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  She obeyed him helplessly, sinking into a sweet obliv­ion that throbbed with new sensations. Her hands flat­tened against his shoulder blades. Odd, she thought dazedly, how well they fit together, despite his superior height.

  "Kiss me, Mrs. Tremayne," he whispered, coaxing her lips apart.

  She went under. His mouth was gentle, and then not gentle. She moaned as the pressure and insistence grew to shocking hunger, and she felt her legs begin to tremble against the hard pressure of his.

  He let her go unexpectedly and drew back, his jaw clenched, his eyes strange and glittery. "Wrong time, wrong place," he said huskily. He took a slow breath and surveyed his handiwork, nodded as he saw the unmis­takable signs of arousal. "Yes, you want me," he said under his breath. "That's a start, at least."

  She swallowed. Her lips felt bruised and when she closed them, she tasted him. She wanted to ask him why, but he took her hand and tugged, pulling her along with him.

  "These are Herefords," he said as if nothing at all had happened. "You know that we cross Brahman cattle with shorthorns to produce Santa Gertrudis. Well, this is an­other kind of cross," he said, and proceeded to give her a refresher course in cattle breeding.

  She listened, but her eyes were all over his face, and her body was burning.

  He lit a cigarette while he talked, and once he smiled down at her in a way that made her heart beat heavily. They seemed to have crossed some new bridge, quite un­expectedly, and she felt a sense of excitement that she'd never anticipated. Even when he had to leave her to go back to work, and she was riding home again on the mare, the excitement lingered. She only wished she knew where they were headed together.

  As she gazed at him, drinking in his sharp features, his dark complexion and lithe, muscular build, she won­dered what a child of theirs would look like.

  The thought embarrassed her and she dragged her eyes away. There would be plenty of time for that kind of cu­riosity later, if and when things worked out between them.

  Chapter Eight

  Life got more complicated very quickly. Brandon came by to see Pepi the next morning, a little hesitant because she was still technically married to C.C. Brandon didn't quite understand what was going on. Pepi had told him that the marriage was a mistake, but C.C. was glaring daggers at him from across the living-room coffee table, and he felt like a buck under the sights of a marksman.

  "I, uh, thought we might take in a movie tomorrow night, that is, if C.C. doesn't mind," Brandon added quickly.

  Pepi hadn't seen C.C. until Brandon showed up, but here he sat, self-appointed chaperon, and the way he was watching Brandon made her nervous.

  C.C. leaned back in his chair and smoked his cigarette with arrogant self-confidence. "Pepi is my wife," he told the younger man. "I don't think married ladies should date other men. Just a little quirk of mine," he added with faintly dangerous eyes.

  Brandon's eyes widened. "I thought. . .Pepi said," he faltered, glancing at her and finding no help, "that it was all a mistake."

  "It might have started that way," C.C. replied. "But Pepi and I are determined to make the most of our un­fortunate situation. Aren't we, Penelope?"

  She looked at him uncertainly. She hadn't felt like herself since the day before, when C.C. had kissed her with such passion. He was backing her into a corner, and she couldn't see the way out.

  "Now, look here, C.C," she began.

  He smiled at her lazily. "Connal, sweetheart, remem­ber? Her memory comes and goes, poor little squirt," he told Brandon.

  "It does not!" she raged at him. "I never forget any­thing!"

  "Just a few minutes ago, you forgot you were mar­ried." He shrugged. "Can't blame a man for worrying when his own wife forgets her own wedding."

  Pepi fumed while Brandon shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He looked as if his world was coming down around his ears. "I wanted to have another look at those two heifers with the parasites," he told C.C, changing the subject. "How are those calves that we're treating for scours?"

  "They're better," the older man replied. "But I'd feel easier if we had more time to watch them. We've had a lot of sick cattle. I don't like it."

  "Might not hurt to check the graze," Brandon sug­gested. "They may be getting into something toxic."

  "I had the same idea." C.C. nodded. "I'm going to have those tanks checked today, too. There may be something leaching into the water supply."

  "Just thank your lucky stars we aren't up near the Guadalupe Mountains, where the salt flats are," Bran­don murmured dryly.

