her mind vaguely registering her son's excited voice from the backyard, where Mr. Smith was teaching him how to play football.
They came in the back door, both flushed with exercise. "It's cold out there, Mommy!" Blake told her. "But me and Mr. Smith warmed up quick when we started passing the pigskin back and forth."
"He's a natural," Mr. Smith told her, ruffling the boy's dark hair. "Super Bowl stuff."
"Can I have coffee, Mama?" Blake asked.
"How about hot chocolate instead?" she teased, smiling at him. "Mr. Smith can have some, too."
"Mr. Smith would love some, but he can fix it," Mr. Smith informed her. "Sit down. You've had a long night."
"Who did you go see?" Blake asked her.
She hesitated. She didn't know how to put it. "A man," she said finally. "In the hospital."
"Is he going to die?"
Her heart skipped. "No," she said. "No, he isn't."
"Oh."
She absentmindedly watched Mr. Smith boil milk and chocolate. She couldn't help but wonder how Cy was going to react when he regained full consciousness. She looked at Blake and saw him in the darkness of his hair and eyes, the shape of his face. Cy would see the resemblance, too, but would it please him? Or would Blake just be another complication he didn't want?
"Stop worrying and drink your coffee," Mr. Smith said firmly. "Are you going back tonight?"
She shrugged. "I don't know."
She glanced at the clock. It was suppertime already, but she had no appetite. Mr. Smith insisted on making sandwiches, and she ate one, but without really tasting it.
The phone rang almost as soon as Meredith was finished, and she jumped to answer it.
"Meredith?" It was Myrna Harden. "I just wondered if you wanted to go back to the hospital with me."
"Yes," she said without hesitation. "I'll have Mr. Smith bring me."
"I'll be ready."
She put the receiver down, amazed that the older woman actually wanted her company. Probably, she mused as she put on slacks and a pink silk blouse, Myrna was so upset that she just wanted someone with her, and there wasn't anybody else. Only Meredith had any real interest in Cy's future.
Myrna came to the door when she arrived. She stared down at Blake as he hugged his mother good-night.
"So handsome." The elderly woman sighed, smiling. "He's big for his age, too, isn't he?"
"Yes. I think he's going to be tall," Meredith agreed.
Blake looked up at the newcomer, his dark eyes steady and not at all shy. "I'm Blake Tennison," he told Myrna. "I'm five years old."
Myrna's eyelids flinched. Her dark eyes faintly accused Meredith before they dropped to the child. "Are you?" she asked. "Do you go to school?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I have him in kindergarten in Chicago," Meredith said quietly.
"Our Presbyterian church has a good program," Myrna suggested.
"If we're here long enough, I might look into it. Shouldn't we go?" Another complication, Meredith thought miserably. She couldn't very well keep Blake out of kindergarten for very long.
"Yes, certainly. It was nice to meet you, Blake," Myrna said, shaking hands with him.