Книга - Slow Waltz Across Texas

Slow Waltz Across Texas
Peggy Moreland


World rodeo champ Clayton Rankin had honorably married Rena when she' d gotten pregnant…hell, he' d given the twins his name! What more could a wife want? Cuddles? Well, cowboys don' t take too easily to cuddles. But Rena needed tenderness– and Clayton would do anything to keep his woman. So he' d darn well convince his beautiful Texas bride that he was 100% husband material. Even if it meant a lifetime of tenderness…









“We Don’t Have A Relationship. We Simply Share An Address And A Bed, When The Mood Strikes You.”


Clayton slammed his fist against the railing, then whirled to face Rena. “Haven’t I provided you with a home, seen that you and the kids have everything you need, everything you could possibly want? What the hell is it you expect from me?”

Rena stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. Then she dragged the back of her hand across her cheek and gave her chin a lift. “Nothing,” she said and turned for the door. “Absolutely nothing.”

Something in her voice—a certainty of purpose, a calmness despite the earlier storm—chilled Clayton to the bone. This wasn’t some dramatic stunt she was pulling in order to get his attention. She really intended to leave him!

But Clayton wasn’t a four-time rodeo world champion for nothing. He knew how to win his heart’s desire…and his heart had never desired anything more than his wife….






The toughest men in Texas

are about to be tamed!


Dear Reader,

As we celebrate Silhouette’s 20


anniversary year as a romance publisher, we invite you to welcome in the fall season with our latest six powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!

In September’s MAN OF THE MONTH, fabulous Peggy Moreland offers a Slow Waltz Across Texas. In order to win his wife back, a rugged Texas cowboy must learn to let love into his heart. Popular author Jennifer Greene delivers a special treat for you with Rock Solid, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion, BODY & SOUL.

Maureen Child’s exciting miniseries, BACHELOR BATTALION, continues with The Next Santini Bride, a responsible single mom who cuts loose with a handsome Marine. The next installment of the provocative Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Mail-Order Cinderella by Kathryn Jensen, in which a plain-Jane librarian seeks a husband through a matchmaking service and winds up with a Fortune! Ryanne Corey returns to Desire with a Lady with a Past, whose true love woos her with a chocolate picnic. And a nurse loses her virginity to a doctor in a night of passion, only to find out the next day that her lover is her new boss, in Doctor for Keeps by Kristi Gold.

Be sure to indulge yourself this autumn by reading all six of these tantalizing titles from Silhouette Desire!

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




Slow Waltz Across Texas

Peggy Moreland







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Knowing that I’ve entertained a reader or fulfilled a reader’s

expectations is what makes the hours of sitting in front of a

computer monitor worthwhile. I’d like to dedicate this book to

four readers who have always taken the time to write and tell

me that they’ve enjoyed my stories: Daisella Vann,

Bonnie Hendricks, Kathleen Stone and Christy Jenkins.

Thank you, ladies, for the kind words, the unflagging support

and the encouragement you’ve offered throughout the years.




PEGGY MORELAND


published her first romance with Silhouette in 1989 and continues to delight readers with stories set in her home state of Texas. Winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, a nominee for the Romantic Times Magazine Reviewer’s Choice Award and a finalist for the prestigious RITA Award, Peggy has appeared on the USA Today and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. When not writing, she enjoys spending time at the farm riding her quarter horse, Lo-Jump. She, her husband and three children make their home in Round Rock, Texas. You may write to Peggy at P.O. Box 2453, Round Rock, TX 78680-2453.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue




One


He could see it, almost feel it, as he watched them.

He imagined calling out their names. Hey, Brittany! Brandon! His children turning to him, their eyes going wide, their surprise upon seeing their daddy quickly turning to excitement. They would run down the sidewalk, squealing, their chunky little legs churning, their tiny arms flung wide in welcome. Laughing, he would scoop them up in a big bear hug and swing them around and around until they were all three dizzy.

He could see it. Almost feel it.

Almost.

But a fear learned at an early age of exposing his feelings and being rejected kept Clayton from putting the scene he envisioned to the test.

Instead he strode across the street to the park where the twins played, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, his expression shadowed by his cowboy hat, his eyes—as well as his emotions—concealed behind dark aviator sunglasses. He came to a stop not six feet from the sandbox where the twins were carrying on a game of tug-of-war with a bright red sand bucket.

“My turn,” four-year-old Brittany cried, giving the bucket a determined tug.

“No, mine,” her twin brother, Brandon, argued stubbornly, and yanked right back.

The plastic sand bucket looked as if it would snap any minute from the pressure placed on it by two sets of warring hands.

“Can’t you two share?”

Clayton didn’t realize how gruffly he’d spoken the question until two little heads whipped around to peer up at him, two sets of brown eyes wide with fear. They released their holds on the bucket and the loss of tension sent both toppling over backward in opposite directions. He stooped and lifted them from the sand, tucking one under each arm, as if they were sacks of feed.

“Clayton! What do you think you’re doing?”

He turned to see his wife charging across the park’s carefully manicured grass toward him, her face flushed with anger. When had she cut her hair? he wondered in dismay. That beautiful blond mane. Gone.

Shocked by the dramatic change the new style made in her appearance, he let his gaze drift down her length, noting the body-hugging white T-shirt tucked into crisp khaki shorts, and the stretch of long, tanned legs. And when had she managed to lose that last ten, stubborn pounds she’d carried since the twins’ birth? he asked himself. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her. Had it been a month? Two? Or closer to three?

She reached him and snatched his daughter from his arms, her brown eyes dark with fury.

And that’s when he noticed that her wedding ring was missing—the simple gold band he’d bought her in the jewelry store right down the street from the courthouse where they’d married. The shock he’d felt upon seeing the changes in her appearance quickly gave way to icy-cold dread.

Rena had never taken off her wedding band before. Not even when the twins were born. He could still remember her stubborn refusal to remove it when the nurses at the hospital had demanded she take it off before wheeling her into the delivery room. With the twins’ birth imminent, a compromise had quickly been reached, and the nurses had wound surgical tape around the ring, sealing it against her finger.

Realizing the significance of the missing ring, Clayton swallowed hard and shifted his gaze to hers to find her still glaring at him.

She quickly shifted Brittany to her hip and reached for Brandon. But Clayton turned away, preventing her from taking his son from him, as well. He hefted the boy up into his arms, but kept his gaze on his wife. “Hello, Rena.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you doing here, Clayton?”

“I came to take my family back home where they belong.”

