This month, in

THE PLAYBOY MEETS HIS MATCH

by Sara Orwig

Meet Jason Windover—drop-dead gorgeous cowboy and steadfast bachelor, at least until fiery Meredith Silver knocks him head over heels…literally. Can the notorious playboy convince Meredith of his change of heart?

SILHOUETTE DESIRE

IS PROUD TO PRESENT THE

Five wealthy Texas bachelors—all members of the state’s most exclusive club—set out to uncover the traitor in their midst…and find true love.

And don’t miss

THE BACHELOR TAKES A WIFE

by Jackie Merritt;

The final installment of the Texas Cattleman’s Club: The Last Bachelor series.

Available next month in Silhouette Desire!

Dear Reader,

Looking for romances with a healthy dose of passion? Don’t miss Silhouette Desire’s red-hot May lineup of passionate, powerful and provocative love stories!

Start with our MAN OF THE MONTH, His Majesty, M.D., by bestselling author Leanne Banks. This latest title in the ROYAL DUMONTS miniseries features an explosive engagement of convenience between a reluctant royal and a determined heiress. Then, in Kate Little’s Plain Jane & Doctor Dad, the new installment of Desire’s continuity series DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS, a rugged Connelly sweeps a pregnant heroine off her feet.

A brooding cowboy learns about love and family in Taming Blackhawk, a SECRETS! title by Barbara McCauley. Reader favorite Sara Orwig offers a brand-new title in the exciting TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE LAST BACHELOR series. In The Playboy Meets His Match, enemies become lovers and then some.

A sexy single mom is partnered with a lonesome rancher in Kathie DeNosky’s Cassie’s Cowboy Daddy. And in Anne Marie Winston’s Billionaire Bachelors: Garrett, sparks fly when a tycoon shares a cabin with the woman he believes was his stepfather’s mistress.

Bring passion into your life this month by indulging in all six of these sensual sizzlers.

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

The Playboy Meets His Match

Sara Orwig

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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With thanks to Joan Golan and Stephanie Maurer.

Also, to all New Yorkers, God bless…

SARA ORWIG

lives with her husband and children in Oklahoma. She has a patient husband who will take her on research trips, anywhere from big cities to old forts. She is an avid collector of Western history books. With a master’s degree in English, Sara writes historical romance, mainstream fiction and contemporary romance. Books are beloved treasures that take Sara to magical worlds, and she loves both reading and writing them.

“What’s Happening in Royal?”

NEWS FLASH, May—The Texas Cattleman’s Club annual ball is back on! Sebastian Wescott has announced his plans to reschedule the gala event for next month. The eligible ladies in town had better hurry if they want to snare a date—lately it seems like bachelors have become an endangered species around Royal….

In fact, no bachelor is safe, not even notorious playboy Jason Windover! Seems he’s only had eyes for a fire-haired newcomer to town, Ms. Meredith Silver. If Jason is out to win the heart of that little lady, he may have bitten off more than he can chew—from what we hear, Ms. Silver packs quite a punch!

With Sebastian cleared of murder, the question on everyone’s mind is: Who really murdered Eric Chambers? There have been quite a few closed-door meetings at the Texas Cattleman’s Club lately. Could Royal’s favorite gents have some suspicion as to the murderer’s identity? If they do, they’re not saying anything….

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

One

“Don’t tell me I’m the club expert at seduction,” Jason Windover grumbled good-naturedly, glancing around the circle of friends and fellow members of the Texas Cattleman’s Club as they sat in one of the elegant private meeting rooms. Thick carpets, dark paneling and polished wood flooring graced the spacious room, built over ninety years earlier. A boar’s head was mounted above the stone mantel, and a Tiffany chandelier glittered brightly.

The Texas Cattleman’s Club was one of Texas’s oldest and most exclusive clubs. Usually, it was a place where Jason could relax and enjoy his friends, but at the moment he was mildly annoyed. He crossed his jeans-clad legs, resting one booted foot on his knee, and arched his brows.

