Reckless Desire Read online

  And now, her sole occupation was waiting . . . and thinking. Another hour of it, and she was sure she would give it all up. But she changed her mind instantly when Ellie Dean opened the door and entered carrying a tray.

  There was something very different about Ellie, al-

  though her voice, as she murmured, "Good morning, Kalida," possessed the same dry, noncommittal tone that Ellie had always used with her.

  "Ellie. What a nice surprise." What an understatement that was! Kalida took the tray and set it on her thighs, and then looked into Ellie's opaque black eyes. She could read nothing there, and Ellie's expression was benign, almost pleasant, as if she had nothing better or more rewarding in life to do but serve Kalida her breakfast.

  Apart from that, the only, discernible difference about her was her mode of dress. Gone was the stark black mourning she used to affect, and in its place she wore soft dove-gray trimmed with ivory lace and charcoal velvet. Her hair was no longer pulled back in a severe bun; rather, it was obvious she had taken some pains with it, and it framed her face neatly, divided with a center part and rolled fashionably over each ear, which now sported a silvery earring.

  Her smile was just as detached and impersonal as it ever had been, but Kalida's sense that something had changed persisted as Ellie lingered a moment, fussing over the bed cover and pulling down the sheets at the foot of the bed as if she were waiting for Kalida to comment on what she was doing.

  Finally she looked up at Kalida and threw her a rueful little smile. "Well, Deuce is coming in a little while, you know."

  "You can hardly do much to make this place present­able," Kalida responded dryly in kind. "He's seen it before, at any rate. And me."

  "Oh yes," Ellie said thoughtfully. "And you. He is rather charged up about marrying you." Her tone now was insinuatingly pensive. Kalida instantly became wary as Ellie went on. "It's a wonder he ever forgave you all those little tricks you used to play. Well, you never would let your papa get close to him, and look where it's got

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  him now. If you had just been a little more bending, Deuce probably would have allowed your father to buy in the syndicate sooner and you wouldn't be in this predica­ment."

  Kalida was jolted by her words, and she shoved her tray away violently, remembering just in time she could not stand up to vent her indignation. "That isn't true, and besides, I hardly think a few snubs from me set Deuce against Papa for life."

  "Snubs? Really, Kalida. Snubs. Ever since that incident with Malca, you've had it in for Deuce and you've always been trying in your little way to cut him down to size. And you've messed things up for your father in the bargain."

  Kalida stopped her restless movement, attentive sud­denly to Ellie's words. No, not Ellie's words —her father's words, the things he would never say to her. The things he needed to say to convince her to marry Deuce and wouldn't say because he would never want to hurt her feelings. But Ellie, who had always been her father's partisan, would never hesitate to do just that.

  The errant thought occurred to her that it was Ellie who would not mind getting rid of her. But then, that was ridiculous. This was the first time her father had seen Ellie in years, and he had obviously appealed to her as an old, trusted friend.

  And he was probably paying for her nursing services, Kalida's ungovernable inner voice added with a touch of malice.

  "Thank you so much for setting things straight for me," she said to Ellie, the animosity patent in her voice.

  Ellie ignored it. She held out her hand. "Come, we want to make you provocatively presentable for his visit this afternoon."

  "He already finds me provocative just as I am," Kalida retorted pettishly. Well, she couldn't help it. This new,

  pretentious Ellie was even more dislikable than the mousy widow. And further, she had no business lecturing Kalida.

  Ellie shrugged. "I thought you might want to dress and do your hair."

  "Don't be silly. Why would I want to dress if it's more to the point for me to remain as I am?"

  "Kalida, you're impossible. And you always have been. I wish him luck with you. I don't think Deuce knows a whit what he's getting into with you."

  A faint smile drifted across Kalida's lips. "Yes, he does," she said softly. "Oh yes, he does."

  Yes indeed, Kalida thought, holding up the mirror her father had thoughtfully provided her with, she did have to think about the things that Ellie Dean had said. The "if she hadn'ts" and the "would he haves"; the past did have an impact on the present. She pursed her lips at her reflection. She looked hellish, with her hair in an ebony tangle from her restless night and her eyes flashing with a cobalt intensity that was almost unnatural in color.