Brittany clapped a palm against her mother’s cheek and forced her face to hers. “Are we goin’ home, Mommy?” she asked, her eyes wide with hope.

Rena caught her daughter’s hand in hers and pressed a kiss against the center of the tiny palm, before offering her a soft smile of regret. “No, darling.”

Brittany pushed her lips out into a pout. “But I wanna go home.”

“Me, too,” Brandon complained, echoing his sister’s sentiments.

Rena leaned over and lovingly brushed a lock of blond hair from her son’s forehead. “But the ranch isn’t our home any longer,” she reminded him gently. “Remember? We’re staying with Nonnie and Pawpaw for a few days, then we’re moving to a home of our own.”

Brandon slipped an arm around Clayton’s neck. “But what about Daddy?” he asked uncertainly. “Isn’t he going to move with us, too?”

Rena’s gaze flicked to Clayton’s, then quickly back to her son’s. “No, sweetheart,” she said gently, though Clayton was sure he heard a quaver in her voice. “Daddy’s home is at the ranch.”

Brittany thrust out her lower lip and turned to look at her father. “But the ranch is our home, too, isn’t it, Daddy?”

Clayton cleared his throat, not sure he could work a sound past the emotion that tightened his throat. “It sure is, baby.”

Rena snapped her gaze to his, and he could see the anger, the resentment in the brown depths. “Don’t make this any harder than it already is, Clayton,” she warned in a low voice.

He lifted a shoulder. “You’re the one who uprooted the kids. Not me.”

Brittany’s hand pressed against her mother’s cheek again, turning her face to hers. “What’s uprooted mean, Mommy?”

Forcing a smile for her daughter’s sake, Rena tickled Brittany’s tummy, making her giggle. “It means I dug you up out of the dirt like I would a tree,” she teased, then swung her daughter up high in the air, making her squeal.

“Do me, Mommy!” Brandon cried, stretching his arms out to his mother. Rena took him from Clayton and wrapped her arms around both her children, clutching them to her breasts. She spun in a fast, dizzying circle, until all three collapsed onto the soft grass in a tangle of legs and arms, laughing.

Clayton tucked his own empty hands beneath his armpits and watched his wife and children roll around on the grass, feeling like a kid with his nose pressed up against the candy store window, with no means to purchase the sweets displayed inside. He wanted so badly to join them, to romp and play with them on the sweet-smelling grass.

But a lifetime of suppressing his feelings, of standing on the sidelines and wishing, his heart near bursting with the need to feel loved, to feel a part of a family, kept Clayton’s boots glued to that spot of grass where he stood, his hands, empty and aching, still tucked tightly beneath his armpits.



Clayton stood on the patio of his in-laws’ house, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets, staring up at the dark sky. The night was unseasonably cool, but he preferred the chill in the air to the frigid looks he received inside the house. His in-laws didn’t care for him. Never had. But then, he didn’t care much for them, either.

With a weary sigh, he dropped his chin to his chest and settled his gaze on the toe of his boot as he chipped at the patio’s gray slate surface. He supposed he could understand their coolness. They’d had big plans for their only daughter. A life of luxury and refinement much like their own.

And she’d gone off and gotten herself knocked up by some rodeo cowboy.

Yeah, he thought, his sigh heavier this time as he turned his gaze up to the moon. He supposed he could understand the Palmers’ dislike for him.

The French door behind him opened, and he tensed as he listened to the soft tread of footsteps approaching. He knew without looking it was Rena. The scent of her reached him first, and he inhaled deeply, quietly, savoring it. Lord, but he loved the smell of her. Sweet. Feminine. Seductive.

She came to a stop beside him and tipped her face up to the stars, hugging her arms tightly beneath her breasts. “It’s cold out here,” she said with a shiver.

Clayton glanced her way, then shrugged out of his jacket and turned to drape it around her shoulders. She looked up at him in surprise at the gesture, then slowly caught the lapels of the jacket and pulled them around her. He wasn’t sure if it was the suddenness of his movement or the kindness in the act that drew her surprised look. But he wouldn’t ask. He never did. He’d learned years ago never to question. The answers almost always ended up hurting.

When the silence continued to stretch between them, she turned her face away, her mouth dipping into a frown as if he’d disappointed her somehow. Stifling yet another sigh, Clayton turned his gaze back to the sky. They stood side by side though not touching, both staring at the dark star-studded sky. Minutes ticked by, the silence growing heavier and heavier between them.

“Clayton, I—”

“Rena, I—”

They spoke simultaneously, their words tangling. They glanced at each other, then away again, both pressing their lips together in annoyance.

“Go ahead,” Clayton said gruffly. “You first.”

Rena gave her chin a stubborn lift. “No, you,” she insisted. “I’ve had my say.”

Clayton angled his head to look at her, his eyes wide. “You’ve had your say?” he repeated. “A voice mail message telling me that you’re leaving me and taking the kids with you is all you have to say to me after more than four years of marriage?”

She pulled the jacket more closely around her, refusing to look at him. “It’s more than you’ve had to say to me in months.”

He brought his hands to his hips as he glared down at her. “Maybe so, but I wasn’t planning on leaving you,” he said, first thrusting his thumb against his chest, then leveling an accusing finger at her. “And if I was, I sure as hell would’ve given you more warning than a lousy voice mail message.”

Infuriated that he would assume the part of the injured party in their relationship, Rena whirled on him. “And what kind of warning would you have liked, Clayton? Would you have preferred that I’d kicked and screamed and thrown temper tantrums, demanding that you come home so that I could tell you in person that I was leaving you?”

“You’re not that kind of woman. You don’t throw fits. Never have.”

Her eyes blazed with newfound fury. “And how would you know what kind of woman I am? You were always off at another rodeo and never stayed around long enough to find out.” She gave his chest a push and, off balance, he stumbled back a step. She surged forward. “But then, maybe you would have preferred that I loaded up the kids and chased you across the country so that I could tell you face-to-face that I was leaving you. Maybe you would have enjoyed a more public scene than the privacy of a voice mail message.”

When she reached out to give him another angry shove, he stood his ground and grabbed her hand, capturing it in his. “I didn’t expect you do anything but stay at home where you belong.”

“Where I belong?” she repeated incredulously, then wrenched free of his grasp and planted her hands on her hips. “I’m not some cow, that you can stick in a pasture and expect to stay put while you go off and do whatever it is you do when you’re gone. I’m a woman, and I have feelings, needs. I—”

She felt the tears coming and clamped her lips tightly together, refusing to give in to them. When she was sure she had them under control, that she wouldn’t humiliate herself by crying in front of him, she dropped her hands to her sides in defeat. “You don’t care anything for me, Clayton. You never did.”

