Dear Reader,

I’m honored that Tears of the Renegade has been chosen to be a part of the Famous Firsts Collection, which celebrates Harlequin’s 60th Anniversary. Writing back then was vastly different from writing now, because this book was pre-computer, at least for me. Back then, an electric typewriter seemed like heaven, and now we look at using one as archaic. I did have a real desk; for the few books I wrote before this one, I balanced the typewriter on top of a two-drawer filing cabinet. I wrote in the unfinished room over the garage, which true to stereotype, was cold in the winter and hot in the summer, but at least it wasn’t an attic.

Tears of the Renegade was inspired by a vision I had, that of a broad-shouldered man in a great tux, sauntering through the open veranda doors into a formal party, and everyone who saw him falling silent. I saw their heads turning, the cool, dangerous expression in his eyes, and Cord Blackwell took center stage in my imagination. The entire book flowed from that one vision, that one scene, but often that’s how a book forms for me. I’ll write an entire book to get to one scene, one expression, one line of dialogue that was, to me, the heart of the idea.

He was a renegade and a rascal, someone who delighted in scandal and who thumbed his nose at the people who looked down on him, so of course the perfect woman for him was a perfect lady, and thus Susan came into being. It was a delicious situation then, and all these years later the memory of that opening scene still brings a smile to my face.

I hope you enjoy the book, because I dearly enjoyed writing it.

Sincerely,

Praise for New York Times
bestselling author
Linda Howard

“Howard’s writing is compelling.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Ms. Howard can wring so much emotion and tension out of her characters that no matter how satisfied you are when you finish a book, you still want more.”

—Rendezvous on Mackenzie’s Pleasure

“Linda Howard is an extraordinary talent whose unforgettable novels are richly flavored with scintillating sensuality and high-voltage suspense.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“You can’t read just one Linda Howard!”

—New York Times bestselling author Catherine Coulter

“Linda Howard knows what readers want, and dares to be different.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“Already a legend in her own time, Linda Howard exemplifies the very best of the romance genre. Her strong characterizations and powerful insight into the human heart have made her an author cherished by readers everywhere.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Linda Howard writes with power, stunning sensuality and a storytelling ability unmatched in the romance genre. Every book is a treasure for the reader to savor again and again.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen

“[A]…master storyteller.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

Linda Howard
Tears of the Renegade

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chapter One

It was late, already after eleven o’clock, when the broad-shouldered man appeared in the open French doors. He stood there, perfectly at ease, watching the party with a sort of secret amusement. Susan noticed him immediately, though she seemed to be the only one who did so, and she studied him with faint surprise because she’d never seen him before. She would have remembered if she had; he wasn’t the sort of man that anyone forgot.

He was tall and muscular, his white dinner jacket hugging his powerful shoulders with just enough precision to proclaim exquisite tailoring, yet what set him apart wasn’t the almost dissolute sophistication that sat so easily on him; it was his face. He had the bold look of a desperado, an impression heightened by the level dark brows that shadowed eyes of a pale, crystalline blue. Lodestone eyes, she thought, feeling their effect even though he wasn’t looking at her. A funny little quiver danced down her spine, and her senses were suddenly heightened—the music was more vibrant, the colors more intense, the heady perfume of the early spring night stronger. Every instinct within her was abruptly awakened as she stared at the stranger with a sort of primitive recognition. Women have always known which men are dangerous, and this man radiated danger.

It was there in his eyes, the self-assurance of a man who was willing to take risks, and willing to accept the consequences. An almost weary experience had hardened his features, and Susan knew, looking at him, that he would be a man no one would lightly cross. Danger rode those broad shoulders like a visible mantle. He wasn’t quite…civilized. He looked like a modern-day pirate, from those bold eyes to the short, neatly trimmed dark beard and moustache that hid the lines of his jaw and upper lip; but she knew that they would be strong lines. Her eyes traveled to his hair, dark and thick and vibrant, styled in a casual perfection that most men would have paid a fortune to obtain, just long enough to brush his collar in the back with a hint of curl.

At first no one seemed to notice him, which was surprising, because to Susan he stood out like a tiger in a roomful of tabbies. Then, gradually, people began to look at him, and to her further astonishment a stunned, almost hostile silence began to fall, spreading quickly over the room, a contagious pall that leaped from one person to another. Suddenly uneasy, she looked at her brother-in-law, Preston, who was the host and almost within touching distance of the newly arrived guest. Why didn’t he welcome the man? But instead Preston had gone stiff, his face pale, staring at the stranger with the same sort of frozen horror one would eye a cobra coiled at one’s feet.

The tidal wave of silence had spread to include the entire huge room now, even the musicians on the raised dais falling silent. Under the glittering prisms of the chandeliers, people were turning, staring, shock rippling over their faces. A shiver of alarm went down Susan’s slender back; what was going on? Who was he? Something awful was going to happen. She sensed it, saw Preston tensing for a scene, and knew that she wasn’t going to let it happen. Whoever he was, he was a guest of the Blackstones, and no one was going to be rude to him, not even Preston Blackstone. Instinctively she moved, stepping into the middle of the scene, murmuring “Excuse me” to people as she slipped past them. All attention turned to her as if drawn by a magnet, for her movement was the only movement in the room. The stranger turned his gaze on her, too; he watched her, and he waited, those strange lodestone eyes narrowing as he examined the slim, graceful woman whose features were as pure and serene as a cameo, clothed in a fragile cream silk dress that swirled about her ankles as she walked. A three-strand pearl choker encircled her delicate throat; with her soft dark hair drawn up on top of her head and a few tendrils curling about her temples, she was a dream, a mirage, as illusive as angel’s breath. She looked as pure as a Victorian virgin, glowingly set apart from everyone else in the room, untouched and untouchable; and, to the man who watched her approach, an irresistible challenge.

Susan was unaware of the male intent that suddenly gleamed in the depths of his pale blue eyes. She was concerned only with avoiding the nastiness that had been brewing, something she didn’t understand but nevertheless wanted to prevent. If anyone had a score to settle with this man, they could do it at another time and in another place. She nodded a silent command to the band as she walked, and obediently the music began again, hesitantly at first, then gaining in volume. By that time, Susan had reached the man, and she held her hand out to him. “Hello,” she said, her low, musical voice carrying effortlessly to the people who listened openly, gaping at her. “I’m Susan Blackstone; won’t you dance with me?”

Her hand was taken in long, hard fingers, but there was no handshake. Instead, her hand was simply held, and a slightly rough thumb rubbed over the back of her fingers, feeling the softness, the slender bones. A level brow quirked upward over the blue eyes that were even more compelling at close range, for now she could see that the pale blue was ringed by deep midnight. Staring into those eyes, she forgot that they were simply standing there while he held her hand until he used his grip on her to pull her into his embrace as he swung her into a dance, causing the skirt of her dress to wrap about his long legs as they moved.

At first he simply held her, his strength moving her across the dance floor with such ease that her feet barely touched down. No one else was dancing, and Susan looked at several people, her level gaze issuing a quiet, gentle command that was obeyed without exception. Slowly they were joined by other dancers, and the man looked down at the woman he held in his arms.

Susan felt the strength in the hand on her lower back as the fingers slowly spread and exerted a gentle pressure that was nevertheless inexorable. She found herself closer to him, her breasts lightly brushing against his hard chest, and she suddenly felt overwarm, the heat from his body enveloping her. The simple, graceful steps he was using in the dance were abruptly difficult to follow, and she forced herself to concentrate to keep from stepping on his toes.

A quivering, spring-loaded tension began coiling in her stomach, and her hand trembled in his. He squeezed her fingers warmly and said into her ear, “Don’t be afraid; I won’t hurt you.”

His voice was a soft, deep rumble, as she had known it would be, and again that strange little shiver rippled through her. She lifted her head and found how close he had been when one of the soft curls at her temple became entangled in his beard, then slid free. She was almost dazed when she found herself looking directly at the chiseled strength of his lips, and she wondered with raw hunger if his mouth would be firm or soft, if he would taste as heady as he looked. With an inner groan, she jerked her thoughts away from the contemplation of how he would taste, what it would be like to kiss him. It was difficult to move her gaze higher, but she managed it, then wished that she hadn’t; staring into those unusual eyes was almost more than her composure could bear. Why was she reacting like a teenager? She was an adult, and even as a teenager she had been calm, nothing like the woman who now found herself quaking inside at a mere glance.

But she was seared by that glance, which surveyed, approved, asked, expected and…knew. He was one of those rare men who knew women, and were all the more dangerous for their knowledge. She responded to the danger alarm that all women possess by lifting her head with the innate dignity that characterized her every movement, and met that bold look. She said quietly, “What an odd thing to say,” and she was proud that her voice hadn’t trembled.

“Is it?” His voice was even softer than before, deeper, increasingly intimate. “Then you can’t know what I’m thinking.”

“No,” she said, and left it at that, not picking up on the innuendo that she knew was there.

“You will,” he promised, his tone nothing now but a low rasp that touched every nerve in her body. As he spoke, the arm about her waist tightened to pull her closer, not so close that she would have felt obliged to protest, but still she was suddenly, mutely aware of the rippling muscles in his thighs as his legs moved against hers. Her fingers clenched restlessly on his shoulder as she fought the abrupt urge to slide them inside his collar, to feel his bare skin and discover for herself if her fingers would be singed by the fire of him. Shocked at herself, she kept her eyes determinedly on the shoulder seam of his jacket and tried not to think of the strength she could feel in the hand that clasped hers, or in the one that pressed so lightly on the small of her back…lightly; but she had the sudden thought that if she tried to move away from him, that hand would prevent the action.

“Your shoulders look like satin,” he murmured roughly; before she could guess his intentions, his head dipped and his mouth, warm and hard, touched the soft, bare curve of her shoulder. A fine madness seized her and she quivered, her eyes drifting shut. God, he was making love to her on the dance floor, and she didn’t even know his name! But everything in her was responding to him, totally independent of her control; she couldn’t even control her thoughts, which kept leaping ahead to more dangerous subjects, wondering how his mouth would feel if it kept sliding down her body….

“Stop that,” she said, to herself as well as to him, but her voice was lacking any element of command; instead it was soft and shivery, the way she felt. Her skin felt as if it were on fire, but voluptuous shivers almost like a chill kept tickling her spine.

“Why?” he asked, his mouth making a sleek glissade from her shoulder to the sensitive hollow just before her ear.