  "I do, every day." C.C. got to his feet. "I'll walk you out. We've got company coming today, so I don't have a lot of time to spare. I'll let Darby go with you to see about the calves."

  Pepi didn't like the expression on his face. She jumped up. "I'll go, too."

  C.C. lifted an eyebrow, but he didn't say anything. Pepi went out behind Brandon, who was looking more than a little flustered.

  They walked toward the barn, where Darby, the wiz­ened little wrangler, was working. C.C. left Brandon with him and came back to where Pepi was waiting and watching. He took her arm and led her around the cor­ner of the house, where his Ford sat by the deserted bunkhouse a few hundred yards from the back barn.

  "Where are we going?" she asked.

  "To the airport to meet my brothers, have you forgot­ten?" he asked conversationally.

  "Yes, I guess I had," she said. "But I didn't know I was going with you to get them," she added meaning­fully. "I'm not properly dressed—"

  "You look fine to me," he murmured, his eyes ap­proving the long denim skirt she was wearing with her high-topped moccasins and a pullover knit blouse. "I like your hair down like that."

  "Does it really matter how I wear it?" she asked coolly. "After all, it won't make me any less fat."

  His breath stilled. He caught her hand and turned her toward him, his black eyes quiet and steady on her face. "I regret saying that most of all," he told her, "because you please me exactly the way you are. I wanted to hurt you." He looked down at her small hand in his. "God help me, I said things I never meant to. It was a shock, and not a very pleasant one at the time. I didn't know the circumstances, if that's any excuse. I don't expect you to get over it very soon. But maybe the wounds will heal in time. I have to hope so, Pepi."

  Her pale brown eyes fell to his thin, sensuous mouth and lifted again to meet his eyes. "We were friends," she began. "I wish we could be again."

  "Do you?" He moved a little closer, his expression as much a threat as his taut, fit body. "After yesterday, I doubt either of us is going to be able to settle for just friendship." His eyes fell to her soft mouth. "I want you,"

  She moved back a step, her face mirroring her indeci­sion. "You want Edie, too."

  He frowned. "In the same way you wanted Hale?" he probed suspiciously. "Some suitor, rushing out the door without you. I'd have laid my head open with a stick and taken you off to safety if I'd been him."

  "I'd like to see you lay your own head open with a stick," she muttered;

  He chuckled. "That wasn't what I meant." He lifted his chin and, with one eye narrowed, he looked down his nose at her. "Did you want him, little one?" he asked very softly. He let go of her hand and lifted his, knuck­les down, to her collarbone. He trailed it slowly over the fabric, the sound of it loud in the stillness of early morn­ing, his eyes assessing her sudden color, the rustle of her breath,

  "C.C------ " she whispered uncertainly, but she didn't

  try to move away.

  "It's all right," he said quietly. "I'm your husband."

  She couldn't think, which was just as well. The back of his hand moved down ever further, over the knit blouse to the swell of her breast—back and forth with delicate tenderness, until she felt as if her whole body was on fire. Her breath caught in her throat; she was burning with need.

  As if he sensed her hunger, his forefinger bent and he brushed it down to her nipple, making it go suddenly hard and exquisitely
sensitive. She gasped audibly.

  He saw the heat in her cheeks and felt her faint shud­der with a sense of shocking satisfaction.

  "It was a lie," he said curtly. "You haven't had Hale. You haven't had a man at all."

  She couldn't deny it. But she couldn't move, either. He was casting a spell over her. She loved the pleasure his touch was giving. She was getting drunk on it, in fact.

  He glanced around them, frustrated and hungry to teach her more than this cursory lesson, but there were damned cowboys everywhere, coming out of the wood­work, and any minute they were going to be heading for that back barn. His brothers were due in thirty minutes. He wanted to throw something.

  He looked back down at Pepi, his hard face showing new lines. "This will have to do, for now," he said hus­kily. He slid his free hand under the thick fall of her hair and lifted her mouth. "God, it hurts. . .!" he groaned.

  She didn't understand. His mouth settled on hers in soft, teasing movements and his hand went slowly under her breast to lift its soft weight while his thumb slid roughly over the taut nipple.