“I married you, didn’t I! I gave those kids my name.”

She staggered back a step as if he’d struck her, the blood draining from her face.

Realizing too late that he’d hurt her with the carelessly spoken words, he dropped down onto one of the patio chairs and, groaning, buried his face in his hands. He dug the heels of his hands into his forehead, then slowly raked his fingers up through his hair as he lifted his face to look at her. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Rena.”

“Yes, Clayton,” she whispered, unable to keep the tremble, the hurt, from her voice, “I think you did. For the first time in your life, I think you said exactly what you feel.” Flinging off his jacket, she turned on her heel and strode for the patio door, slamming it behind her.



Rather than ask Rena’s parents for permission to stay in their guest bedroom so that he could be near his wife and kids, Clayton settled his horse in a stall at a boarding facility he’d used once before on a trip to Oklahoma, then checked himself into a motel on the edge of town. The accommodations weren’t anything fancy, nothing like the guest bedroom in the Palmers’ home with its canopied bed and luxurious private bath. But the sparse motel room had one thing going for it. He could rest there, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone around watching his every move, analyzing his every word and finding him lacking.

Feeling the frustration rising again, he shrugged off his jacket, then dropped down on the bed and yanked the jacket across his spread knees.

I married you, didn’t I? I gave those kids my name.

Bracing his elbows on his thighs, he dragged his hands slowly down his face, groaning, as he remembered his words to his wife. Why was it that, lately, every time he opened his mouth around Rena, it seemed he stuck his foot in it?

He propped his chin on his fists and stared at the bare wall opposite him. He didn’t have an answer to the question. Hell, he thought, surging to his feet and tossing the jacket aside. He didn’t have any answers at all. He paced the length of the room and back, a hand cupped around the base of his neck, massaging at the tension there.

The voice mail she’d left him informing him that she was leaving him had come as a shock. But that blow hadn’t been anything compared to the one he’d received when he’d returned to their ranch and discovered Rena and the kids were already gone.

He stopped in front of the door and gulped back a sob, hearing again the eerie silence that had greeted him when he’d stepped inside the house, the hollow echo of his footsteps in rooms once filled with his children’s furniture and toys, the squeal of their laughter.

Rena had been right, he admitted miserably, in saying he’d never been around much. Riding the rodeo circuit left little time for visits home. But in spite of his absences he’d always found comfort in knowing that his home was there for him, as were Rena and the kids, waiting for his return. And for a man who had never had a home or a family, the ranch had provided a sense of security he’d desperately needed.

A security it appeared he was about to lose.

He couldn’t lose his home and family, he told himself, feeling the panic squeezing at his chest, the loss already weighing heavy on his heart. He couldn’t. Rena and the kids meant everything to him. They were his life, his reason for living.

Without them he was nothing.

Nothing.



Rena lay on her side, her knees drawn to her chest, a corner of the sheet pressed tightly against her lips. Hot, silent tears saturated the pillow beneath her cheek.

She’d done the right thing, she told herself. She’d had to leave Clayton. She couldn’t go on living with him the way things were and continue to pretend that nothing was wrong. Not with him gone all the time and her left alone on the ranch with the children.

Not without his love to keep her company during the long, lonely nights when he was away.

She felt a sob rising and pressed the sheet more tightly against her lips to choke it back.

He didn’t love her. He couldn’t. If he did, he would come home more often, would want to spend more time with her and the twins. As it was, he was gone weeks at a time, never even bothering to call and check on her or their children. And even when he was at home, she reminded herself tearfully, he wasn’t there, at least not emotionally. Not for her.

When he was at the ranch, which seemed to occur less and less frequently, he took care of what business needed his attention, then he’d leave again. And while he was there, he never looked at her, never talked to her, nor did he ever listen when she tried to talk to him.

And he never touched her anymore…except when they were in bed.

As a result, she felt empty inside, drained, as if she were a well that was drawn from time and time again, but with no one to replenish her emotional supply. She was dry, empty and felt as if she had nothing left to offer those who needed her most. Her children.

She rolled to her back, clutching the sheet to her breasts, and stared at the shadows dancing on the ceiling overhead. Was it so wrong to want Clayton’s attention? she asked herself. To need it? To even demand it? She was his wife, after all, and there was no one else to give her the things she needed. And that realization was what had finally pushed her into leaving him, she knew.

She had no one.

Yet she still had needs.

She felt the familiar ache in her breasts beneath the weight of her arms. How long had it been since he had touched her there? Swept his tongue across her nipples? Suckled at her breasts? How long since he had lain with her, the heat of his body warming hers, his comforting weight pressing her more deeply into the bed they shared so rarely? How long since he’d buried himself in her? Filled her with his seed?

The ache spread, throbbing to life between her legs. Biting back a sob, she rolled to her side again.

Yes, she thought as the tears scalded her throat.

Rena Rankin still had needs.



Stretched out on one of the cushioned lounge chairs beside her parents’ pool, Rena crossed her legs at the ankles and took a sip of her lemonade.

“So, are you going home with him?”

Rena shook her head at her friend Megan’s question, then set her glass of lemonade on the wrought-iron table between them. “No, that wouldn’t solve anything.”

Megan drew back, looking at Rena in dismay. “Surely you aren’t planning on staying here with your parents?”

Rena cast a glance over her shoulder at the stately two-story mansion behind them with its glistening mullioned windows, the long stretch of French doors that lined the curved patio, the carefully manicured shrubs that hugged the mauve stone walls and the urns spilling with brightly colored flowers, which changed almost magically with the seasons. Wealth. Perfection. Success. Those were the images her parents’ home drew; the same images to which they had tried to make their only daughter conform. The same images she’d wanted so desperately to escape as a young, single woman. With a shudder she glanced away. “No, not permanently. Just for a few days.”

Megan stretched out a hand and took Rena’s, squeezing it within her own. “Oh, Rena,” she murmured, her eyes filled with concern, “are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Honestly?” At Megan’s earnest nod, Rena sighed and withdrew her hand from her friend’s. She pressed her head back against the plump cushions and stared blindly up at the clouds floating across the sky overhead. “No, but I can’t go on living with Clayton. Not with the way things are between us.”

“But you love Clayton! I know you do.”

Rena lifted a shoulder. “I thought I did. But now…I’m not sure anymore.”

“Of course you love him! And he loves you!”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“How do you know that? Has he told you that he doesn’t?”