“People are watching,” she murmured weakly, sagging against him as her body went limp from the flaming delight that went off like a rocket inside her. His arm tightened about her waist to hold her up, but the intensified sensations of being pressed to him only made her that much weaker. She drew a ragged breath; locked against him as she was, there was no mistaking the blatant male arousal of his body, and she lifted stunned, drowning eyes to him. He was watching her through narrowed eyes, the intense, laser quality of his gaze burning into her. There was no embarrassment or apology in his expression; he was a man, and reacted as such. Susan found, to her dazed astonishment, that the deeply feminine center of her didn’t want an apology. She wanted instead to drop her head to his shoulder and collapse into his lean, knowledgeable hands; but she was acutely aware not only of the people watching him, but also that if she followed her very feminine inclination, he was likely to respond by carrying her away like a pirate stealing a lady who had taken his fancy. No matter how he made her feel, this man was still a stranger to her.

“I don’t even know who you are,” she gasped quietly, her nails digging into his shoulder.

“Would knowing my name make any difference?” He blew gently on one of the tendrils that lay on her temple, watching the silky hair lift and fall. “But if it makes you feel better, sweetheart, we’re keeping it in the family.”

He was teasing, his teeth glistening whitely as he smiled, and Susan caught her breath, holding it for a moment before she could control her voice again. “I don’t understand,” she admitted, lifting her face to him.

“Take another deep breath like that, and it won’t matter if you understand or not,” he muttered, making her searingly aware of how her breasts had flattened against the hard planes of flesh beneath the white jacket. His diamond-faceted gaze dipped to the softness of her mouth as he explained, “I’m a Blackstone, too, though they probably don’t claim me.”

Susan stared at him in bewilderment. “But I don’t know you. Who are you?”

Again those animal-white teeth were revealed in a wicked grin that lifted the corners of his moustache. “Haven’t you heard any gossip? The term ‘black sheep’ was probably invented especially for me.”

Still she stared at him without comprehension, the graceful line of her throat vulnerable to his hungry scrutiny as she kept her head lifted the necessary inches to look at him. “But I don’t known of any black sheep. What’s your name?”

“Cord Blackstone,” he replied readily enough. “First cousin to Vance and Preston Blackstone; only son of Elias and Marjorie Blackstone; born November third, probably nine months to the day after Dad returned from his tour of duty in Europe, though I never could get Mother to admit it,” he finished, that wicked, fascinating grin flashing again like a beacon on a dark night. “But what about you, sweetheart? If you’re a Blackstone, you’re not a natural one. I’d remember any blood relative who looked like you. So, which of my esteemed cousins are you married to?”

“Vance,” she said, an echo of pain shadowing her delicate features for a moment. It was a credit to her strength of will that she was able to say evenly, “He’s dead, you know,” but nothing could mask the desolation that suddenly dimmed the luminous quality of her eyes.

The hard arms about her squeezed gently. “Yes, I’d heard. I’m sorry,” he said with rough simplicity. “Damn, what a waste. Vance was a good man.”

“Yes, he was.” There was nothing more that she could say, because she still hadn’t come to terms with the senseless, unlikely accident that had taken Vance’s life. Death had struck so swiftly, taken so much from her, that she had automatically protected herself by keeping people at a small but significant distance since then.

“What happened to him?” the silky voice asked, and she was a little stunned that he’d asked. Didn’t he even know how Vance had died?

“He was gored by a bull,” she finally replied. “In the thigh…a major artery was torn. He bled to death before we could get him to a hospital.” He had died in her arms, his life seeping away from him in a red tide, yet his face had been so peaceful. He had fixed his blue eyes on her and kept them there, as if he knew that he was dying and wanted his last sight on earth to be of her face. There had been a serene, heartbreaking smile on his lips as the brilliance of his gaze slowly dimmed and faded away forever….

Her fingers tightened on Cord Blackstone’s shoulder, digging in, and he held her closer. In an odd way, she felt some of the pain easing, as if he had buffered it with his big, hard body. Looking up, she saw a reflection in those pale eyes of his own harsh memories, and with a flash of intuition she realized that he was a man who had seen violent deaths before, who had held someone, a friend perhaps, in his arms while death approached and conquered. He understood what she had been through. Because he understood, the burden was abruptly easier to bear.

Susan had learned, over the years, how to continue with everyday things even in the face of crippling pain. Now she forced herself away from the horror of the memory and looked around, recalling herself to her duties. She noticed that far too many people were still standing around, staring at them and whispering. She caught the bandleader’s eye and gave another discreet nod, a signal for him to slide straight into another number. Then she let her eyes linger on her guests, singling them out in turn, and under the demand in her clear gaze the dance floor began to fill, the whispers to fade, and the party once more resumed its normal noise level. There wasn’t a guest there who would willingly offend her, and she knew it.

“That’s a neat trick,” he observed huskily, having followed it from beginning to end, and his voice reflected his appreciation. “Did they teach that in the finishing school you attended?”

A little smile played over her soft mouth before she glanced up at him, allowing him to divert her. “What makes you think I went to a finishing school?” she challenged.

His bold gaze slipped down the front of her gown to seek out and visually touch her rounded breasts. “Because you’re so obviously…finished. I can’t see anything that Mother Nature left undone.” His hard, warm fingers slid briefly down her back. “God, how soft your skin is,” he finished on a whisper.

A faint flush colored her cheeks at the husky note of intimacy that had entered his voice, though she was pleased in a deeply feminine way that he had noticed the texture of her skin. Oh, he was dangerous, all right, and the most dangerous thing about him was that he could make a woman take a risk even knowing how dangerous he was.

After a moment when she remained silent, he prodded, “Well? Am I right or not?”

“Almost,” she admitted, lifting her chin to smile at him. There was a soft, glowing quality to her smile that lit her face with gentle radiance, and his heavy-lidded eyes dropped even more in a signal that someone who knew him well would have recognized immediately. But Susan didn’t know him well, and she was unaware of how close she was skating to thin ice. “I attended Adderley’s in Virginia for four months, until my mother had a stroke and I left school to care for her.”

“No point in wasting any more money for them to gild the lily,” he drawled, letting his eyes drift over her serene features, then down her slender, graceful throat to linger once again, with open delight, on her fragrant, silky curves. Susan felt an unexpected heat flood her body at this man’s undisguised admiration; he looked as if he wanted to lean down and bury his face between her breasts, and she quivered with the surprising longing to have him do just that. He was more than dangerous; he was lethal!

She had to say something to break the heady spell that was enveloping her, and she used the most immediate topic of conversation. “When did you arrive?”

“Just this afternoon.” The curl of his lip told her that he knew what she was doing, but was allowing her to get away with it. Lazily he puckered his lips and blew again at the fine tendril of dark hair that entranced him as it lay on the fragile skin of her temple, where the delicate blue veining lay just under the translucent skin. Susan felt her entire body pulsate, the warm scent of his breath affecting her as strongly as if he’d lifted his hand and caressed her. Almost blindly she looked at him, compelling herself to concentrate on what he was saying, but the movement of those chiseled lips was even more enticing than the scent of him.

“I heard that Cousin Preston was having a party,” he was saying in a lazy drawl that had never lost its Southern music. “So I thought I’d honor old times by insulting him and crashing the shindig.”

Susan had to smile at the incongruity of describing this elegant affair as a “shindig,” especially when he himself was dressed as if he had just stepped out of a Monte Carlo casino…where he would probably be more at home than he was here. “Did you used to make a habit of crashing parties?” she murmured.

“If I thought it would annoy Preston, I did,” he replied, laughing a little at the memories. “Preston and I have always been on opposite sides of the fence,” he explained with a careless smile that told her how little the matter bothered him. “Vance was the only one I ever got along with, but then, he never seemed to care what kind of trouble I was in. Vance wasn’t one to worship at the altar of the Blackstone name.”

That was true; Vance had conformed on the surface to the demands made on him because his name was Blackstone, but Susan had always known that he did so with a secret twinkle in his eyes. Sometimes she didn’t think that her mother-in-law, Imogene, would ever forgive Vance for his mutiny against the Blackstone dynasty when he married Susan, though of course Imogene would never have been so crass as to admit it; a Blackstone didn’t indulge in shrewish behavior. Then Susan felt faintly ashamed of herself, because Vance’s family had treated her with respect.

Still, she felt a warm sense of comradeship with this man, because he had known Vance as she had, had realized his true nature, and she gave him a smile that sparked a glow in her own deep blue eyes. His arms tightened around her in an involuntary movement, as if he wanted to crush her against him.

“You’ve got the Blackstone coloring,” he muttered, staring at her. “Dark hair and blue eyes, but you’re so soft there’s no way in hell you could be a real Blackstone. There’s no hardness in you at all, is there?”

Puzzled, she stared back at him with a tiny frown puckering her brow. “What do you mean by hardness?”

“I don’t think you’d understand if I told you,” he replied cryptically, then added, “were you handpicked to be Vance’s wife?”

“No.” She smiled at the memory. “He picked me himself.”

He gave a silent whistle. “Imogene will never recover from the shock,” he said irreverently, and flashed that mocking grin at her again.

Despite herself, Susan felt the corners of her mouth tilting up in an answering smile. She was enjoying herself, talking to this dangerous, roguish man with the strangely compelling eyes, and she was surprised because she hadn’t really enjoyed herself in such a long time…since Vance’s death, in fact. There had been too many years and too many tears between her smiles, but suddenly things seemed different; she felt different inside herself. At first, she’d thought that she’d never recover from Vance’s death, but five years had passed, and now she realized that she was looking forward to life again. She was enjoying being held in this man’s strong arms and listening to his deep voice…and yes, she enjoyed the look in his eyes, enjoyed the sure feminine knowledge that he wanted her.

She didn’t want to examine her reaction to him; she felt as if she had been dead, too, and was only now coming alive, and she wanted to revel in the change, not analyze it.

She was in danger of drowning in sensation, and she recognized the inner weakness that was overtaking her, but felt helpless to resist it. He must have sensed, with a primal intuition that was as alarming as the aura of danger that surrounded him, that she was close to surrendering to the temptation to play with fire. He leaned down and nuzzled his mouth against the delicate shell of her ear, sending every nerve in her body into delirium. “Go outside with me,” he enticed, dipping his tongue into her ear and tracing the outer curve of it with electrifying precision.

Susan’s entire body reverberated with the shock of it, but his action cleared her mind of the clouds of desire that had been fogging it. Totally flustered, her cheeks suddenly pink, she stopped dead. “Mr. Blackstone!”

“Cord,” he corrected, laughing openly now. “After all, we’re at least kissing cousins, wouldn’t you say?”