  "Oh!" she groaned against his mouth, but it wasn't pain that dragged the sound out of her, and he knew it.

  "Open your mouth," he ground out at her lips.

  She fit her lips to his and lifted her arms around him, shivering, trying to get closer to that expert hand on her breast. But all at once, he moved both hands to her hips and jerked;

  Her shocked exclamation went into his mouth. He moved her thighs in a quick, sharp rotation against his aroused body and then put her away from him just as roughly.

  "No," he said shortly when she tried, dazed, to move back into his arms. "Come on," he said, catching her arm to pull her along with him toward the car.

  His hand was rough on her soft flesh, but she hardly felt it. She was shaking all over. So that was what it felt like to make love. She was sure there was a lot more to it, like having their clothes out of the way. Her skin went hot and she sighed huskily at the thought of C.C.'s lean, hard hands on her naked body.

  "Miss Experience," he bit off, glaring down at her. "My God, why did you lie to me?"

  "I thought it would make me less vulnerable," she said without thinking.

  His eyes darted from her swollen, parted lips back up to her shocked face. "You look less vulnerable, all right," he said mockingly.

  "You needn't make fun of me, C.C," she whispered. "I can't help the way you make me feel."

  He opened the passenger door of the Ford and stood aside to let her get in. "I'm not making fun of you," he replied. "If you want the truth, it arouses me like hell to have you cave in when I touch you."

  She looked up at him, her pale brown eyes curious and a little afraid. He seemed very adult and worlds ahead of her in experience. "What you. . . did to me," she asked hesitantly, trying not to stammer. "Does it feel like that, in bed?"

  His heart stopped beating. Then it went wild, and his body strung him out. He searched her soft eyes in a si­lence that throbbed with promise.

  "Why don't you come to me tonight, and I'll show you?" he asked quietly.

  Her eyes widened until the pupils seemed to blot out their color. "You mean.. .sleep with you?" she whis­pered.

  He nodded. "The bunkhouse is empty, now that we're through roundup. You're my wife," he added, feeling the words all the way to his toes. "There's no shame in it, Pepi," he added when he saw her hesitation. "It would only be the consummation of our wedding vows." He lifted her hand and drew its palm hungrily to his lips. "Until you sleep with me," he added huskily, "we're not legally married. Did you know that?"

  "No. I mean, no, I didn't," she faltered. The look in his eyes was melting her ankles. She could hardly stand up. It was hard to remember that he didn't love her. She had to try to keep that in mind, but it was difficult to keep anything in mind with his eyes piercing hers like that.

  "Afraid of it?" he asked quietly.

  "Yes, a little," she whispered.

  "I'll be careful with you." He drew her hand to his chest and pressed it there, palm down, so that she could feel the powerful beating of his heart under his shirt.

  "It will hurt," she blurted out.

  "Maybe," he agreed. "But you won't care."

  She searched his eyes curiously.

  "You may find bruises on your hips tomorrow be­cause I was rough with you on the way here," he replied, his voice deep and slow. "I didn't intend to be that rough, but you were fighting to get back into my arms after­ward, not to get out of them."

  Her lips parted. She'd forgotten the steely bite of his fingers into her soft flesh. "So it's like that," she whis­pered.

  "Yes. It's like that. A fever that burns so wild and so high, you can't even feel pain through it." His face hardened. "I'll make you so damned hungry for me that you won't care what I do to you."

  "But, what about Edie___ " she whispered painfully.

  He framed her face in his hands and bent to kiss her forehead with breathless tenderness. "Edie was a pleas­ant, and a very innocent, diversion," he whispered, slid­ing his cheek against hers so that his breath was warm at her ear. "I haven't slept with her."

  "But. . . you must have wanted to," she began again.

  He lifted his head, and his dark eyes searched hers slowly. "Pepi, I don't really understand why, but maybe the guilt made it difficult for me to deal with relation­ships. I.. .haven't wanted sex since Marsha died. At least, not until yesterday."

  "You wanted me," she whispered with growing won­der.