“Au contraire,” Sebastian Wescott said, turning to his longtime friend. “You’re the one who excels at seduction, so I nominate you to get this Valkyrie out of our hair.”

“I second that motion,” snapped black-haired Will Bradford, a partner of Wescott Oil Enterprises.

Jason looked into Sebastian’s silver-gray eyes and shook his head. “If nothing else, she’s not my type,” Jason said coolly, certain this foolishness would pass. “I like tall, long-legged, sophisticated blondes. Beautiful blondes who are poised and sexy. This wildcat sounds like five feet of pure trouble and anything but sophisticated, sexy or poised. Forget it, guys. It ain’t gonna happen.”

“The woman is unhinged. She belongs in a mental hospital,” Dorian Brady added sharply. “She’s got this vendetta against me—at the moment it’s me. No telling who it will be tomorrow. She’s mentally unstable, and her fixation could switch to any one of you. Lord knows, I haven’t done the wild things she’s accusing me of.”

Studying Dorian, Jason felt cold distaste. Other than Dorian, Jason liked all the members of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, an exclusive, prestigious facade which allowed members to work together covertly on secret missions to save innocents’ lives. While most of the men had grown up in and around Royal, Texas, Dorian was a relative newcomer. There was an arrogance about Dorian that rankled him, but Jason knew he needed to get over his dislike. Dorian was, after all, Seb’s half brother.

“You’re elected,” Rob Cole said dryly to Jason. “You’re the rodeo guy. You can handle wild bulls and wild horses. I’m sure you can handle a wild woman.”

“You’re the detective—you should know how to handle her.”

“Nope. You have a way with women, and I already have my hands full trying to find out what I can about our unsolved murder here in Royal.” Rob studied the circle of men. “We have someone trying to frame Sebastian for the murder of Eric Chambers. We don’t need this woman in our hair while we’re trying to find out who’s behind this.”

“I wasn’t here when she burst in on y’all, but I’ve heard what an unholy commotion she caused here at the club. Dammit, don’t dump this on me.” All of the men looked at Jason. “C’mon, y’all,” Jason argued.

“You have to be the one,” Sebastian replied. “You’re the CIA-trained operative, so you’ve dealt with difficult people before. Frankly, I’ve been through enough lately, and I have a new bride to devote myself to.”

Jason sighed and waved his hand. “Save your excuses. I can guess all of them. All right. I’ll try to keep the little wildcat out of our hair.”

“That problem solved, let’s adjourn to poker,” Keith, the computer expert, suggested, his brown eyes twinkling.

The men agreed swiftly, and Jason knew the matter was settled. Morosely, he joined them, getting a fresh drink, going through the motions while he contemplated his assignment. He didn’t like one thing about it. He was not accustomed to forcing a female to do something she didn’t want to do—in this case, he was going to have to do exactly that in order to keep this little wildcat out of the other guys’ ways.

Will, Rob and Sebastian were all recently married. Marriage had become an epidemic, except he was safe—no marriage for him—at the moment there wasn’t even a woman in his life. Maybe Keith should be the one to take care of this nuisance. Jason wondered whether Keith had ever gotten over his old flame, Andrea O’Rourke. He said he had, but he sure didn’t act like it. Jason sighed. He could understand why this assignment had been dumped on him, but he didn’t like it. Thank goodness he wasn’t involved with anyone right now because this would be a very unwanted complication in his life. He wished he could just haul this Ms. Silver down to jail and ask Sheriff Escobar to lock her up and throw away the key until all their mysteries were solved.

When Jason realized he was losing the first round of the poker game, he shifted his thoughts to cards and forgot about Meredith Silver, hoping she had left town and he would never have to deal with her.

It was almost midnight when Jason pocketed his winnings and told his friends goodbye. Stepping outside, he inhaled the cool May air. A silver moon hung in the inky sky while stars were blotted out by the lights of the parking lot. As he crossed the lot to his black pickup, Jason’s boot heels scraped the asphalt. As he reached for the door handle of his pickup, he heard a faint sound behind him.