She didn’t know what to say, and fortunately she was saved from forming an answer that probably wouldn’t have been coherent anyway, because Preston chose that moment to intervene. She had been vaguely aware, as she circled the room in Cord’s arms, that Preston had been watching every move his cousin made, but she hadn’t noticed him approaching. Putting his hand on Susan’s arm, he stared at his cousin with frosty blue eyes. “Has he said anything to upset you, Susan?”

Again she was thrown into a quandary. If she said yes, there would probably be a scene, and she was determined to avoid that. On the other hand, how could she say no, when it would so obviously be a lie? A spark of genius prompted her to reply with quiet dignity, “We were talking about Vance.”

“I see.” It was perfectly reasonable to Preston that, even after five years, Susan should be upset when speaking of her dead husband. He accepted her statement as an explanation instead of the red herring it was, and gave all of his attention to his cousin, who was standing there totally relaxed, a faintly bored smile on his lips.

“Mother is waiting in the library,” Preston said stiffly. “We assume you have some reason for afflicting us with your company.”

“I do.” Cord agreed easily with Preston’s insult, still smiling as he ignored the red flag being waved at him. He lifted one eyebrow. “Lead the way. Somehow, I don’t trust you at my back.”

Preston stiffened, and Susan forestalled the angry outburst she saw coming by placing her hand lightly on Cord’s arm and saying, “Let’s not keep Mrs. Blackstone waiting.”

As she had known he would, Preston shifted his attention to her. “There’s no reason for you to come along, Susan. You might as well stay here with the guests.”

“I’d like to have her there.” Cord had instantly contradicted his cousin, and in a manner that made Susan certain he’d spoken merely to irritate Preston. “She’s family, isn’t she? She might as well hear it all firsthand, rather than the watered-down and doctored version that she’d get from you and Imogene.”

For a moment Preston looked as if he would debate the point; then he turned abruptly and walked away. Preston was a Blackstone; he might want to punch Cord in the mouth, but he wouldn’t make a public scene. Cord following him at a slight distance, his hand dropping to rest lightly on Susan’s waist. He grinned down at her. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t get away from me.”

Susan was a grown woman, not a teenager. Moreover, she was a woman who for five years had managed large and varied business concerns with cool acumen; she was twenty-nine years old, and she told herself that she should long ago have passed out of the blushing stage. Yet this man, with the dashing air of a rake and those bold, challenging eyes, could make her blush with a mere glance. Excitement such as she had never felt before was racing through her, setting her heart pounding, and she actually felt giddy. She knew what love was like, and it wasn’t this. She had loved Vance, loved him so strongly that his death had nearly destroyed her, so she realized at once that this wasn’t the same emotion. This was primitive attraction, heady and feverish, and it was based entirely on sex. Vance Blackstone had been Love; Cord Blackstone meant only Lust.

But recognizing it for what it was didn’t lessen its impact as she walked sedately beside him, so vibrantly aware of the hand on her back that he might as well have been touching her naked body. She wasn’t the type for an affair. She was a throwback to the Victorian era, as Vance had once teased her by saying. She had been lovingly but strictly brought up, and she was the lady that her mother had meant her to be, from the top of her head down to her pink toes. Susan had never even thought of rebelling, because she was by nature exactly what she was: a lady. She had known love and would never settle for less than that, not even for the heady delights offered by the black sheep of the Blackstone family.

Just before they entered the library where Imogene waited, Cord leaned down to her. “If you won’t go outside with me, then I’ll take you home and we can neck on the front porch like teenagers.”

She flashed him an indignant glance that made him laugh softly to himself, but she was prevented from answering him because at that moment they passed through the door and she realized that he had perfectly timed his remark. He had a genius for throwing people off-balance, and he had done it again; despite herself, she felt the heat of intensified color in her face.

Imogene regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, her gray eyes sharpening for a fraction of a second as her gaze flickered from Susan to Cord, then back to Susan’s flushed face. Then she controlled her expression, and the gray eyes resumed their normal cool steadiness. “Susan, do you feel well? You look flushed.”

“I became a little warm during the dancing.” Susan was aware that once again she was throwing out a statement that would be regarded as an answer, but was in fact only a smokescreen. If she didn’t watch it, Cord Blackstone would turn her into a world-class liar before the night was out!

The tall man beside her directed her to a robin’s egg blue love seat and sprawled his graceful length beside her, earning himself a glare—which rolled right off of his toughened hide—from both Preston and Imogene. Smiling at his aunt, he drawled a greeting. “Hello, Aunt Imogene. How’s the family fortune?”

He was good at waving his own red flags, Susan noticed. Imogene settled back in her chair and coolly ignored the distraction. “Why have you come back?”

“Why shouldn’t I come back? This is my home, remember? I even own part of the land. I’ve been roaming around for quite a while now, and I’m ready to put down my roots. What better place for that than home? I thought I’d move into the cabin on Jubilee Creek.”

“That shack!” Preston’s voice was full of disdain.

Cord shrugged. “You can’t account for tastes. I prefer shacks to mausoleums.” He grinned, looking around himself at the formal furniture, the original oil paintings, the priceless vases and miniatures that adorned the shelves. Though called a library, the room actually contained few books, and all of them had been bought, Susan sometimes suspected, with an eye on the color of the dust jackets to make certain the books harmonized with the color scheme of the room.

Preston eyed his cousin with cold, silent hatred for a moment, an expanse of time which became heavy with resentment. “How much will it cost us?”

From the corner of her eye, Susan could see the lift of that mocking eyebrow. “Cost you for what?”

“For you to leave this part of the country again.”

Cord smiled, a particularly wolfish smile that should have warned Preston. “You don’t have enough money, Cousin.”

Imogene lifted her hand, forestalling Preston’s heated reply. She had a cooler head and was better at negotiating than her son was. “Don’t be foolish…or hasty,” she counseled. “You do realize that we’re prepared to offer you a substantial sum in exchange for your absence?”

“Not interested,” he said lazily, still smiling.

“But a man with your…lifestyle must have debts that need settling. Then there’s the fact that I have many friends who owe me for favors, and who could be counted on to make your stay unpleasant, at the least.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Aunt Imogene.” Cord was utterly relaxed, his long legs stretched out before him. “The first surprise in store for you is that I don’t need the money. The second is that if any of your ‘friends’ decide to help you by making things difficult for me, I have friends of my own who I can call on, and believe me, my friends make yours look like angels.”

Imogene sniffed. “I’m sure they do, considering.”

For the first time Susan felt compelled to intervene. Fighting upset her; she was quiet and naturally peaceful, but with an inner strength that allowed her to throw herself into the breach. Her gentle voice immediately drew everyone’s attention, though it was to her mother-in-law that she spoke. “Imogene, look at him; look at his clothes.” She waved her slender hand to indicate the man lounging beside her. “He’s telling the truth. He doesn’t need any money. And I think that when he mentions his friends, he isn’t talking about back-alley buddies.”

Cord regarded her with open, if somewhat mocking, admiration. “At last, a Blackstone with perception, though of course you weren’t born to the name, so maybe that explains it. She’s right, Imogene, though I’m sure you don’t like hearing it. I don’t need the Blackstone money because I have money of my own. I plan to live in the cabin because I like my privacy, not because I can’t afford any better. Now, I suggest that we manage to control our differences, because I intend to stay here. If you want to air the family dirty laundry, then go ahead. It won’t bother me; you’ll be the only one to suffer from that.”

Imogene gave a curious little sigh. “You’ve always been difficult, Cord, even when you were a child. My objection to you is based on your past actions, not on you personally. You’ve dragged your family through enough mud to last for four lifetimes, and I find that hard to forgive, and I find it equally as hard to trust you to behave with some degree of civility.”

“It’s been a long time,” he said obliquely. “I’ve spent a lot of time in Europe, and too long in South America; it makes a man appreciate his home.”

“Does it? I wonder. Forgive me if I suspect an ulterior motive, but then, your past gives me little choice. Very well, we’ll call a truce…for the time being.”

“A truce.” He winked at her, and to Susan’s surprise, Imogene blushed. So he had that effect on every female! But he was a fool if he believed that Imogene would go along with a truce. She might appear to give in, but that was all it was: appearance. Imogene never gave in; she merely changed tactics. If she couldn’t bribe or threaten him, then she would try other measures, though for the moment Susan couldn’t think of anything else that could be brought to bear on the man.

He was rising to his feet, his hand under Susan’s elbow, urging her up also. “You’ve been away from your guests long enough,” he told Imogene politely. “I give you my solemn promise that I won’t cause any scandals tonight, so relax and enjoy yourself.” Pulling Susan along with him like a puppy, he crossed the floor to Imogene and bent down to kiss his aunt. Imogene sat perfectly still under the touch of his lips, though her color rose even higher. Then he straightened, his eyes dancing. “Come along, Susan,” he commanded.

“Just a moment,” Preston intervened, stepping before them. Imogene might have called a truce, but Preston hadn’t. “We’ve agreed to no open hostilities; we haven’t agreed to associate with you. Susan isn’t going anywhere with you.”

“Oh? I think that’s up to the lady. Susan?” Cord turned to her, making his wishes known by the curl of his fingers on her arm.

Susan hesitated. She wanted to go with Cord. She wanted to laugh with him, to see the wicked twinkle in his eyes, feel the magic of being held in his arms. But she couldn’t trust him, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t trust herself. Because she wanted so badly to go with him, she had to deny him. Slowly, regretfully, she shook her head. “No. I think it would be better if I didn’t go with you.”

His blue eyes narrowed, and suddenly they were no longer laughing, but wore the sheen of anger. He dropped his hand from her arm. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said coldly, and left her without another word.

The silence in the library was total, the three occupants motionless. Then Imogene sighed again. “Thank heavens you didn’t go with him, dear. He’s charming, I know, but beneath all of that charm, he hates this entire family. He’ll do anything, anything, he can to harm us. You don’t know him, but it’s in your best interest if you avoid him.” Having delivered her graceful warning, Imogene shrugged. “Ah, well, I suppose we’ll have to suffer through this until he gets bored and drifts off to hunt other amusements. He was right about one thing, the wretch; I do have to get back to my guests.” She rose and left the room, her mist-gray gown swaying elegantly about her feet as she walked. Imogene was still a beautiful woman; she hardly looked old enough to be the mother of the man who stood beside Susan. Imogene didn’t age; she endured.

After a moment, Preston took Susan’s hand, his ingrained sense of courtesy taking control of him again. His confrontation with his cousin had been the only occasion when Susan could remember seeing Preston be anything but polite, even when he was disagreeing with someone. “Let’s relax for a moment before we rejoin them. Would you like a drink?” he suggested.