  "Oh, yes, I did," he said with undisguised hunger. "I still do, more every day." His eyes slid down her body and he drew her against him, his lean hands on her shoulders. "Do you want to give me a baby?" he asked.

  It was the first time anyone had asked her that. She felt her body burning with heat, and she knew her freckles were standing out like crazy in her face. "Now?" she asked uncertainly.

  "If you don't want to get pregnant, I'll have to do something to prevent it," he explained gently.

  "Oh." She averted her eyes. "Well, I. . .I don't know." Things were moving fast. Almost too fast. She felt hunted.

  "Don't look like that," he said, his voice almost ten­der as he tipped her face up to his eyes. "You don't have to, if you don't want to. I'm in no hurry. We've got the rest of our lives. If you want to spend some time getting used to me first, that's all right. I'll never rush you."

  "C.C," she said softly, and she smiled at him. "You're a nice man."

  "That's what I've been trying to tell you. It's just that I haven't quite tried to prove it, yet," he added with a smile full of self-mockery. "And my name is Connal."

  "Yes. Connal." She reached up hesitantly and paused, but he caught her fingers and drew them to his face, let­ting her trace his dark eyebrows, his straight nose, the hard curve of his thin mouth.

  "We'll take one day at a time," he assured her sol­emnly. "No pressure."

  "Thank you."

  He smiled and put her in the car, sliding in beside her with apparent good humor to start the engine.

  She fastened her seat belt and studied his profile hun­grily. "Connal?" she asked.

  He glanced at her and lifted an eyebrow.

  "Do you. . . I mean, is a child important to you?" she asked quietly.

  He frowned. She made it seem as if he wanted her be­cause she could bear him one. He wasn't certain what to say to reassure her. She'd said that she wasn't in love with him, although she was certainly attracted to him. God knew, he didn't want to frighten her off.

  "Eventually, yes," he compromised. "Don't you want children?"

  "Yes, I do," she said huskily, meeting his eyes. "I want them very much."

  His chest began to swell. He hoped against hope that someday she'd want them because she loved him. But it would take time, he reminded himself. He mustn't be impatient.

  He didn't say anything else. He nodded and turned his attention back to the road.

  The airport was crowded, and Pepi clung to
C.C.'s lean hand on the way through the crush of people.

  "Everybody decided to come on the same day," he mused, moving aside with her to let the embarking pas­sengers get by. For a brief moment, they were alone in the corridor. He chuckled and drew her along with him, his Spurs "making music" as the cowboys like to call it.

  "I'd forgotten what spurs sounded like," she mur­mured.

  "I forgot to take them off this morning," he recalled. "Back in the old days, the Mexican spurs were so big that vaqueros had to take them off just to walk," he replied. "God knows how their mounts survived."

  "You use spurs when you help break horses," she re­minded him.

  He smiled down at her. "Sure I do. But you know we use special spurs that don't break the skin or injure the horse's hide. To a horse, it's like being tickled. That's why he jumps and sunfishes."

  Her hand felt very small and helpless in his. It wasn't a feeling she'd have liked with another man, but with C.C. it seemed very natural.

  She looked down, marking the size of her foot and his. He had big feet, too, but they suited him because he was so tall.

  "I don't have big feet," he remarked, accurately read­ing her mind.

  "Did I say anything?" she protested.

  He chuckled. "You didn't have to. There they are!" he said suddenly, looking over the crowd in front of them. "Evan! Harden!"

  Two men who looked very much like C.C. moved to­ward them. They weren't wearing working clothes, though. They were in suits. The taller man had on a pearl-gray vested suit with a matching Stetson. He was huskily built, but certainly not overweight. He looked like a wrestler, with dark eyes and dark hair and com­plexion that was even darker than C.C.'s. The other man was only fractionally shorter, dressed in dark slacks with a white open-necked shirt with a sports jacket. He wore a black Stetson at a cocky angle over his equally black hair, and when he came closer, Pepi noticed that his eyes were a pale, glittery blue under thick black lashes. He had a leaner look than Evan, and a wiry frame that was probably deceptive, because he looked as fit as C.C.

  C.C. greeted his brothers and then drew them to where Pepi stood waiting awkwardly, her uncertainty evident in her nervous face.