The hairs on the back of Jason’s neck prickled, and he stood motionless beside his pickup. His experience in the CIA had trained him to be a keen observer, and he knew he had heard the scrape of a footstep on the asphalt.

Jason stood in a row of empty cars and pickups. When he had walked from the clubhouse, there hadn’t been another person in sight. In spite of the seemingly empty lot, Jason doubted he was alone in the parking lot. Should he look under the next car? he wondered, or would it be better to try to discover what the person intended? Jason pocketed his keys and headed casually back to the club.

He went through the front door, down a hallway past the cloakroom and rest rooms, and cut through the giant kitchen, touching the brim of his Stetson with his finger in silent greeting to the skeleton cooking crew still on duty at this late hour. They were familiar with the members of the club, and none of them questioned his presence in the kitchen as he passed through and went out a side door. He stepped into a flower bed, creeping behind cedars and flowering crape myrtles. Glad now that he had worn a dark blue Western shirt and his dark jeans, he moved stealthily even though he was wearing Western boots. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the empty lot and then settling on the car parked next to his.

He knew to whom it belonged—Dorian. As he watched, a shadow separated itself from the darker ones around it. Jason focused on a black-clad figure that had slithered out from beneath Dorian’s car and now knelt beside the back tire.

Something glinted in the moonlight. There was a clunk and then a swift hiss of air. When the vandal moved to the front tire, Jason sprinted from his hiding place, determined to catch the rascal who was vandalizing club member’s tires in their private parking lot.

Seeing Jason, the culprit dropped the knife and ran. From the short stature, Jason decided it was a teen. Jason’s long legs gave him the advantage, and he stretched out his stride. As they raced across the lot, Jason made a flying tackle, wrapping his arms around the miscreant’s tiny waist.

“Gotcha!” he snapped triumphantly as they both went crashing to the asphalt.

The high yelp didn’t indicate anything about the vandal, but the moment they landed on the asphalt, and he felt the soft, curvaceous body beneath his, surprise rippled through Jason. A female! And then he guessed who it was. The crazy woman who was stalking his fellow club member, Dorian Brady—the wildcat who was his assignment.

“Oh, damn,” he muttered. Never in his life had he hurt a woman and remorse filled him as he groaned and moved off her. “Are you all right?”

Light from one of the tall lamps spilled over him, although the brim of his hat shaded his face, but her back was to the lamp and her face was completely hidden. She was covered in black with a black cap and some black goop spread on her face, so that he couldn’t distinguish her features. Jason hunkered down on the balls of his feet as she started to sit up.

Her fist shot out. Catching him completely by surprise, five feet of female did what few six-foot-plus, some-two-hundred-pounds of male had never done. Her blow landed squarely in his middle, knocking the breath from his lungs as she followed with a swift push that knocked him off balance. Springing to her feet, she tried to run for it.

Jason’s surprise lasted only a second and then his natural reactions set in. He rolled forward, snaking his hand out, caught her by the ankle and yanked. For the second time in his life, he sent a female sprawling facedown.

He wasn’t giving her another chance. Unceremoniously, he grabbed his hat, scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder.

For someone who was up to criminal activities and packed a vicious punch for her size, her epithets and name-calling fit a five-year-old’s vocabulary. Heck, some five-year-olds could do better.

Ignoring her harmless blows on his back and her sputtering fury, Jason carried her to his pickup, unlocked the door and dumped her inside. Like a cat springing back into battle, she came up fighting, but he was ready this time.

Tossing his hat into the back with one hand, he clamped her wrists in a tight grip with his other hand, pinning her against the locked door and the seat with his body. In spite of her struggles, he became aware of several things at once: an enticing perfume, a body whose topside was even more curvaceous and soft than her backside, a wiry strength he wouldn’t have believed possible and short, guttural moans of battle that made him think of something far removed from their struggle. Against all wisdom, he was curious and wanted to see what she looked like.