“No, thank you.” Susan allowed him to seat her on the love seat again, and she watched as he poured himself a neat whiskey and sat down beside her, a small frown puckering his brow as he regarded the glass in his hand. Something was on his mind; she knew his mannerisms as well as she knew her own. She waited, not pushing him. She and Preston had become close since Vance’s death, and she felt strongly affectionate toward him. He looked so much like Vance, so much like all the Blackstones, with his dark hair and blue eyes and lopsided smile. Preston lacked Vance’s sense of humor, but he was a formidable opponent in business. He was stubborn; slower than Vance to react, but more determined when he did.

“You’re a lovely woman, Susan,” he said abruptly.

Startled, she stared at him. She knew she looked good tonight; she had debated over wearing the cream silk dress, for her tastes since Vance’s death had been somber, but she had remembered that the medieval color of mourning had been white, not black, and only she knew when she put on the white dress that she did so with a small but poignant remnant of grief. She had dressed for Vance tonight, wearing the pearls that he had given her, spraying herself with his favorite perfume. But for a few mad moments she had gloried in the knowledge that she looked good, not for Vance’s sake, but because of the admiration she had seen in another pair of eyes, strange lodestone eyes. What would have happened if she had gone with Cord Blackstone tonight, instead of playing it safe?

Preston’s eyes softened as he looked at her. “You’re no match for him. If you let him, he’ll use you to hurt us; then he’ll leave you on the trash pile and walk away without looking back. Stay away from him; he’s poison.”

Susan regarded him steadily. “Preston, I’m a woman, not a child; I’m capable of making my own decisions. I can see why you wouldn’t like your cousin, since he’s so totally different from you. But he hasn’t done anything to harm me, and I won’t snub him.”

He gave a rueful smile at her firm, reasonable tone. “I’ve heard that voice in enough board meetings over the past five years to know you’ve dug in your heels and won’t budge without a good reason. But you don’t know what he’s like. You’re a lady; you’ve never been exposed to the sort of things that are commonplace to him. He’s lived the life of an alley cat, not because he had no choice, no way out, but because he preferred that type of life. He broke his mother’s heart, making her so ashamed of him that he wasn’t welcome in her home.”

“Exactly what did he do that was so terrible?” Deliberately, she kept her tone light, not wanting Preston to see how deeply she was interested in the answer, how deeply she was disturbed by Cord Blackstone.

“What didn’t he do?” Sarcasm edged Preston’s answer. “Fights, drinking, women, gambling…but the final straw was the scandal when he was caught with Grant Keller’s wife.”

Susan choked. Grant Keller was dignity personified, and so was his wife. Preston looked at her and couldn’t prevent a grin. “Not this Mrs. Keller; the former Mrs. Keller was entirely different. She was thirty-six, and Cord was twenty-one when they left town together.”

“That was a long time ago,” Susan pointed out.

“Fourteen years, but people have long memories. I saw Grant Keller’s face when he recognized Cord tonight, and he looked murderous.”

Susan was certain there was more to the story, but she was reluctant to pry any deeper. The old scandal in no way explained Preston’s very personal hatred for Cord. For right now, though, she was suddenly very tired and didn’t want to pursue the subject. All the excitement that had lit her up while she was dancing with Cord had faded. Rising, she smoothed her skirt. “Will you take me home? I’m exhausted.”

“Of course,” he said immediately, as she had known he would. Preston was entirely predictable, always solicitous of her. At times, the cushion of gallantry that protected her gave her a warm sense of security, but at other times she felt restricted. Tonight, the feeling of restriction deepened until she felt as if she were being smothered. She wanted to breathe freely, to be unobserved.

It was only a fifteen-minute drive to her home, and soon she was blessedly alone, sitting on the dark front porch in the wooden porch swing, listening to the music of a Southern night. She had waited until Preston left before she came out to sit in the darkness, her right foot gently pushing her back and forth to the accompanying squeak of the chains that held the swing. A light breeze rustled through the trees and kissed her face, and she closed her eyes. As she often did, she tried to summon up Vance’s face, to reassure herself with the mental picture of his violet-blue eyes and lopsided grin, but to her alarm, the face that formed wasn’t his. Instead she saw pale blue eyes above the short black beard of a desperado; they were the reckless eyes of a man who dared anything. A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the touch of his warm mouth on her shoulder, and her skin tingled as if his lips were still pressed there.

Thank heavens she had had the good sense to ask Preston to bring her home instead of going with that man as he had asked. Preston was at least safe, and Cord Blackstone had probably never heard the word.

Chapter Two

The Blackstone social circle ranged in a sort of open arc from Mobile to New Orleans, with the Gulfport-Biloxi area as the center of their far-flung web of moneyed and blue-blooded acquaintances. With such a wide area and so many friends of such varied interests, Susan was amazed that the sole topic of conversation seemed to be Cord Blackstone’s return. She lost count of the number of women, many of them married, who drilled her on why he was back, how long he was staying, whether he was married, whether he had been married, and endless variations on those questions, none of which she could answer. What could she tell them? That she had danced two dances with him and gotten drunk on his smile?

She hadn’t seen him since the night of his return, and she made a point of not asking about him. She told herself that it was best to leave well enough alone and let her interest in him die a natural death. All she had to do was do nothing and refuse to feed the strange attraction. It wasn’t as if he were chasing her all over south Mississippi; he hadn’t called, hadn’t sought her out as she had half feared, half wanted him to do.

But her resolution to forget about him was stymied at every turn; even Preston seldom talked of anything except his cousin. She decided that all Cord had to do to irritate Preston was to breathe. Through Preston, she learned that Cord was working on the old cabin at Jubilee Creek, replacing the roof and the sagging old porch, putting in new windows. Preston had tried to find out where Cord had borrowed the money to repair the cabin, and found instead, to his chagrin, that there was no loan involved. Cord was paying for everything in cash, and had opened a sizable checking account at the largest bank in Biloxi. Preston and Imogene spent hours speculating on how he had acquired the money, and what his purpose was in returning to Mississippi. Susan wondered why they found it so hard to accept that he had simply returned home. As people grew older, it wasn’t unusual for them to want to return to the area where they had grown up. It seemed silly to her that they attached such sinister motives to his smallest action, but then she realized that she was guilty of the same thing. She’d all but convinced herself that, if she had allowed him to drive her home that night, he would have taken her to bed over any protests she might have made…if any.

If any. That was the hard part for her to accept. Would she have made any protest, even a token one? What had happened to her? One moment her life had been as serene as a quiet pool on a lazy summer day, and she had been satisfied, except for the hollowness left by Vance’s death. Then Cord Blackstone had walked in out of the night and everything had shifted, the world had been thrown out of kilter. Now, suddenly, she wanted to run away, or at least smash something…do anything, anything at all, that was totally out of character.

And it was all because of Cord. He was a man who lived by his own rules, a man who lived recklessly and dangerously, but with a vital intensity that made every other man seem insipid when compared to him. By contrast, she was a field mouse who was comfortable only with security, yet now the very security that she had always treasured was chafing at her. The priorities that she had set for herself now seemed valueless in comparison with the wild freedom that Cord enjoyed.

She had been a quiet child, then a quiet girl, never according her parents any of the worries that most parents had concerning their children. Susan’s personality was serene, naturally kind and courteous, and the old-fashioned, genteel upbringing she’d had merely reinforced those qualities. By both nature and practice she was a lady, in every sense of the word.

Her life hadn’t been without pain or difficulty. Without resentment, she had left school to help care for her mother when a stroke left the older woman partially paralyzed. Another stroke later was fatal, and Susan quietly supported her father during his grief. Her father remarried within the year, with Susan’s blessing, and retired to south Florida; she remained in New Orleans, which had been her father’s last teaching post, and reorganized her life. She took a secretarial job and dated occasionally, but never seriously, until Vance Blackstone saw her gracing her desk at work and decided right then that she should be gracing his home. Vance hadn’t swept her off her feet; he had gently gained her confidence, gradually increasing the frequency of their dates until she was seeing no one but him; then he had proposed marriage by giving her one perfect rosebud with an exquisite diamond ring nestled in the heart of it.

Imogene hadn’t been thrilled that her son had selected his wife from outside the elite circle of their social group, but not even Imogene could really find fault with Susan. Susan was, as everyone phrased it, “a perfect lady.” She was accepted as Vance’s wife, and for three years she had been blessed with happiness. Vance was a considerate lover and husband, and he never let her forget that she was the most important thing in his life, far more important than the Blackstone empire and traditions. He demonstrated his faith in her by leaving everything to her in his will, including control of his share of the family businesses. Devastated by his sudden death, the terms of the will had meant nothing to Susan. Nothing was important to her without Vance.

But time passed, and time healed. Imogene and Preston, at first furious when they learned that she intended to oversee her share of the businesses instead of turning them over to Preston as they had expected, had gradually forgotten their anger as Susan handled herself well, both privately and publicly. She wasn’t a woman on an ego trip, nor was she prone to make irresponsible decisions. She had both feet firmly on the ground…or she had had, until another Blackstone had entered her life.

As the days passed, she told herself over and over how silly she was being. Why moon over a man who hadn’t shown the slightest interest in her since the night they had met? He had just been trying to irritate Preston by playing up to her, that was all. But as soon as that thought registered in her mind, a memory would surface, that of a hard, aroused male body pressing against her, and she knew that Cord hadn’t been playing.

She couldn’t get his face out of her mind. Odd that she hadn’t noticed the family resemblance, but for all the blue eyes and dark hair, nothing about Cord had seemed familiar to her. When she looked at Preston, she was always reminded strongly of Vance; Cord Blackstone resembled no one but himself, with his black brigand’s beard and wicked eyes. His personality overshadowed the similarities of coloring and facial structure.

Stop thinking about him! she told herself sternly one night as she dressed to attend a party with Preston. She had been looking at herself in the mirror, checking to see if her dress fit as it should, and had suddenly found herself wondering if Cord would like the dress, if he would find her attractive in it. With rare irritation, she whirled away from the mirror. She had to get him out of her mind! It had been almost three weeks since she’d met him, and it was obvious that she was in a tizzy over nothing, because in those three weeks he’d made no effort to see her again.

It was just as well; they were totally unsuited. She was a gentle spring shower; he was thunder and lightning. She had let a simple flirtation go to her head, and it was time she realized that there was nothing to it.

Glancing out a window at the gloomy sky, she reached into the closet for a coat. The capricious weather of the Gulf states had reminded everyone that it was still only March, despite the balmy weather they had been enjoying for most of the month. The temperature would be close to freezing before she came home, so she chose the warmest coat she owned, as well as wearing a long-sleeved dress.

Preston was always exactly on time, so Susan went down a few minutes early to chat with her cook and housekeeper, Emily Ferris. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes; why don’t you go home early today?” she suggested.