  She had to assess Ellie's words. Why had Ellie said them, and why not her father?

  She tossed her head; how could he? They were hateful words that put an onus of guilt on her she did not need, as well as the burden of her father's failure.

  Kalida felt torn and trapped, and she ran a futile hand through her tumbling curls in an effort to calm herself, not to avoid the ultimate conclusion she had to reach.

  She had to marry Deuce to atone for her father's lack of success.

  For her father's failure. To save her father.

  The words reverberated within her, and she knew she had no choice now. Because it was just possible it was her fault and her failure and she had to do anything possible to make it up to her father—even if it meant sacrificing

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  herself to Deuce Cavender.

  She wasn't ready for him when the door thrust open and he appeared in its threshold, tall and forbidding, positively filling the door frame, burning her with the flashing intensity of his smoky gray eyes as they scorched over every line of her body.

  Her hands dropped the mirror and involuntarily grabbed the cover and pulled it up over her breasts. So much for her brave words to Ellie, she thought sourly, not expecting at all what happened next. She found herself being unceremoniously hoisted up from her bed into Deuce's brawny arms as she made a futile clutch at her blanket, which slid smoothly off her legs and onto the floor.

  He lifted her easily against his hard flannel-shirted chest, and the shock of his huge warm hands on her body shot right through the thin muslin gown she wore. A fine tremor shook her whole body as she met his mocking eyes and sardonic expression.

  "Don't get hysterical," he advised in that hateful, caus­tic tone. His grip around her legs and midriff tightened, and she balled her fists to keep from pounding them into his face.

  They were eye to eye as he held her there, unmoving for that brief moment. She could see every fine line radiating from his eyes, every miniscule scar he carried from every encounter with every animal he had ever tamed, the perfect shape of his thick, perpetually drawn brows, the satiric twist of his firm lips that immediately raised her hackles. She couldn't find a particle of kindness in that face, only arrogance. And desire. It warmed his eyes, smoking them into blazing charcoal as they sought her lips, rested there, and contemplated them with such lei­surely intent that she could have screamed from the tension.

  "Put your arms around me," he said suddenly, and his voice was like a whiplash.

  "What for?" she asked, her tone equally flat and harsh to show him she was taking no nonsense from him either. She felt peculiarly helpless swung up in the air like that and enfolded against the rock hard wall of his uncompro­mising chest. She couldn't move her legs, though how she had managed'to remember that she would never know. She couldn't hit him; well, she could, but she was sure the consequences would be worse than her not having hit him. And she didn't know quite what to do except that the last thing she wanted to do was embrace him.

  However, his answer to her question caught her com­pletely off guard. "I want to feel your arms around me," he murmured in a totally different tone of voice.

  "You're mad," she said bluntly. "And now that you've shown me how big and strong you are, you can put me do
wn."

  "Yes, I am big and strong," he agreed mockingly. "You can't fight me; you'd be much better off doing whatever I wish. Whatever I wish," he emphasized meaningfully, his eyes sliding to her mouth again. "Put your arms around me."

  "I'd sooner hold a snake," she snapped, obstinately crossing her arms over her chest as best she could.

  "Kalida, Kalida," he sighed despairingly, and then his voice deepened. "Hold me, Kalida."

  "Deuce—" she protested futilely.

  "Hell," he swore vehemently, lowering his head, fore­stalling whatever words would have followed by crashing his mouth down on hers and taking her lips and her senses by storm.

  Oh God, she groaned silently; it wasn't fair. It was abominably unjust that he could do this to her, that she wanted to be enslaved by his mouth; she wanted desper-

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  ately to pull away, to show him that she did not want his kisses at all. But her body did; if she hadn't learned that yesterday, she was having it reinforced right now. She was pulling herself up against him, and he did not have to ask again to feel her arms around him. It was the only way for her to pull him closer, to taste him fully, to feel his heat against her body. Her hands, of their own volition, twisted into his thick dark hair and around his taut shoulders, flexing against him almost in concert with the degree of passion she was feeling.