Rena snorted indelicately. “No, but Clayton rarely says anything. Or at least, not to me.”

“Then you can’t possibly know that he doesn’t love you.”

Rena turned her head slowly to peer at Megan through the dark sunglasses that concealed eyes swollen from a night spent crying over that very actuality. “Trust me,” she replied dryly. “I know.”

Megan huffed a breath and flopped back against the cushions, folding her arms stubbornly beneath her breasts. “Well, I think he does.”

Rena sputtered a laugh. “And why would you think that? You haven’t been around Clayton or talked to him in years.”

“I was there the night you met him,” Megan reminded her. “Remember?”

Rena turned her face away. “Yes, I remember.”

“And do you also remember how you two just seemed to click?” she asked, snapping two fingers together for emphasis. “I’ve never seen chemistry like that before, nor have I since.”

Rena fluttered a hand, dismissing her friend’s opinion. “Lust. Pure and simple.”

Megan jackknifed to a sitting position. “It was not just lust!” she cried, then clamped her lips together and stole a quick glance at the house to make sure that no one had overheard her. Though no faces appeared in any of the windows, she lowered her voice, obviously concerned that Rena’s mother was hovering on the other side of the doors, as she had when they were teenagers, eavesdropping on their conversation. “Two star-crossed lovers destined to meet,” she whispered furiously to Rena. “That’s what the two of you were. One look from Clayton, one touch, and you came alive.”

Even as her friend described the event, Rena felt the leap of nerves beneath her skin, the quickening of her breath, the heat racing through her veins. She could see Clayton as he’d stood that night, alone at the edge of the dance floor, his hands braced low on his hips. The sleeves of his black Western shirt had been rolled to his elbows, exposing muscled forearms dusted with dark hair, and his black cowboy hat had been shoved back on his head, revealing the sharp angles of an incredibly handsome face.

Black. The bad guys always wear black, she remembered thinking at the time, even as she’d smiled flirtatiously at him when he’d looked her way.

Furious with herself for even thinking about Clayton and the night they’d first met, she sat up impatiently. “Lust,” she repeated stubbornly and reached for the bottle of sunscreen sitting on the table. “It was nothing but lust.”

“How can you say that?” Megan cried. “You were crazy about him!”

Frowning, Rena smeared the cream over her legs. “Crazy being the operative word.”

“Uggh,” Megan groaned, obviously frustrated by having her words twisted around. “You weren’t crazy! In fact, accepting Clayton’s invitation to dance was probably the sanest and bravest thing you’d ever done in your life.”

When Rena humphed her disagreement, Megan swung her legs over the side of the chair and snatched the bottle of sunscreen from Rena’s hand. “You listen to me, Rena Rankin,” she ordered sternly. “Up until that night, you’d lived your entire life at your parents’ direction, being the dutiful daughter, the perfect little debutante, doing exactly what you were told, never daring to veer either left or right from the path they’d mapped out for you. But with Clayton you forgot all that, and you were simply you!”

“Me?” Rena sputtered a laugh. “I was twenty-one years old, extremely naive and looking for trouble. And I found it,” she added bitterly.

“You weren’t looking for trouble.”

“Wasn’t I?” Rena asked, arching a brow above the rim of her sunglasses as she peered at her friend. “Slumming. Isn’t that what you called it that night when you suggested that the three of us go inside that country-western dance hall in Oklahoma City? Three sorority girls from the University of Oklahoma mixing and mingling with the local yokels, I believe is how you described it.”

Megan’s cheeks reddened, but she lifted her chin defensively. “Okay. So maybe my intentions weren’t totally charitable, but I was proven wrong, wasn’t I? The cowboys we met that night treated us with more respect than any of the fraternity boys ever had, didn’t they?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Didn’t seem to want one. “They were gentlemen. Treated us like ladies. And we had fun, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Rena agreed, with a decisive nod of her head. “We definitely had fun. But I paid for the fun I had that night.”

Rena sighed heavily, weary from arguing with her friend. “Look, Megan,” she said patiently, hoping to make her friend understand. “I know my leaving Clayton seems impulsive, irrational, maybe even a mistake. And perhaps it is,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last few months. Not just about my relationship with Clayton, but about me, and I’ve discovered some things about myself that I don’t like very much.

“For years I allowed my parents to control my life, based my happiness on their approval. And when I married Clayton, I simply transferred that control to him. I don’t blame him,” she said quickly when Megan appeared as if she was about to argue. “Not totally, anyway. Although I do believe things might have been different if Clayton had been willing to be more of a husband to me and more of a father to the children, if he’d only loved us more and been willing to show his love for us. But I realized that nothing was going to change for us or me,” she added emphatically, “unless I made some changes myself.”

“And leaving Clayton is your answer to your problems?” Megan asked doubtfully.

“Partially. I need to learn to stand on my own two feet. To be independent.” Rena smiled softly, thinking of the steps she’d already taken in that direction. “I’ve bought a house in Salado, a wonderful old place that the twins and I can live in while I restore it. And I’m starting an interior design business, something I’ve always dreamed of doing but…” she smiled ruefully, not wanting to place blame. “Well, let’s just say I allowed others to keep me from pursuing that dream.”

“Oh, Rena,” Megan began sorrowfully.

But before she could say more a shrill voice called from the patio. “Rena! Rena, dear! You have a guest.”

Hearing the displeasure in her mother’s voice, Rena didn’t need to turn to see who her visitor was…but she did, anyway. And when she did, she saw that Clayton was already walking down the flagstone path that led to the pool, not waiting for an invitation to join her. His stride was long and loose, yet purposeful, his shoulders broad beneath a crisp black Western shirt. The jeans he wore hugged his hips and thighs and hung low over his boot heels, the starched denim fabric creating a soft whisking sound with each step he took on the uneven stone path.

Heat flooded her face at the sight of him, every nerve burning with awareness, and she was grateful that the sunglasses hid her eyes from him…without them she was certain he’d see the yearning in them.

“In fact, I’m still paying for that fun,” she murmured under her breath.

Megan rose, smiling. “Clayton!” she called, her pleasure obvious. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Clayton swept off his hat and stretched out a hand, his expression guarded. “Megan. It’s been a while.”

“More than a while. Years!” she exclaimed, laughing as she squeezed his hand between hers. “How are you?”

Clayton glanced quickly at Rena, one corner of his mouth dipping into a scowl. “I’ve been better.”

Megan glanced over her shoulder at Rena. “Yes,” she said sympathetically as she turned back to Clayton. “I would imagine you have.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and rose to her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “But the war’s not over, yet,” she whispered close to his ear.