“I might at that.” Emily looked out the window, watching the wind whip the giant oak tree at the edge of the yard. “This is the kind of day that makes me want to wrap up in a blanket and sleep in front of a fire. Do you have a coat?” she asked sternly, looking at Susan’s slender form.

Susan laughed. “Yes, I have a coat.” Emily watched over her like a mother hen, but mothering came naturally to Emily, who had five children of her own. The youngest had left the nest a year ago, and since then, Susan had received the full intensity of Emily’s protection. She didn’t mind; Emily was as steady as a rock, and had been in Susan’s employ since she had married Vance. It was in Emily’s arms that Susan had wept her most violent tears after Vance’s death.

“I’ll leave the heat on, so the house won’t be cold when you come in,” Emily promised. “Where’re you going tonight?”

“To the Gages’. I believe William is planning to run for governor next year, and he’s lining up support and campaign contributors.”

“Hummph,” Emily snorted. “What does a Gage know about politics? Don’t tell me that Preston’s going to support him?”

Susan lifted one elegant eyebrow. “You know Preston; he’s very cautious. He’ll have to look at every candidate before he makes up his mind.” She knew from experience that every politician in the state would be burying the Blackstones under an avalanche of invitations. Susan had tried to stay out of politics, but Imogene and Preston were heavily courted, and Preston invariably asked her to accompany him whenever he attended a party with either political overtones or undertones.

She heard the doorbell at the precise instant the clock chimed the hour, and with a smile she went to greet Preston.

He helped her with her coat, arranging the collar snugly around her throat.

“It’s getting really cold,” he muttered. “So much for spring.”

“Don’t be so impatient.” She smiled. “It’s still only March. It’s just that these last few weeks spoiled everyone, but you knew it couldn’t last.”

It began to rain as they drove to the Gages’ house, a slow, sullen rain that turned the late afternoon into night. Preston was a careful, confident driver, and he made the thirty-mile drive in good time. Caroline Gage met them at the door. “Preston, Susan, I’m glad you could come! Would you like a drink before dinner? William’s playing bartender in the den.”

Despite Caroline’s easy manner, Susan caught a hint of tension in the older woman’s expression and wondered if Caroline wasn’t enthusiastic about her husband’s foray into politics. Following Preston into the den, she found the room already crowded with friends and acquaintances, the usual social crowd. Preston was promptly hailed by William Gage, and with a smile for Susan he allowed himself to be drawn aside.

Susan refused anything to drink, since she hadn’t eaten anything, and wandered around talking to her friends. She was popular with both men and women, and it took her quite a while to make a circle of the room. It was almost time for dinner and she glanced at her hostess, frowning when she saw Caroline watching the door, anxiety clearly evident on her face. Was some special guest late?

The doorbell chimed and Caroline paled, but didn’t pause as she went to greet her late-arriving guests. Susan watched the door curiously, waiting to see who it was; Caroline was usually unflappable, and it must be someone really important to have her so on edge.

Her brows rose when George and Olivia Warren came into the room; the Warrens were part of the social hierarchy, but Caroline had been friends with them for years. Cheryl Warren followed them, her ash-blond hair a mass of carefully disarranged curls, her svelte body outlined in a form-fitting black dress…and behind her, towering over her, his bearded face sardonic, was Cord Blackstone.

So that was why Caroline was nervous! She’d known that Cord would be with Cheryl Warren, and she was on pins and needles at having Cord and Preston in the same room.

She needn’t have worried, Susan thought, glancing at Preston. He wouldn’t like it, but neither would he make a scene in someone else’s home. If Cord just behaved himself, the evening would go smoothly, though she was acutely aware that Cord would behave himself only if it suited his own purposes.

But, surprisingly, he was a perfect gentleman throughout the long dinner. He was politely attentive to Cheryl, a fact which made Susan’s stomach knot. She tried not to look at him, and told herself wryly that she shouldn’t have been surprised to see him with another woman…any other woman. He was a man who would always have a female companion. She was surprised, however, by the jealousy that jolted her whenever she heard Cheryl’s clear laughter, or caught the dark murmur of Cord’s voice under the noise of the general chatter.

Caroline had cleared the large living room for dancing, and after dinner she put a stack of easy-listening albums on the stereo, keeping the volume low so her guests could dance or talk as they wished. Susan danced a few dances and talked with her friends, wishing that Preston would cut the evening short and take her home, but he was effectively caught in a group of men earnestly talking politics, and she knew that it would be hours before he was free. She sighed and absently watched the slow-moving couples swaying to the music, then stiffened as her gaze accidentally locked with Cord’s pale, glittering eyes. Cheryl was held securely in his strong arms, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her as he stared at Susan over Cheryl’s bare shoulder. He didn’t smile; his gaze slid down her body in a leisurely journey, then returned to her face, staring at her as if he could pierce her thoughts. She paled and looked away. Why had he done that? He’d made it plain by his silence these past three weeks that their flirtation hadn’t meant anything to him; why look at her now as if he meant to drag her away to his lair? How could he look at her like that, when he held Cheryl in his arms?

Susan pushed her thoughts away by entering into a conversation about vacation cruises, and kept her back turned to the center of the room. It was a tactical error, but one she didn’t realize until she felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, the age-old warning of danger nearby, and she knew that Cord was behind her. She tensed, waiting for the contact that she knew was coming. His hand touched her waist at the same time that his dark, husky voice said above her head, “Dance with me.”

A variation of the same tune, she thought dazedly, allowing herself to be turned and taken into his arms. Taken…that was the operative word. She felt taken, as if the simple closing of his arms around her had sealed her off from the rest of the world, drawn her deeply and irrevocably under his spell. She was crazy to dance so close to the flame, knowing that she would be burned, but she felt helpless to resist the temptation of his company. As his arms brought her close to his body, the virile scent of his subtle cologne, mingled with the intoxicating smell of his male flesh, went straight to her head and she all but staggered. His hand was burning through the fabric of her dress and scorching her skin; her breasts throbbed and tightened in mindless response, completely out of her control, and she closed her eyes at the powerful surge of desire. Her heart was thumping heavily in her chest, almost painfully, sending her blood zinging through her veins like electrical charges.

There seemed to be nothing to say, so she didn’t try to make conversation. She simply followed his lead, intensely aware of the fluid strength of his body, the animal grace of his movements. His warm breath was caressing her temple like the fragrant spring breezes that she loved, and without thinking she opened her eyes, lifting her misty, dreaming gaze to meet the laser intensity of his.

Something hard and frightening was in his gaze, but it was swiftly masked before she could read it. The hard planes of his face were taut, as if he were under some sort of strain. He muttered, “I’ve tried to stay away from you.”

“You’ve succeeded.” Confused, she wondered what he meant. He was the dangerous one, not she. Why should he want to stay away? She was the one who should be running for safety, and the fact that she wasn’t had her almost in a panic.

“I haven’t succeeded at all,” he said flatly. The arm at her waist tightened until she was pressed into his body, his hard thighs sliding against her, making his desire firmly obvious. Susan pulled in a wavering breath as her fingers tightened on his shoulder. He dipped his head until his mouth was against her ear, his voice a low rumble. “I want to make love to you. You’re responsible for this, sweetheart, and I’m all yours.”

The words should have frightened her, but she was beyond fright, already oblivious to anything beyond this man. Her senses had narrowed, sharpened, until he was the only person in the room who was in focus. Everyone else was blurred, distant, and she danced with him in an isolated glow. She closed her eyes again at the thrill that electrified her from head to toe.

He swore softly under his breath. “You look as if I’m making love to you right now. You’re driving me out of my mind, sweetheart.”

He was making love to her, with his words, with every brush of his body against hers as they moved in time with the music. And if he was tortured, so was she. She had been utterly chaste since Vance’s death, not even kissing another man, but now she felt as if Cord possessed her in the most basic sense of the word.

“Cheryl came with me, so I’ll take her home,” he said, placing his lips against her temple as he talked. “But we’re going to have to talk. Will you be at home tomorrow afternoon?”

Dazedly, she tried to recall if she had made any plans for the next day; nothing came to mind. It didn’t matter; even if she had, she would cancel them. “Yes, I’ll be there.” Her voice sounded odd, she noted dimly, as if she hadn’t any strength.

“I have some business to take care of tomorrow, so I can’t nail down an exact time when I’ll be there, but I will be there,” he promised.

“Do you know where I live?”

She could feel his lips curving in a smile. “Of course I know where you live. I made a point of finding out the day after I met you.”

The song ended, and she automatically moved away from him, but his arm tightened around her waist. He grinned, his teeth flashing whitely in the darkness of his beard. “You’re going to have to shield me for a few more minutes.”

A delicate rise of color tinted her cheeks. “We shouldn’t dance. That would only…prolong the situation.”

“We’ll find a corner to stand in.” A twinkle danced in the glittering depths of his eyes. “We’ll have to stand; I’m incapable of sitting down right now.”

She felt her blush deepen, and he chuckled as he moved with her to the edge of the room. She was aware deep inside herself that her heightened color wasn’t from embarrassment, but from a primal excitement. She wasn’t shocked that he was aroused; she was proud!

He positioned himself with his back to everyone else, his broad shoulders effectively blocking her view of the room. His eyes roamed slowly, intently over her face, as if he were trying to read something in the serenity of her expression. “Did you come with Preston?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes.” Suddenly she wanted to launch into an explanation of why she was there in Preston’s company, but she left the words unsaid and let her simple reply stand on its own. Preston was her brother-in-law, and she was fond of him; she wouldn’t apologize for being with him.

The magnetic power of Cord’s eyes was frightening; tiny prisms of light seemed caught in them, holding her gaze captive. Her breath caught in her throat and hung there, swelling her lungs, as she waited for him to release her from his spell. “Am I horning in between you and Preston?” he finally asked in not much more than a whisper. “Are you involved with him?”

The breath that she’d been holding was released on her soft answer. “No.”

A smile lifted one corner of his hard mouth. “Good. I just wanted to know if I have any competition. It wouldn’t stop me, but I like to know what I’m up against.”

No, he didn’t have any competition—in any sense. He stood out like a cougar among sheep. The thought of him turning his single-minded attention on her was alarming, but at the same time, she already knew that she wouldn’t say the words necessary to turn him away. She knew that she should run like crazy, but her body refused to obey the dictates of common sense.