“You just slashed a club member’s tire, and I can call the sheriff and have you hauled to jail.”

“Go ahead and call, you warp-noggined manhandler,” she snapped. “They can’t put me in jail for slashing a tire. I’ll call my lawyer.”

“Why do I doubt you even have a lawyer? Warp-noggined?”

This was the Valkyrie who Dorian said had been stalking him. Jason had suspected Dorian had been stretching the truth a bit, but after the past few minutes, he decided the man had been correct. Everything about her seemed amateurish, and he didn’t think there was a lawyer, a plan or much sense. From the few minutes of dealing with her, he figured he had a crazy person on his hands, or perhaps a woman emotionally unhinged by a man who had done her wrong. Was this some ex-lover of Dorian’s, and he didn’t want to admit it?

“Settle down, wildcat. Fighting won’t do you any good. You’re not catching me by surprise ever again.”

In the darkness he could see her jaw lift in a stubborn gesture. “That’s what you think. Let me go. I can charge you with assault—”

“Hardly,” he stated dryly. “I just caught you in a criminal act.” She wiggled, struggling to break free, but it was having a far different effect on him. Jason had been a longer time than usual between women. She was soft, curvaceous and she was squirming and gyrating against him. His body was pressed over hers, pinning her down, but she was doing things that were setting him on fire in spite of his annoyance.

“Wildcat, do you know what you’re doing?” he rasped.

She stilled instantly, and he knew she had become aware of his natural male response to a warm, sweet-smelling female rubbing sensuously against him.

When he reached down with his free hand and unbuckled his belt, her struggles became wild. Swiftly, he yanked his belt free, bound her wrists together and secured her to the door handle. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re just not going anywhere. You’ve caused enough trouble around here. Now, you make a choice. I take you home with me— I lock you in a room by yourself for tonight. I have no evil intentions, I promise. Tomorrow you go on your way and get out of Royal. Or I can take you to the sheriff. You decide.”

Why he was taking her home with him, he wasn’t altogether certain about, except he had been assigned to keep her out of the way of the rest of the club members, and it was the best way to keep an eye on her.

She struggled, and Jason tightened his grip. “Look, you’re just going to get yourself in deep trouble. There are laws against stalking someone—”

“Stalking! I’m not stalking that rotten lowlife varmint. He’s mean and vindictive and dishonest.”

Jason was intrigued. “I’ve given you a choice. Make your decision. Or it’ll be the sheriff because I’d be glad to dump you into someone else’s lap.”

They were both breathing hard—his ragged breath was not from exertion. Erotic thoughts were tempting him and she was the cause. She might be five feet of trouble, but she was definitely all woman and a very sweet-smelling one at that. Jason fished a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe the black stuff off her forehead.

“How do I know you won’t hurt me?” she asked so softly that he had to lean closer. And got another deep whiff of her perfume. A little pesky wildcat shouldn’t wear seductive perfume.

“You have my word on it,” he said, and she gave a bitter laugh. “The sheriff or my house,” he repeated.

“Your house,” she whispered, her breath sweet, lightly brushing his skin.

Keeping up his guard, he moved away and fished for his keys, starting the pickup. Now she was hunched into a ball in the corner between the door and the back of the seat. As he drove out of the lot, he glanced at her again. She looked pitiful all huddled over, but his bruised midriff warned him not to be taken in by appearances. This was not a cringing, frightened little waif. The wildcat had a punch that had knocked him flat.

Jason worked out over an hour every day. He shouldn’t have been felled by a blow from a female of her size, and he vowed he would increase his workouts tomorrow.

He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a flask of whiskey, opening it and offering it to her. “Need a drink?”

“Now you want to get me drunk so you can have your way with me,” she snarled.

“Great grief,” he grumbled, wanting a stiff drink himself, but resisting, since he was driving.