She laughed when he ducked his head, his cheeks reddening. “Still the same shy cowboy, I see,” she teased.

“Clayton shy?” Rena snorted and rose from her chair. “That’ll be the day.”

“Sure he is,” Megan replied and shot Clayton a sly wink. “And he’s so cute when he blushes, don’t you think?”

Rena glanced at Clayton, then away, frowning. “If you say so,” she said, refusing to rise to the bait.

Clayton snugged his hat back over his head, irritated by his wife’s indifference. “If you’ll excuse us, Megan,” he said, glaring at Rena’s back. “Rena and I have some business to discuss.”

“Clayton!” Rena cried in dismay, whirling to look at him. “How rude. Megan only just arrived.”

“That’s okay,” Megan said, and scooped her purse from the patio table. “I need to go, anyway. I’m supposed to meet Harold at the club for lunch.” She gave Rena a quick hug. “I’ll call you later,” she said, giving Rena a meaningful look, then turned to leave, whispering to Clayton as she brushed past him, “Hang in there, cowboy. I’m on your side.”

Clayton waited until Megan was out of earshot before turning to Rena. “Where are the kids?”

Furious with him for the way he’d rushed Megan off, Rena dropped down onto the lounge chair and snatched up the bottle of sunscreen again. “With Dad.”

“I’d like to see them.”

“When?”

“Do I have to make an appointment to see my own kids?”

She heard the resentment in his voice and bit back her own caustic retort, knowing she wasn’t being fair. After all, they were his children, too. “No,” she replied as she spread the cream over her right calf. “But, in the future, you might want to call first to make certain they’re here before you drop by.”

Clayton watched her smooth the cream over her calf, then up her thigh, his gaze lingering on the sun-warmed flesh her skimpy bikini left exposed. Setting his jaw against the desire he felt rising, he dropped down on the foot of the chair Megan had vacated and braced his elbows on his thighs as he looked out across the pool. “When are we going to talk about this, Rena?”

“Talk about what?” she asked and calmly squirted more cream onto her palm.

He angled his head over his shoulder to look at her. “About our marriage.”

She snorted a laugh and swept her hand across her middle, smearing the cream over her bare abdomen. “What marriage?”

“Our marriage,” he shot back. “The one you seem so anxious to end.”

“We don’t have a marriage, Clayton. We have nothing but a legal document that binds us together.”

“We damn sure do have a marriage, and a family, too,” he told her furiously. “And I think it’s high time you quit playing whatever little game this is you’re playing and come home where you belong.”

She slammed the bottle down on the table hard enough to make the carved iron legs wobble. Grabbing the chair’s arms, she jerked herself forward and leaned across the distance that separated them, putting her face only inches from his. “This isn’t a game, Clayton,” she warned him darkly. “This is my life we’re talking about.”

He ripped off his hat, tossing it to the tiled deck that skirted the kidney-shaped pool, and twisted around to face her fully. Though frightened by the anger that turned his blue eyes to steel, Rena refused to shrink away from him.

“And mine,” he grated out. “And, by God, I have a right to know why you left me.”

“Why?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Does it hurt your male pride to have to tell your traveling buddies, Pete and Troy, that your wife left you?”

He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, taking her by surprise, and yanked her closer still, his fingers digging into her bare skin.

She struggled, trying to get free. “Clayton! Let go of me!”

He dug his fingers deeper. “Don’t mess with me, Rena,” he warned. “I’ve already listened to about all the verbal abuse I can stomach for one day.”

She stilled immediately, her face going pale. “Mother,” she whispered. “What did she say to you?”

He dropped his hands and twisted back around, bracing his forearms on his thighs again and scowling at the pool’s shimmering surface. “Nothing.”

She grabbed his elbow and tugged, but only succeeded in drawing herself to the edge of her chair, not turning him back to face her as she’d wanted. “Clayton!” she cried in frustration. “What did she say to you?”

He thinned his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing that she hasn’t said before.” He gave his arm a jerk, pulling his elbow from her grasp. “I want to see my kids. When will they be back?”

“Soon,” she murmured, staring at his stiff spine. “Dad wanted to take them to the office so he could show them off.”

Clayton stood abruptly and crossed to the edge of the pool, bending to scoop his hat from the tile surface. With his back to her, he settled it over his head and ran his index finger along the edge of the brim in front, snugging it down low over his forehead. “I’m staying at the Wayfarer Inn on Interstate 40. Call me when they get back.”

Rena watched him stride angrily back up the flagstone path toward the house. When he reached the patio, he hesitated a moment, then spun to the left and headed for the side yard and the gate that led to the driveway, obviously anxious to avoid another confrontation with her mother.




Two


Rena stood before the kitchen window, her arms hugged beneath her breasts, staring out at the pool and the lounge chair where Clayton had sat only moments ago. Though her skin still held the warmth of the sun, she rubbed her hands slowly up and down her arms, trying to ease the chill that penetrated to the bone. She could still see the hard set of Clayton’s jaw, the stiffness of his spine, and knew that whatever her mother had said to him had hurt him deeply.

But that was nothing new, she thought wearily. Her mother had always delighted in making Clayton feel inferior—though Rena sometimes wondered who her mother hurt more with her biting comments…Clayton or Rena?

Nothing but a shiftless cowboy.

Married out of your class.

A man with his intellect and upbringing couldn’t possibly understand the needs and expectations of a woman with your background and breeding.

Rena had heard her mother’s opinions of her marriage spouted throughout the four-plus years of her marriage to Clayton, but never delivered more smugly than when Rena had arrived in Tulsa with her children in tow and informed her parents that she had left Clayton.

No, her mother had never approved of Clayton, and Rena was sure that Gloria Palmer would feel no compunction at all in letting her son-in-law know exactly how she felt about him. Especially now, when she knew of Rena’s plans to divorce him.

“Oh, there you are, dear.”

Rena glanced over her shoulder as her mother swept into the kitchen, her expression a picture of innocence. “I didn’t realize that I was lost,” she said, trying, but failing, to keep from her voice the resentment her mother’s appearance drew.

“And what has put you in such a foul mood?” her mother asked. “Or should I ask who?” she amended pointedly.

“What did you say to Clayton, Mother?”

“Say?” her mother repeated innocently. “Why nothing out of the ordinary.”

No, Rena thought bitterly, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for her mother to say something unkind to Clayton. But she knew that discussing it further would be a waste of her time. “Why were you looking for me?” she asked instead.