A tiny frown flickered across his brow as he stared down at her, as if he had seen something that he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t be wary of her, or alarmed by her femininity; he had known far too many women for there to be any mysteries left for him. Perhaps he was surprised to find himself flirting with her, because she certainly wasn’t his type. Perhaps he was looking at her quiet face, her becoming but unspectacular dress, and wondering if he’d temporarily lost his mind. Then the frown was gone, and he smiled faintly as he brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Tomorrow, sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

Susan both dreaded and longed for the next day to arrive, but with outward calm and practiced self-discipline, she made it through the remainder of the evening with her usual dignity, chatted normally with Preston on the drive back home, and even went through her nightly routine without missing a beat. Once she was in bed, however, lying alone in the darkened room, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from swinging dizzily around Cord, picturing his saturnine face, his incredible lodestone eyes, the black beard that was as soft as a child’s hair.

He had a black magic that went to her head like the finest champagne, but how could she be so foolish as to let herself be drawn into the whirlpool of his masculine charm? She’d be sucked so far under the dark waters that she’d have no control over herself or her life; she’d be his plaything, as other women had been, toys that interested him intensely for a short while before they were discarded in favor of a new and more intriguing amusement. Could she really let herself become one of his toys? She’d known real love with Vance, a love that had endowed their physical union with a deep and satisfying richness. Having known that, how could she settle for anything less?

Her mind, her heart, the very core of her being—all said no. Her body, however, lying warm and quivering, yearning for the touch of his strong, lean hands, rebelled against the commonsense strictures of her mind. She was learning now how primitive and powerful desire could be, how disobedient the flesh could be to the demands of conscience. Her soft, feminine body had instinctively recognized the touch of a master, a man who knew far too many ways to bring pleasure to her.

She lay awake for several long, tormented hours, but at last her quietly indomitable will won out over her fevered, longing body. She was not now, never had been, and never would be, the type to indulge in a shallow affair, no matter how physically attractive a man was. If he wanted her company for something other than sex, then she would be happy to be his friend, but the thought of sex without love was abhorrent to her. Making love with Vance had been spiritual and emotional, as well as physical, and her knowledge of the heights had left her dissatisfied with the lower peaks that could be scaled without love.

Not once, during the dark hours, did she have any doubts about the nature of the relationship that Cord wanted with her. He’d told her bluntly that he wanted to make love to her; she sensed that he was always that honest about his desires. His honesty wasn’t the courageous openness of honor, but merely his lack of concern over what anyone else thought or had to say about him. He was already an outlaw; why worry about ruining his reputation further?

If only the forbidden weren’t always so enticing! Her mind darted and leaped around his image, held so clearly in her memory. He was wickedly attractive; even talking to him gave her the sense of playing with fire. She had to admit that Cord had certainly captured her imagination, but it was nothing more than that, surely, except for his obvious physical charm. The ways of the wicked have always held a fascination for those who walk the bright and narrow path of morality.

But that bright and narrow path was where she belonged, where life had placed her, where she was happy. The shadows where Cord Blackstone stood weren’t for her, no matter how intriguing the weary knowledge in his crystalline eyes.

She slept little, but woke feeling calm and rested. Her inner surety of self often masked such physical weaknesses as tiredness or minor illness; her features might be pale, but there was always a certain calmness that overlay any signs of strain. It was Sunday, so she dressed and drove her eight-year-old blue Audi over to Blackstone House to attend church with Imogene and Preston, as she had always done. To her relief, Preston didn’t mention that Cord had been at the party the night before; he was too interested in relating to Imogene the details of William Gage’s infant political career. Susan commented little, entering the conversation only when she was addressed directly. She sat quietly through the church service, accepted Imogene’s invitation to lunch, and maintained her mood of strong reserve all through the meal. Her in-laws didn’t try to draw her out of her relative quiet; they had learned to accept her occasional silences as they accepted her smiles. Susan didn’t run to a comforting shoulder to unburden herself whenever something troubled her; they might never know what made her deep blue eyes so pensive, and they didn’t ask.

They had just finished lunch and were moving into the den when Mrs. Robbins, the housekeeper, appeared with a visitor at her elbow. “Someone to see you, ma’am,” she told Imogene, and went about her business. Mrs. Robbins had been with the Blackstones for five years, but she had evidently not heard the rumors and wild tales that had circulated about Cord Blackstone, because there hadn’t been a flicker of recognition in the woman’s features as she admitted him.

Susan’s eyes swept over his face, and she surprised a look of irritation that drew his level brows together in a brief frown when he saw her. Then the frown was gone, and he crossed the room with his easy grace to kiss Imogene, bending down to touch his lips to her cool, ageless cheek. Once again that astonishing color pinkened Imogene’s face, though her voice was as controlled as always when she spoke. “Hello, Cord. We’ve just finished lunch, or I’d invite you to eat with us. Would you like something to drink?”

“Thank you. Whiskey, neat.” His mobile lips quirked at the iron-clad Southern manners that demanded she offer him food and drink, even when he knew that she despised him. Watching him, Susan surprised herself by reading exactly the thoughts that were only hinted at in his expression. She would have thought that Cord would be more difficult to read.

He chose one of the big, brown leather armchairs, and accepted the short, wide glass of amber liquid that Imogene extended to him, murmuring his thanks in a low voice. Totally at ease, he stretched his long legs out before him and sipped the whiskey.

The room was totally silent, except for the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock perched on the massive oak mantel. Cord seemed to be the only one who was comfortable with the silence. Preston was becoming increasingly red in the face, and Imogene fidgeted with her skirt before she caught herself and commanded her hands to lie calmly in her lap. Susan didn’t fidget, but she felt as if her heart were going to bruise itself against the cage of her ribs. How could he have this effect on her by simply walking into the room? It was insane!

He was dressed with fine disregard for the capricious March weather, wearing only impeccable black slacks, creased to a razor’s edge, and a thin blue silk shirt through which she could see his darkly tanned flesh and the curling black hair on his chest. Her eyes drank in the details of him, even as she tried not to look at him. For the first time, she noticed the small gold band that he wore on the little finger of his right hand, and she wondered if it was a woman’s wedding band. The thought jolted her. What woman had been so important to him that he would wear her ring?

Behind her, Preston had evidently reached the end of his patience. “Did you have a reason for coming here?” he asked bluntly.

A level brow rose in mocking query. “Do you have a reason for being so suspicious?”

Preston didn’t even notice the way his words had been turned back on him, but Susan did, and she lifted her head just a fraction of an inch, only a small movement, but one that signaled to people who knew her well that she wasn’t pleased. Preston and Imogene knew, and Preston gave her a look that was abruptly apologetic. He had opened his mouth to apologize aloud, a concession that Susan knew didn’t come easily to him, when Cord cut smoothly across him.

“Of course I have a reason for coming, and I’m glad that you’re smart enough to know that you aren’t going to like hearing it. I wouldn’t enjoy knowing that I have an idiot for a cousin.”

Cord was being deliberately argumentative, Susan realized, and her eyes narrowed just a tiny bit as she stared at him, but she didn’t say anything.

Again silence reigned, as Preston and Imogene seemed to stiffen, waiting. After a moment’s surprise, Susan realized that both of them seemed to know what Cord was getting at, and she looked from her in-laws back to Cord’s faintly amused expression. He let the quietness draw itself out until the room fairly reverberated with tension; then he negligently crossed one booted foot over the other.

With an air of idle musing, he said, “I know you’ve probably thought that I’ve spent the past few years bumming around the world, but I’ve been gainfully employed most of the time since I left Mississippi. I work for an oil company, as a sort of troubleshooter.” His pale eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched the parade of astonishment marching across the features of his cousin and aunt. He didn’t look at Susan at all.

“I…smooth things out for them,” he continued silkily. “I don’t have a title; I have contacts, and methods. I’m surprisingly good at my job, because I don’t take no for an answer.”

Imogene was the first to recover, and she favored Cord with a polite smile. “I appreciate that you’re very well suited for your job, but why are you telling us about it?”

“I just wanted you to understand my position. Look at it as honor among thieves, if you prefer. Now, let’s get down to business.”

“We don’t have any business with you,” Preston interjected.

Cord flicked an impatient glance over him. “The Blackstones own a lot of land in Alabama, southern Mississippi, and Louisiana. I inherited my share of it, so I should know. But the land that I’m interested in isn’t part of my inheritance; if it was, I wouldn’t be here now. I know that several oil companies have approached you in the last ten years for permission to drill in the ridges, but you’ve turned them all down. Newer surveys have indicated that the reserves of oil or gas in the ridges could be much larger than originally projected. I want to lease the ridges for my company.”

“No,” said Preston without hesitation. “Mother and Vance and I talked it over when we were first approached years ago. We don’t want any drilling on Blackstone property.”

“For what reason, other than a vague idea that it’s too money-grubbing for a blue-blooded old Southern family like the Blackstones?”

Susan sat very still, nothing in the room escaping her attention. A cold chill was lacing itself around her body, freezing her in place. The ridges weren’t exactly ridges; they were only ripples in the earth, clothed in thick stands of pine. She liked the ridges, liked the peacefulness of them, the sweet smell of pure earth and pine. But why was Cord asking Imogene and Preston about them? Didn’t he know?

“It was nothing as silly as that,” Imogene explained calmly. “We simply didn’t feel that the chances of a significant oil find were great enough to justify disturbing the ridges. There aren’t any roads into them except for that one Jeep track; trees would have to be cut, roads made. I’ve seen the messes that drilling sites make.”

“Things have changed in the last ten years,” Cord replied, carrying the glass of whiskey to his lips. “A lot more care is taken not to disturb any area, and, as I said, it looks as if there’s a lot more oil in the ridges than anyone thought at first.”

Preston laughed. “Thank you for the information. We’ll think about it; we might decide to allow drilling in the ridges after all. But I don’t think we’ll use your company.”

A slow, satisfied smile began to move Cord’s lips. “I think you will, cousin. Or you can face criminal charges.”

Susan didn’t know what he was talking about, but she knew that he had led Preston to exactly that point. He had played the scene as he had wanted it, knowing what Preston’s reaction would be, and knowing all the time that he held all the aces. Cord Blackstone had a streak of ruthlessness in him, and her chill deepened.

Preston had gone pale. Of course, she thought absently. Cord wouldn’t have made a statement like that without being very sure of himself. She noted that Imogene was also as white and still as a china doll, so Imogene also knew what was going on.

“What are you saying?” Preston asked hoarsely.

“My inheritance.” Cord smiled lazily. “I’m a Blackstone, remember? I own stock in all the Blackstone companies. The funny thing is, I haven’t been receiving my share of any of the profits. Nothing has been deposited into my accounts at any of the banks we use. I didn’t have to dig very deep before I found some papers that had my signature forged on them.” He took another sip of whiskey, slowly tightening the screws. He knew he had them. “I believe forgery and theft are still against the law. And we aren’t talking about pin money, either, are we? You didn’t think I’d ever come back, so you and Aunt Imogene have been steadily lining your own pockets with my money. Not exactly an honorable thing to do, is it?”