  He knew it.

  It was the thing that got to her everytime, at the height of her bedazzlement, when she was at the moment of letting go totally; she remembered he knew it, he knew her. He had known many women; this wasn't a romance. His seduction of her was as practiced and purposeful as everything else he did. He was turning her into a fool and a willing victim, and some little remnant of pride forbade that. Just that little particle of skepticism doused the sensual fire raging within her. Just right, and just in time.

  He sensed that and pulled away from her. His eyes gleamed, all-wise to her; it was unnerving the way he seemed to know everything. She licked her lips nervously, and his eyes held the movement.

  And then, without saying another word, he turned, still holding her, kicked open the door, and carried her into the main living room.

  "Ah, there you are," her father said with obvious satisfaction evident in his voice.

  "Indeed? Where am I?" Kalida asked tartly to cover the wave of heat that suffused her body. Of course her father knew what was going on, and look at how he fully approved. It was galling. And worse still, Ellie Dean was in the room with him, but at a nod from Ryland, she disappeared out the door to the porch, reappearing in an instant with a chair that she rolled in through the door.

  "What is this?" Kalida demanded as Ellie pushed it right up to where Deuce stood holding her.

  "For you," Ellie said sweetly. "Deuce and your father rigged it up for you so you wouldn't be chained to the bed. It's an —um, invalid chair, I guess you would call it."

  "It surely will go more easily down the church aisle,"

  Deuce commented in an undertone as he lowered her into

  it.

  "Get that notion out of your head," she whispered back fiercely.

  "Get it out of yours," he shot back, his hands biting into her shoulders as he settled her against the back of the chair. His hands moved softly up to encircle her neck, and then her head, his thumbs lifting her chin so that her defiant eyes could not avoid his. A faintly jeering smile played across his lips. "Your objections have no weight, Kalida; I have made you mobile."

  He met her lightning-bolt gaze blandly. She looked like a gorgeous trapped creature sitting there helpless in her wheeled chair, her eyes blazing, her midnight mane like some wild disheveled halo around her perfect face.

  And then she began to laugh. It was funny, perfectly hilarious that Deuce should have found some way around all her machinations. Funny, and typical of the obsessive-ness of his nature once he went after something. She looked at her father, who was smiling broadly, then at Deuce, who looked irate, and then she abruptly stopped. The question still remained: Why?

  "Well, now you can join us for the noon meal," her father was saying jovially, moving toward her to take the back spindles of the chair in hand to push it. Deuce beat him to it.

  "I would imagine, since Kalida has been cooped up for a couple of days, that she would like to go for a walk," he interposed meaningfully, grasping the back of the chair and giving it a forceful push.

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  "I would not," Kalida contradicted.

  "Yes, fresh air is necessary to maintain the health of the invalid," Deuce said serenely, shoving the chair for­ward once again. Kalida grabbed the arms and shut her mouth. She would not have put it past him to push the damned chair down the porch steps and let her fend for herself as best she could.

  She bristled with antagonism as he tilted the chair back and lowered it from the porch a bumpy step at a time.

  The fresh crisp air hit her hot body like icy water. She wrapped her arms around her breasts and shivered.

  Deuce, however, did not notice—or was pretending he did not notice. He pushed the chair briskly down the dirt path that led to the back of the house and the stables. Straight ahead of her she saw Malca ambling aimlessly in the corral, and she shot a suspicious glance up at Deuce.

  "Why this?" she demanded. "Why now?"

  He pulled the chair to an abrupt halt and hunkered down next to her. "Look at him. I want you to look at him, and I want you to know how much you are going to miss him if you keep up with this absurd deception."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Your little ruse that backfired." He motioned at her legs.

  "Now I truly don't know what you're talking about," she hedged, reaching out her hand to touch Malca's velvety nuzzle as he poked it through the fence.

  "Look, Miss Innocent, it was a good try. I applaud you. You really had your daddy going. Not me. But your daddy, yes. You had him just where you wanted him because he was scared as hell I wouldn't want you—just as you were cussedly sure I wouldn't want a disabled wife. Interesting idea, Kalida; it took a lot of guts for you to oppose me. And now you've learned the hardest lesson. You can't do it."