“To tell you that I made a few appointments for you.” Her mother frowned as she took in Rena’s current dress…or lack thereof. “But you’ll need to hurry and change out of your swimsuit and into something more appropriate in order to make them on time.”

“What appointments?”

“At the day spa,” her mother replied, looking pleased with herself. “I thought you might enjoy an afternoon of pampering. Manicure, pedicure, a massage. And darling Jon Mark agreed to work you in for a shampoo and style, as well.”

Rena drew in a deep breath, fighting for patience. Forty-eight hours in her parents’ home and her mother was already trying to take control of her life again. “Thanks, Mother,” she said as she brushed past her, “but I already have plans for the afternoon.”

Gloria spun to stare after her. “But the appointments have already been made! I simply can’t cancel now. Not after Cecille went to such trouble to rearrange everyone’s schedule, in order to work you in.”

Rena stopped and slowly turned. “I’m sorry that Cecille will be inconvenienced. But, as I said, I have plans.”

Gloria planted her hands on her hips. “And what plans could you have possibly made that are so important that they can’t be changed?”

“I’m taking the twins to see Clayton this afternoon.”

Her mother stared at her a moment, then waved away Rena’s plans as if unimportant. “Well, if that’s all that’s keeping you from enjoying a day at the spa, then there’s no problem. I can take the children to see Clayton.”

“That won’t be necessary. I—”

Her mother held up a hand. “I refuse to listen to another word. You’re going to the spa.” When Rena opened her mouth to argue further, her mother caught her hands in hers and squeezed, her expression turning solicitous. “Please, darling,” she begged softly. “Let me do this for you. You’ve been under such a tremendous strain. An afternoon at the spa will do you a world of good. You’ll see. Please say you’ll go.”

Rena felt herself weakening.

“Please?” her mother coaxed. “If not for yourself, then do it for me.”

Knowing how fruitless it was to argue with her mother, Rena sagged in defeat. “Oh, all right. If you’re sure you don’t mind taking the children to see Clayton.”

“Of course I don’t mind, darling!” Gloria slipped an arm around Rena’s waist and hugged her against her side. “And I don’t want you worrying about a thing while you’re at the spa,” she lectured as she guided Rena to the rear staircase. “You just concentrate on enjoying yourself. No one deserves an afternoon of pampering more than you. Stuck out on that godforsaken ranch all alone with two young, active children.” She made a tsking sound with her tongue. “I wonder how you stood it as long as you did.”



After spending four hours at the day spa being pampered, polished and fawned over, Rena returned to her parents’ home feeling relaxed and renewed. Maybe Mother was right, she reflected grudgingly as she entered the side door that opened from the portico into the kitchen. An afternoon of pampering might have been exactly what she needed to put her in a better frame of mind.

As she stepped into the kitchen, Brittany turned from the breakfast bar, wearing a milk mustache. “Mommy!” she squealed, and flung her arms wide, inviting a hug.

“Hi, sweethearts,” Rena said, catching both her children in an exuberant hug.

“Mrs. Carson made us cookies,” Brandon said, his expression serious as always as he held up one, minus a bite, as proof.

Rena smiled fondly at the housekeeper who stood on the opposite side of the bar. “Spoiling them, I see.”

Tipping up her nose, Mrs. Carson folded her hands primly at her waist. “No more than I did you, when you still lived at home.”

Laughing because she knew what the housekeeper said was true, Rena plucked a chocolate chip cookie from the plate and took a bite before glancing down at the twins. “So what all did you two do this afternoon?”

“Went shopping with Nonnie.”

Rena’s smile slowly melted as she stared at Brittany. “Shopping? But didn’t Nonnie take you to see Daddy?”

“Uh-uh. She took us to the mall. I got a new dress and a necklace, and Brandon got a watch.”

“See?” Brandon said proudly, waving his arm in front of his mother’s face.

Rena caught his wrist and pushed his arm back in order to admire the new watch. “Yes, I see,” she said, forcing a smile for her son’s sake.

She glanced over at Mrs. Carson. “And where is Mother?” she asked pointedly.

Avoiding Rena’s gaze, the housekeeper set the plate of cookies on the counter in front of the twins and turned away. “Getting dressed for dinner,” she said, then cast an uneasy glance over her shoulder and added, “She’s invited a guest.”

“Who?” Rena asked, praying that her mother had fulfilled her promise by inviting Clayton to dinner.

“Uncle Bill,” Brittany supplied helpfully. “He’s nice. When we were at Pawpaw’s bank, he let me and Brandon play with his computer.”

Furious with her mother for not taking the children to see Clayton as she’d assured Rena she would, Rena reached for the phone. “Set another plate, Mrs. Carson. We’ll be having another guest for dinner.”



The call Clayton had waited on all afternoon finally came while he was at the boarding facility, feeding and exercising his horse. But the message Rena had left for him with the hotel’s switchboard operator, inviting him to join the Palmers for dinner, wasn’t the one he’d expected, nor was it how he’d have chosen to spend his evening, if he’d been given a choice.

But he would have dinner at his in-laws’ house, he told himself as he settled his hat over his head, if that’s what it took to get to see his wife and kids.

Yet, even knowing he had an evening with his family to look forward to, Clayton still found himself stopping at the foot of the circular drive that curved in front of his in-laws’ home and looking up at the stately mansion, feeling all the old inadequacies stealing over him.

Rena’s childhood home had always intimidated him, as did her parents. The house screamed money and permanence, two things that had been conspicuously missing from his own life, until a few short years ago. And though he was sure his current net worth didn’t come close to matching that of his wife’s parents, he’d come a long way in closing the gap that had once separated them.

He’d worked hard at rodeoing and had made quite a name for himself, winning four World Champion Calf Roper buckles, and missing out on two other buckles by fractions of a second. With success had come commercial offers for endorsements, though he still couldn’t get used to seeing his face plastered on billboards and staring back at him from glossy magazine ads.

And he’d thought he had created a sense of permanency, as well. The fifteen-hundred-acre ranch near Austin, Texas, was home to him…or at least it had been, before Rena had packed up the kids and left. Now the very thought of returning there alone made his stomach knot in dread.

He wouldn’t go home alone, he told himself, and forced himself to take that first step up the drive. Rena, Brittany and Brandon would be going home with him. He wouldn’t allow himself to even consider any other possibility.

Frowning, he punched the doorbell, then stepped back, listening to the muffled Westminster chime echo through the house’s expansive interior. From the opposite side of the door, he heard the impatient click of high heels on the marble entry and knew who would greet him at the door. Tensing, he braced himself for the confrontation as the door opened.