Imogene looked as if she would faint. Preston had been turned into stone. Cord looked at them, totally satisfied with the effect he’d had. He smiled again. “Now, about those leases.”

Susan stood, her movements slow and graceful, drawing all attention to her. She felt curiously removed from them, as if she were swathed in protective layers of cotton. Somehow she wasn’t surprised, or even shocked, to learn that Preston and Imogene had been taking profits that were legally Cord’s. It was a stupid thing to do, as well as illegal, but they had a different view of things. To them, what belonged to one Blackstone belonged to all of them. It was a feudal outlook, but there it was. The most trouble she’d ever had with Imogene had been when Vance died and it became known that he’d left everything to Susan, instead of returning it to the family coffers. That was the one mistake Cord had made, in assuming that Vance had left his mother and brother in control of his share. It was an uncharacteristic mistake, and one that he had made because he was a Blackstone himself, with all of their inborn arrogance.

“You’re bullying the wrong people,” she told Cord remotely, her low voice cutting through the layers of tension and hostility. She felt the lash of his suddenly narrowed gaze, but she didn’t flinch under it. “If Preston and Imogene are guilty, then so am I, by association if not actual knowledge. But they can’t get you the leases to the ridges. The ridges belong to me.”

Chapter Three

She didn’t remember driving home. She’d walked out, not even pausing to get her coat, but hadn’t felt the cold in her detachment. The house was empty, when she got home, without any welcoming smells emanating from the kitchen, because Sunday was Emily’s day off. Susan knew that she’d find something in the refrigerator already prepared, if she was hungry, but she didn’t think she’d be able to eat again that day.

She changed clothes, carefully hanging the garments in the closet, then immediately took off the casual clothing she’d just put on. She needed a hot bath, something to take away the coldness that had nothing to do with her skin, but was rather a great lump inside her chest. She threw some sweet herbs into the hot water and eased into the tub, feeling the heat begin to soothe away her stress.

Why did she feel so stunned? Preston had warned her that Cord was ruthless; why hadn’t she believed him? It wasn’t even what he had done, as much as the way he had done it. He had a right to punish Preston and Imogene for taking what was, essentially, his birthright. If he had wanted to trade that for the leases to the ridges, that was also his right. But he had played with them, leading them step-by-step to the point where they would feel the shock the worst, and he had enjoyed the effect his words had had on them. There was obviously no love lost between them, but Susan didn’t believe in inflicting unnecessary pain. Cord had wanted them to squirm.

When the water had cooled, she let it out and dried herself, sighing as she dressed again in the dark brown slacks and white shirt she’d chosen. The bath had helped, but she still felt that inner chill. She checked the thermostat and found that it was set at a comfortable level, but she didn’t feel comfortable. She lit a fire under the logs that had already been placed in the fireplace in the den, then wandered into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

The fire was catching when she went back into the den, and she sat for long, increasingly peaceful moments, staring at the licking blue and orange flames. There was nothing as calming as a fire on a cold day. She thought about the needlepoint she was doing, but discarded the idea of working on it. She didn’t want to sew; sewing left her mind free to wander, and she wanted to wipe the day from her mind, occupy her thoughts with something else. She got up and went over to the bookshelves, then began to run her finger across the spines of the books, considering and rejecting as she read the titles. Before she could choose a book, the doorbell chimed, then was followed promptly by a hard knock that rattled the door.

She knew instinctively who it was, but her steps didn’t falter as she went to the door and opened it.

He was leaning against the door frame, his breath misting in the cold air. His blue eyes were leaping with a strange anger. “I didn’t want you involved in this,” he snapped.

Susan stepped back and waved him into the house. He had made some concession to the weather, after all, she noted, as he shrugged out of the lightweight jacket he wore. She took it from him and hung it neatly in the coat closet. She was calm, as if the shock of seeing his cruelty had freed her from the dizzying spell of his sensuality. Her heartbeat was slow and steady, her breathing regular.

“I’ve just put on a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

His mouth thinned into a hard line. “Aren’t you going to offer me whiskey, try to get me drunk so it’ll be easier to handle me?”

Did he think that was why Imogene had offered him something to drink? She started to ask him, then shut her mouth, because it was possible that he was right. Imogene could have offered coffee, because there was always a fresh pot made after every meal. And neither Imogene nor Preston drank very much, beyond what was required socially.

Instead she treated his question literally. “I don’t have any whiskey in the house, because I don’t drink it. If you want something alcoholic, you’ll have to settle for wine. Not only that, I think it would be difficult to get you drunk, and that being drunk would make you harder to handle, rather than easier.”

“You’re right about that; I make a mean drunk. Coffee will do fine,” he said tersely, and followed her as she went into the kitchen. Without looking, she knew that he was examining her home, seeing the warmth and comfort of it, so different from the formal perfection of Blackstone House. Her rooms were large and airy, with a lot of windows; the floors were natural wood, polished to a high gloss. A profusion of plants, happy in the warmth and light, gave the rooms both color and coziness.

He watched as she took two brown earthenware mugs from the cabinet and poured the strong, hot coffee into them. “Cream or sugar?” she asked, and he shook his head, taking the cup from her.

“There’s a fire lit in the den; let’s go in there. I was cold when I got home,” she said by way of explanation, leading the way into the other room.

She curled up in her favorite position, in a corner of the love seat that sat directly before the fire, but he propped himself against the mantel as he drank his coffee. Again he looked at his surroundings, taking in her books, the needlepoint she’d been working on, the television and stereo system perched in place on the built-in shelves. He didn’t say anything, and she wondered if he used silence as a weapon, forcing others to make the first move. But she wasn’t uncomfortable, and she felt safe in her own home. She drank her coffee and watched the fire, content to wait.

He placed the mug on the mantel with a thud, and Susan looked up. “Would you like more coffee?” she offered.

“No.”

The flat refusal, untempered by the added “thank you” that politeness demanded, signaled that he was ready for the silence to end. Susan mentally braced herself, then set her cup aside and said evenly, “I suppose you want to talk about leasing the ridges.”

He uttered an explicit Anglo-Saxon phrase that brought her to her feet, her cheeks flaming, ready to show him the door. He reached out and caught her arm, swinging her around and hauling her up against his body in a single movement that stunned her with its swiftness. He wrapped his left arm around her waist, anchoring her to him, while he cupped her chin in his right hand. He turned her face up, and she saw the male intent in his eyes, making her shiver.

She wasn’t afraid of him, yet the excitement that was racing along her body was very like fear. The false calm she’d been enjoying had shattered at the first move he’d made, and now her heart was shifting into double time, reacting immediately to his touch. He wouldn’t hurt her; she wasn’t afraid of that. It was her own unwilling but powerful attraction to him that made her uneasy, that brought her hands up to press against his chest as he bent closer to her.

“Stop,” she whispered, turning her head aside just in time, making his lips graze her soft cheek. His grip on her chin tightened, and he brought her mouth back around, holding her firmly, but instead of taking her lips he let his mouth wander to her ear, where his teeth nibbled sharply on the lobe. Susan caught her breath, then forgot to let it out as the warm slide of his lips went down the column of her throat and nuzzled her open collar aside, to find and press the soft, tender hollow just below her collarbone. She felt his tongue lick out and taste her flesh, and her breath rushed from her lungs.

“Cord, no,” she protested frantically, alarmed by the tingling warmth that coursed through her body, spreading like wildfire from the touch of his mouth on her. Her pushing hands couldn’t budge him. All she succeeded in doing was making herself deeply aware of the powerful muscles that layered his chest and shoulders, of the wild animal strength of him.

“Susan, honey, don’t tell me no,” he murmured insistently into the fragrant softness of her shoulder, before licking and kissing his way up her throat. Her fingers dug into his shoulder as every tiny flick of his tongue sent her nerves into twitching ecstasy. He finally lifted his head and hovered over her, their lips barely separated, their breaths mingling. “Kiss me,” he demanded, his voice harsh, his eyes narrowed and intent.

Her body was quaking in his arms, her flesh fevered and aching for greater closeness with him, but her alarm equaled her physical need. The look in his pale eyes was somehow both cold and fiery, as if his body were responding to her but his actions were deliberately planned. Horrified, she realized that he knew exactly what his touch did to her, and if she didn’t stop him soon, she would be beyond stopping him. He’d actually done so little, only kissing her shoulder, but she could feel the hardened readiness of his body and the tension that coiled in his muscles. He was a fire waiting to consume her, and she was afraid that she didn’t know how to fight him.

“No, I can’t—” she began, and that was all the chance he needed. His mouth closed on hers, and Susan melted almost instantaneously, her body telegraphing its need for him even though her mind rebelled. Her lips and teeth parted to allow the intrusion of his tongue; her hands slid up to lock around his neck, her fingers clenching in the thickness of his hair. As a first kiss, it was devastating. She was already at such a high level of awareness of him that the growing heat of the kiss was inevitable. She gave in without protest to the increasing pressure of his arms as he gathered her even closer to the heated need of his body.

The warning voice of caution was fragmented into a thousand helpless little pieces, useless against the overwhelming maleness of him. Too many sensations were attacking a body that had been innocent of sensuality for five long years, turning her thoughts into chaos, her body into a dizzying maelstrom of need.

She’d never before been so aware of a man’s kiss as a forerunner to and an imitation of the act of sexual possession, but the slow penetration and withdrawal of his tongue sent shudders of pure desire reverberating through her. Mindlessly she rose on tiptoe, and he reacted to the provocation of her movement, his hands sliding down her back to curve over and cup the roundness of her buttocks, his fingers kneading her soft flesh as he lifted her still more, molding her to him so precisely that they might as well have been naked for all the protection their clothing afforded her from the secrets of his body. A moan, so low that it was almost a vibration rather than a sound, trembled in the air, and after a moment Susan realized with shock that it was coming from her throat.

No.

The denial was, at first, only a forlorn whisper in her own mind, without force, but some portion of her brain heard and understood, accepted that she couldn’t allow herself to sample the lustful delights this man offered her. With the age-old wisdom of women, she knew that she couldn’t offer herself casually, though he would take her casually. It would be nothing to him; a moment of pleasure, good but unimportant and swiftly forgotten. Susan, being the woman she was, would have to offer her heart before she could offer her body, and though she was dangerously attracted to him, she was still heart whole.