  "You arrogant bastard," she spat out, swiping at him

  with her free hand.

  He caught it and held it tightly, so tightly she felt manacled. "All right, keep up your useless pretense if you have to, Kalida. It's kind of fun watching you figure out how to outwit me. But you'd better understand this: Nothing you dream up is going to prevent my having you. When you finally accept that, we'll be fine."

  She turned to face him slowly, her face mirroring disbelief at hi£ utter presumption. "Why?" she shot at him.

  "Why what?"

  "Why do you want to marry me?"

  "Trust me, I do."

  "I don't trust you, and I don't."

  He shrugged. "Nonetheless . . . you will marry me."

  "We'll see whether I will or I won't," Kalida said sharply.

  He smiled maddeningly. "Your father needs me, Ka­lida; I presume that's enough reason —for now."

  She jerked her eyes away. It was, damn it, damn him; feelings didn't enter into it. It was a business arrange­ment, purely a barter to save her father, his holdings, his reputation. She might have known Deuce wouldn't pre­tend otherwise. "Take me back to the house," she said in a strangled voice.

  She felt his hand take her chin and force her eyes back to his. The maddeningly provoking smile skimmed his lips again. "I'm going to kiss you, Kalida. I swear it's the only way to keep you in line. I just wonder which urge in you is the strongest, the one to run away"—he leaned toward her and his lips touched hers again —"or the one to give in." His mouth closed over hers now with devastating intention, but this time, this time she struggled, she pushed against him with all her heart and might, and all her hate, swatting at his hands as they began to course their way down her shoulders to her breasts. Her sense of 58 59

  helplessness lent her uncommon strength,, and suddenly, with one musc
ular shove, she thrust his body away from her with such force that he wound up on his back in the dust at her feet.

  Her faint thrill of triumph was short-lived; the expres­sion in his eyes was not to be reckoned with as he eased himself upright. "Damn hell, Kalida, you better take what I say seriously," he warned as he positioned himself behind her chair.

  "I am not going to marry you," she snapped out obstinately.

  "You're not, you're not. Always what you're not," Deuce growled, pushing the chair forward roughly. "You're not going to obey your father, you're not going to pay attention to me, you're not going to walk. Well, we'll see about that, Miss Uppity Ryland." He shoved the chair again in his growing anger. "We'll just see what you're not going to do anymore."

  He barreled her chair past the corral, but then, instead of turning toward the house, he swerved it in the direction of the barn.

  "Where are you taking me?" Kalida demanded, her tone both angry and wary. He was going crazy, she was sure of it, and she weighed very seriously the notion of flinging herself out of her seat. But suddenly he jolted the chair to a stop, and before she could stop him, he heaved her up over his shoulder and carried her down to the barn while she beat her fists futilely against his canyon wall of a back.

  She couldn't see where he was taking her, so she was utterly shocked when he abruptly swung her down and dropped her unceremoniously into one of the watering troughs.

  Kalida flailed around ineffectually as she tried to get her bearings and pull herself upright, sputtering and cursing at him as she did, remembering with a shattering

  start 'that sent her heart careening to her toes that she must not move her legs, aware he was watching her every movement, and trying with all that to think of something equally humiliating to pay him back.

  Finally she shifted herself into a sitting position and pushed the sodden masses of hair out of her streaming eyes. "I won't swim for you either," she spat through clenched teeth as, with both hands, she agitated the water and then dashed it into the smug face that leaned over her.

  "You may yet crawl to me," Deuce retorted in a grating tone of voice that had no humor in it whatsoever. He was awed by her determination to continue portraying the invalid. He could not tell from the motion and commo­tion when he tossed her into the water whether her arms were moving or her legs, and by the time she had calmed down, her resolve was back in place and his experiment had obviously failed. Nonetheless, drowned as she was, she looked utterly beguiling. Her sopping nightgown looked like it was pasted to her skin, and everything beneath was totally visible.