“Good evening, Clayton.” Mrs. Palmer offered him a stiff smile as she opened the door wider, inviting him in. “Everyone’s in the solarium, enjoying the sunset. Why don’t you join them while I check on dinner?”

Solarium? The word sounded as pompous and un-inviting to Clayton as the woman who’d uttered it. Left to find his way to the room alone, he pulled off his hat with a sigh of resignation and tossed it onto the heavily carved marble table centered beneath the entry hall’s dome-shaped ceiling, wishing he were most anywhere but there.

But then he heard the irresistible trill of Brittany’s excited chatter, and he headed for the solarium. He caught sight of his daughter immediately, leaning over the side of the fountain, her stomach pressed flat against the smooth stone. Her arm was stretched out as far as she could reach, as she tossed pennies toward the base of the mermaid who rose from the fountain as if breaking through the ocean’s surface.

“Whoa, shortcake,” he said, and caught her by the hem of her dress, saving her from pitching face first into the fountain’s pool. “You’re supposed to toss the pennies, not personally deliver them.”

Laughing, Brittany spun around and made a wild leap from the side of the fountain and straight into her daddy’s arms, taking him by surprise.

“Daddy!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and clinging. “You came!”

Stunned by the unexpected exuberance in her welcome, Clayton had to swallow back emotion at the feel of the little arms wound tightly around his neck. “Course, I did, shortcake.” He gave her an awkward hug, then shifted her to his hip. “I was invited, wasn’t I?”

Brittany put a hand at the side of her mouth and leaned to whisper in his ear, “Yeah, but Nonnie said you wouldn’t come.”

Clayton turned to frown at the doorway just as his mother-in-law entered the solarium. “She did, did she?” he muttered, his frown deepening.

“Yeah. She said you didn’t have the graces to eat with us, but I told her you did.”

Clayton cocked his head to peer at his daughter in confusion. “Graces?” he repeated, frowning. Then slowly he realized what his mother-in-law must have said. “You mean social graces, don’t you, shortcake?” he asked wryly.

“Yeah,” she said, bobbing her head. “Social graces. Nonnie said you didn’t have any, but you do, don’t you, Daddy?”

Though he was tempted to leave right then and there, Clayton knew he wouldn’t. Not and let his in-laws think they could run him off that easily. “Do you know what social graces are?” he asked her.

She pushed her lips out into a pout. “No. I asked Mommy, but she just kept yellin’ at Nonnie and wouldn’t answer me.”

Clayton’s eyebrows shot up. “Your mother was yelling at Nonnie?”

Brittany nodded her head again, making her pigtails bob. “Uh-huh.” Scrunching her nose up impishly, she placed a hand at the side of her mouth again and leaned close. “And Mommy said a no-no word, too,” she whispered, then clapped her fingers over her mouth to smother a giggle.

Though he would love nothing better than to ask his daughter why her mother was yelling at Nonnie, Clayton knew that wouldn’t be right. Instead, he glanced around, looking for Rena. “Where is your mother?” he asked.

Brittany lifted a hand, pointing. “Over there.”

At that moment Clayton saw his wife, stepping around a tall potted palm, smiling at something a man following her was saying. She froze when her gaze met Clayton’s, and he would swear it was guilt he saw in her eyes before she looked away.

The jealous rage that swelled inside him was wild and dark, and tore through him like a wild bronc trying to bust his way out of a chute.

“Daddy,” Brittany complained, wriggling in his arms. “You’re hurtin’ me.”

Clayton immediately loosened his grip, unaware that, in his rage, he’d tightened his arms around her. “Sorry, shortcake,” he murmured, unable to take his eyes off his wife. “Who’s the man with Mommy?” he asked with a jerk of his chin in the direction of the two.

Brittany twisted around in his arms and looked. “Uncle Bill. He’s nice,” she said, turning to smile at Clayton. “He works at Pawpaw’s bank.”

A man from Pawpaw’s bank, huh? So that’s the plan, Clayton thought bitterly, as the pieces of the puzzle slowly clicked into place. Seemed Rena’s parents were already busy picking out his replacement.



“Did I hear correctly?” Bill asked, smiling—or was that leering?—at Clayton over a glass of Bordeaux from the opposite side of the table. “You rope calves for a living?”

Clayton ground his teeth, but managed a civil tone when he replied, “Yeah, you heard correctly.”

“And you get paid to do this?”

“When I win. But rodeoing isn’t my sole source of income.”

“Really?” Bill braced his elbows on the table and lazily swirled his wine around the bowl of the crystal goblet he held between hands that looked as pampered as any lady’s. “And what other businesses are you involved in?”

“I endorse a line of Western wear and a line of roping supplies, plus we run around two hundred head of cattle on our ranch.” He turned to Rena and forced a tight smile. “Don’t we, dear?” he asked, emphasizing the “we” so that Bill would get the message that his wife was still very much married and off-limits.

“Yes,” she said, and offered him a brittle smile in return. “We certainly do.”

“Run cattle,” Bill repeated thoughtfully as he sipped at his wine. “And what exactly does a man do when he ‘runs’ cattle?”

Clayton tried hard not to laugh. The man was more of a greenhorn than he’d first thought. “He raises them,” he replied dryly. “We have a cow-calf operation, which means we keep a herd of mama cows on the ranch, and several bulls to service them. Come fall, we’ll castrate most of the bull calves that were born last spring, then—”

He heard a silver fork clatter against bone china and glanced over to find Mrs. Palmer staring at him, her face mottled with indignation.

“Really, Clayton,” she chided. “I hardly think this is appropriate dinner conversation.”

Clayton gestured with his fork across the table at Bill. “He asked.”

Her frown of disapproval deepened before she turned it into an adoring smile as she shifted her gaze to Bill. “I’m sure Bill was just being polite by inquiring about your business interests. Bill’s quite a successful man himself, you know. Not only has he done a fine job heading up the trust department at Martin’s bank, he has also amassed a sizable fortune for himself with his own investments.”

Bill lifted his glass in a silent toast to Rena’s father. “I had an excellent teacher.”

“And he’s built an elegant home on Grand Lake,” Gloria added, “with the most stunning views. And he designed it himself. He’s quite talented, you know. You must see it, Rena,” she said, turning to her daughter. “Perhaps you can persuade Bill to give you a personal tour.”

Abruptly, Rena shoved back her chair, her arm striking Clayton’s as she rose. He glanced up and was surprised to see that her face was flushed with anger.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said tersely, then spun and all but ran from the room.