No! The word echoed in her mind again, stronger this time, and she tensed in his arms, oblivious now to the seduction of his mouth. The protest still hadn’t been voiced aloud, she realized, and with an effort she pulled her mouth free of his. She was suspended in his arms, her toes dangling above the floor while he cupped her hips to his in a position of intimacy, but her stiffened arms held her head and shoulders slightly away from him. She met his glittering diamond eyes evenly. “No.”

His lips were red and sensuously swollen from their kiss, and she knew that hers must look the same. His dark beard had been so soft that she hadn’t been aware of any prickles, and a rebellious tingle of desire made her want to nuzzle her face against that softness. To deny herself, she said again, “No.”

His mouth quirked, amusement shining like a ray of sunshine across his face. “If people learn through repetition, then I have that word engraved on my brain.”

Under any other circumstances she would have laughed, but her nerves were too raw to permit humor. She increased the pressure of her hands against his heavy shoulders, desperately trying to ignore the heat of his flesh searing her through the thin silk of his shirt. “Put me down. Please.”

He obeyed, slowly, and his obedience was almost as provocative as his sensual attack. He let her slide with excruciating slowness down the hard length of his body, turning her release into an extended caress that touched her from her knees to her shoulders. She almost faltered, almost let her hands leave his shoulders to slide up and clasp around his neck again. Alarmed, determined, she stepped back as soon as her feet touched the floor, and with a wry smile, he let her go.

“You weren’t so wary of me last night,” he teased, but he watched sharply as she carefully placed herself out of his reach.

That was nothing less than the truth, so she agreed. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Do I look more dangerous in daylight?”

Yes, infinitely so, because now she’d seen a ruthlessness in him that she hadn’t realized was there. Susan regarded him seriously, not even tempted to smile. She could try to put him off with vague excuses, but they wouldn’t work with this man. He was still watching her with the deceptive laziness of a cat watching a mouse, letting it go just so far before lashing out with a paw and snatching it back. She sighed, the sound gentle in the room. “I don’t think I could trust anyone who did what you did today.”

He straightened from his negligent stance, his eyes narrowing. “I only went as far as I had to go. If they’d agreed to lease the ridges, the threat wouldn’t have been made.”

She shook her head, sending her dark hair swirling in a soft, fragrant cloud around her face. “It was more than that. You set it up, deliberately antagonized both Imogene and Preston from the moment you walked in the door, pushing them so hard that you knew they wouldn’t lease the ridges to you, knew you were going to hit them with your threats. You led them to it, and you gloated every inch of the way.”

She stopped there, not voicing the other suspicion that was clouding her mind. Even without really knowing him, she felt as if she knew enough about him to realize that he seldom made mistakes; he was simply too smart, too cunning. But he had either made a mistake in not completely investigating the ownership of the ridges, or he had known all along that she was the owner, and hoped to use his threat against Imogene and Preston as a means of forcing her to sign the leases. It was common knowledge in the area how close she was to her in-laws; even an outsider could have discovered that. Cord might not have the means of threatening her personally, but he would see right away that she was vulnerable through her regard for her husband’s family. And even worse than that, she had another suspicion: Was he bent on seducing her for some murky plan of revenge, or as a less than honorable means of securing the lease on the ridges? Either way, his attention to her was suddenly open to question, and she shrank from the thought.

He was still watching her with that unsettling stare. “Guilty as charged. I enjoyed every minute of making the slimy little bastard squirm.”

Shaken by the relish in his tone, she winced. “It was cruel and unnecessary.”

“Cruel, maybe,” he drawled. “But it was damned necessary!”

“In what way? To feed your need for revenge?”

It had been a shot in the dark, but she saw immediately that it had been dead on target. The look he gave her was almost violent; then he turned and took the poker in his hand, bending down to rearrange the burning logs in the fireplace, expending his flare of anger on them. Straightening, he returned the poker to its place and stood with his head down, staring into the hypnotically dancing fire.

“I have my reasons,” he said harshly.

She waited, but the moments stretched out and she saw that he wasn’t going to explain himself. He saw no need to justify himself to her; the time had long passed when he needed anyone’s approval of his actions.

The question had to be asked, so she braced herself and asked it. “What are you going to do about the money Preston owes you, now that you know he doesn’t control the ridges?”

He gave her a hard, glinting look. “I haven’t decided.”

Chilled by the speculation in his eyes, Susan resumed her seat, an indefinable sadness overwhelming her. Had she really expected him to trust her? He probably trusted no one, keeping his thoughts locked behind iron barricades.

It had to be due to a streak of hidden perversity inside her that, even though she’d rejected the idea of having an affair with him, now she was hurt because she thought he might have an ulterior motive for pursuing her. If she had any brains at all, she’d not only keep the mental distance between them, she’d widen it. He’d made a pass at her, but she couldn’t attach any importance to it; he probably made passes at a lot of women. If his kisses were anything, they were a subtle means of revenge. She was a Blackstone by name, and automatically included in his target area. Besmirching the reputation of Vance Blackstone’s widow would be a scheme likely to appeal to Cord, if he wanted the Blackstones to squirm.

Because she couldn’t stand the horror of the thought, her tone was abrupt when she spoke again. “I can’t give you an answer about the ridges. I won’t say no, but I can’t say yes, either. I’ll have an independent geological survey made, as well as gather several opinions about the ecological damage to the area, before I can reach a decision. And the decision I make will be based on the results of the surveys, not on any blackmail you may try to use.”

“I don’t remember asking you about the ridges,” he murmured, smiling coldly.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“Oh, please.” She waved her hand tiredly. “I don’t feel up to playing word games. I know the ridges are what you’re after.”

His eyes sharpened, and a certain tension invaded him, giving him a stillness that reminded her of an animal poised to attack. “I’ve never prostituted myself for an oil lease yet,” he drawled, yet anger lay beneath his lazy tone like a dark shadow.

Susan darted a glance up at him. “We both know I’m not your usual type.”

“Hell, no, you’re not! I’ll agree to that!” He glared at her, his lips compressed into a grim white line. “You sit there as cool as a cucumber and accuse me of something pretty low, but you never even raise your voice, do you? Tell me, lady, is there anything that gets a rise out of you? Do you have feelings, or are you just a china doll, useless but nice to look at?”

She almost recoiled in shock, feeling the force and heat of his anger. “Yes, I feel,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t want you to use me.”

Suddenly he crouched down until his eyes were on a level with hers, and he leaned forward, so close that she pressed herself back into the cushions to relieve the sensation of being swamped by him. “I don’t think you feel anything at all,” he rasped. “Or rather, you’re afraid of what feelings you do have. You want me, but you’re too afraid of what people will say to reach out and take me, aren’t you? You’re too tied to the security of your network of leeches, all of you pretty, useless people who live off the work of others. You’re pretty, sweetheart, but you’re nothing but a bloodsucker.”

His words hit her like blows, but she lifted her chin proudly. “You don’t know anything about me,” was all she said.

“I know enough to know that trying to get passion from you is a hopeless cause,” he returned caustically. “Look, I’ll be in touch about the leases, but don’t save any dances for me.”

She sat there for a long time after he left, wishing he would come back so she could spill out her fears and uncertainties to him, but knowing that it was for the best that he’d gone. He was right; she did want him, and she was afraid that if he knew just how weak she was, he’d play on those weaknesses and use her in any way he wanted, even as a means of revenge. If nothing else, she couldn’t let that happen.

How quickly he had destroyed the peace, the even tenor of her days! She spent another night lying awake, twisting under a mantle of unhappiness. When dawn finally came, revealing a low gray sky, she wanted to do nothing more than lie in bed all day as a refuge from the thoughts that whirled around in her tired mind. But with her usual determination she forced herself out of bed; she would maintain her regular schedule if it killed her! She wasn’t going to let Cord Blackstone tear her life to pieces.

She went to the offices in Biloxi every day; Preston ran everything, but since Vance’s death she had become more immersed in the daily details of running a corporation with a myriad of interests, and Preston had long ago gotten in the habit of talking everything over with her. He had the training, but she was quick and knowledgeable, and had good instincts about business. After Vance’s death, taking over his office had been a means of keeping her sanity, but before long she’d found herself enjoying the work, enjoying the flood of information on which decisions were based.

She arrived early, but Preston was even earlier. Having seen his car in the parking lot, she went straight to his office, knocking softly on his door. Their mutual secretary hadn’t arrived yet, and the building echoed with sounds not usually heard during the busy days.

He looked up at the interruption, and a welcoming smile eased the shadow of worry that had darkened his face. “Come on in. I’ve already put the coffee on.”

“I could do with an extra jolt of caffeine,” Susan sighed, heading straight for the coffeepot.

They sipped the hot brew in companionable silence for several minutes, then Susan put her cup down. “What are we going to do?”

He made no pretense of misunderstanding. “I went over the old books last night, trying to nail down exactly how much we owe him. It’s a lot, Susan.” He rubbed his forehead wearily.

“You’re going to try to replace the money, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “What else can I do? The hell of it is, we don’t have that much ready cash right now. We’ve invested heavily in research that won’t pay off for another couple of years, but you know that as well as I do. I’m not going to touch anything that you have an interest in; Mother and I agreed on that last night. We’re going to liquidate some of our personal assets—”

“Preston Blackstone!” she scolded gently. “Did you think I wouldn’t be willing to help you?”

“Of course not, honey, but it wouldn’t be fair to you. Mother and I did this, and we knew that we were taking a chance. We gambled that Cord wouldn’t come back until we’d been able to replace the money, and we lost.” He shrugged, his blue eyes full of wry acceptance of his own mistake. “It didn’t seem so wrong at the time. We didn’t use the money for anything personal; every cent of it was invested back into the corporation, but I don’t suppose that would make any difference in a court of law. I still forged his signature on some papers.”

“Will you be able to raise enough?” He might protest, but if they couldn’t cover the amount they owed Cord, then she would insist on helping them. She didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the corporation, so she agreed that its assets shouldn’t be touched, but Vance had left her a lot of personal assets that could easily be liquidated, including some highly valuable property. She also had the ridges, she realized with a sudden start. How badly did Cord want them? Badly enough to take the land in exchange for not pressing charges against Imogene and Preston? Two could play his game!

“I have an idea,” she said slowly, not giving Preston time enough to answer her question. “I have something he wants; perhaps we could make a trade.”

Preston was a smart man, and he knew her well; he leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes narrowing as he stared at her and sorted out the options and details in his mind. He didn’t waste time on unnecessary questions. “You’re talking about the ridges. You know that even if you lease the ridges to him, he can still file charges, don’t you? He might swear that he wouldn’t, but I don’t think his word of honor is worth much. Not only that, you’d be giving in to his blackmail.”

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