Rena stood before the vanity in her bathroom, her fingers curled tightly around the cold marble, forcing herself to take long, deep, calming breaths. It didn’t help. Rage, white-hot and blinding, continued to burn through her.

She felt as if she were caught in a game of human tug-of-war. Her parents on one side; Clayton on the other. Her trapped in the middle, being pulled first one way, then the other, until she was sure she would snap in two at the pressure being placed on her.

She whirled away from the vanity, scraping her bangs from her forehead and holding them against the top of her head. Coming to her parents, when she’d left Clayton, had been a mistake. She could see that now. But she’d wanted so badly for the twins to spend time with their grandparents, to get to know them better, and she’d thought that this would be the perfect opportunity.

With a moan of frustration, she dropped her arms, fisting her hands at her sides. But she should have known that once her parents knew of her plans to divorce Clayton, they would try to take control of her life again. The signs had all been there for her to see. Her father’s offer to handle the legal proceedings of the divorce for her, the expensive gifts her parents plied the children with, the day at the spa arranged by her mother…

But her parents inviting Bill home for dinner had been the last straw. All but parading Bill beneath her nose, expounding on his accomplishments. Pushing. Pushing. Pushing. And in front of Clayton, no less.

She wouldn’t fall into the trap they were placing carefully around her, she told herself. She had lived the first twenty-one years of her life under their manipulative thumbs, being the dutiful daughter, following the path they had carefully and strategically laid out for her.

But she wouldn’t do so again.

Three more days, she reminded herself, inhaling deeply, searching for the strength she knew she would need to stand firm against them. Three more days, then she was leaving her parents’ home and heading back to Texas and the new life she’d planned for herself there.




Three


With dawn less than an hour away and his in-laws’ estate still draped in darkness, Clayton stole across the rear lawn, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the bright patches of moonlight scattered about. Grateful that his in-laws didn’t have any dogs to alert them of his approach, he reached the portico that arched between the Palmers’ four-car garage and their home, and paused to study the stone column support nearest him, wondering if he could pull this off.

Knowing that a desperate situation required desperate measures, he toed off his boots and tossed his hat on top of them. With a resigned sigh, he planted a foot against an uneven stone and hauled himself up. He stretched one arm up high, found a grip along the edge of the roof, then reached up with the other and, straining, hauled himself up. With the slate tiles digging into his stomach, he hitched himself higher and lifted a knee to brace against the roof’s edge. Breathing heavily, he heaved himself up, then stood, dusting off his clothes as he looked around.

He studied the dark house a moment, slowly counting the windows on the second floor, until he found Rena’s. Praying that his wife had left the window open an inch or two as was her habit at the ranch, he crossed to where the portico’s roof joined with that of the main structure and half walked, half crawled his way up the slight incline.

When he found the window open as he’d hoped, he dug his pocketknife from his pocket, slipped the blade between the screen and the window frame and twisted until he’d worked the screen from the brackets that held it in place. After setting the screen aside, he eased the window up higher, swung a leg over the sill and ducked inside the bedroom.

He stood a moment, letting his eyes adapt to the change in light, before tiptoeing to the side of the bed. His heart squeezed a bit as he gazed down at his sleeping wife. Bathed in moonlight that spilled through the open window behind him, she lay on her side, one hand tucked between her cheek and her pillow.

With his gaze on her sleeping profile, he lifted a foot and dragged off first one sock, then the other. Tossing them aside, he unbuckled his belt, and quickly stripped off his jeans. As he eased closer to the side of the bed, he caught his shirt’s lowest button, releasing each disk in turn, until his shirt hung open. Shrugging it off, he dropped it to the pile of clothes already littering the floor, then lifted the corner of the sheet and slipped beneath the covers.

Stretching out beside his wife, he propped himself up on an elbow, content, for the moment, just to watch her sleep. When the urge to touch her became too strong, he lifted a hand and stroked the tips of his fingers beneath her eyelashes, then down along her jaw.

At his fingers’ soft trailing, she snuggled deeper into her pillow, her lips parting on a thready sigh. The pleasure-filled sound hummed through Clayton, calling to something deep in his soul, and, unable to resist any longer, he lowered his face over hers. With a tenderness intended to seduce, he swept his tongue across her lower lip, then pressed his mouth lightly against the moisture he’d left there, warming her lips with his breath, before he began to slowly sip at the sweetness beyond.

He felt another sigh vibrate against his lips, and grew still when she shifted and drew her hand languidly from beneath her cheek to loop it loosely around his neck.

From experience, Clayton knew that her response to him was unconscious, instinctive. He knew, too, that what he was doing probably wasn’t ethical, maybe not even legal…but for sure not fair. But at this point he wasn’t concerned about playing by any set of rules, established or not. He needed to somehow break through Rena’s resistance, reestablish their relationship, remind her of what they’d once shared.

And the bedroom was the one place they’d never had a problem communicating.

The idea to seduce his wife had come to him while he’d been lying in his bed at the motel, alone, miserable. Scared spitless that he was going to lose his wife and family, and frustrated because he hadn’t been able to get Rena alone long enough to talk to her while at his in-laws’ for dinner, he had come up with this plan.

He didn’t doubt for a minute that he could pull off the seduction. A hundred or more times over the years, after arriving home in the middle of the night from a rodeo, he’d slipped into bed with Rena, without ever once waking her. At least not immediately. But eventually he would get around to drawing her from sleep with a slow seduction, much like the one he had planned for tonight.

Hoping that by catching her off guard, her mind dulled with sleep, she would respond naturally, even welcome him into her arms as she had so many times in the past, he let his hand slide down the smooth column of her throat. Feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath his palm, he marveled at it a moment, before he dropped his hand to a breast. He stroked a thumb over her nipple, bringing it to life beneath her nightgown’s thin fabric, then smoothed his palm farther down her front and to her knees, where the hem of her nightgown was bunched. Pleased to at last meet bare skin, he closed his fingers around a shapely calf and squeezed.

She mewled at the gentle pressure, and he froze, holding his breath, as she shifted closer to him and molded her body against his. With her eyes still closed, her mind still obviously clouded with sleep, she lifted her head in a blind search for his mouth. Finding it, she purred her pleasure as she curled her fingers around his neck and drew him down with her. His body responded immediately to her lips’ teasing, his already stiffening sex pushing against the gentle curve of her pelvis.

“Rena?” he whispered.

She hummed a sleepy response against his lips, then opened her mouth to mate her tongue with his in a slow, sensual dance.





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