“Where did you get your vocabulary—out of some 1920s dime novel? Outside of melodramas, I didn’t know anyone used that phrase have your way with me.”

“You’re too young yourself to know anything about 1920s dime novels, and I certainly don’t. And you know full well what I meant.”

“I gave you my word. You’re not my type anyway.”

“I can imagine your type.”

He glanced at her again, his curiosity growing. Silence stretched between them as he drove down Main Street, Royal, Texas, the place where he had grown up and lived a good part of his life. “So, what type do you imagine I’d like?” he asked finally.

“Someone beautiful, sexy, sophisticated and easy. Real easy.”

Amused, he looked at her, still unable to see anything except a huddle of black.

“You don’t think I have any charm to win over someone who isn’t easy?”

“You tackled me twice,” she said in the same haughty, aloof tone that he could recall early grade-school teachers lecturing him with. “That isn’t a winning approach.”

“I wasn’t trying a winning approach. I never intended seduction. I was trying to stop a criminal act. That’s not a fair judgment of me,” he remarked, amused by her in spite of his annoyance at being saddled with responsibility for keeping her away from the others.

He drove past Pine Valley, the exclusive, private-gated, residential community that held mansions, including one belonging to his family where his brother was currently residing. Jason could take her there, but he preferred her out on the Windover Ranch—far enough out of town so that she would have a hell of a hike if she decided to run away.

“It might be a good idea if we knew each other’s names. I’m Jason Windover.”

“I’m Meredith Silver,” she said.

“Well, hi, Meredith. Where are you from?”

“I’m from Dallas,” she said.

“And what do you do in Dallas?” he asked, slipping into old patterns of interrogation, avoiding the hot topics or accusations.

“I’m a computer programmer. I’m a freelance consultant.”

“Interesting profession—and gives you freedom to keep your own hours sometimes.”

“Yes, it does,” she answered while she stared out the window. “We’re out of town.”

“I’m taking you to the Windover family ranch.”

“You’re a cowboy?”

“Yes, I am. I’ve been with the government, but I recently retired to the ranch. So, Meredith, who’s your current boyfriend?”

“There isn’t one,” she replied. “But I’ll bet there’s a woman in your life.”

“As a matter of fact, there’s not at present.”

“I’m sure she’s not far in the past and there’s another lined up somewhere in the near future.”

“Now why do you think that? You don’t know me.”

“You have that easygoing manner of a man accustomed to always having a female in his life.”

“Do I really?” he asked, amused by her observations.

“You know darn well you do. You’re also egotistical and overbearing.”

“Golly gee whiz. I’ll have to work on that.”

“You can save the charm because it won’t work on me.”

“Now is that a challenge or what?” he asked, his voice dropping as he shot her a look.

“It’s definitely not a challenge. Besides, I’m not your type remember?”

“Point taken.” He drove quietly for a few minutes and then asked, “Do you have a hotel room in Royal or did you intend to drive back to Dallas tonight?”

“I’m staying at the Royalton Hotel,” she replied, naming Royal’s oldest and finest hotel.

“Do you still have family in Dallas?”

“Yes. My sisters and my mom are in Dallas. I have an older brother who’s in Montana, I think.”

“Silver,” he said, remembering a stocky, wild guy from the rodeo circuit. “I’ve met a bull rider—Hank Silver.”

“That’s my brother,” she said with what sounded like reluctance.

“Well, small world. He’s a tough cowpoke. I’ll bet that’s where you got the punch you pack. You have a big family,” he said, curious to see what she looked like. Her voice was soft, low and soothing. A sexy voice that didn’t match her volatile personality. If he had talked to her on a telephone and hadn’t seen her in person, he would have conjured up an entirely different type of woman in his mind. The voice definitely didn’t fit a little five-foot wildcat with a vocabulary as old-fashioned as his grandmother’s. Her enticing voice didn’t fit someone who could deliver a jab that knocked the breath from your lungs. But with Hank Silver as an older brother, Jason could well imagine, she’d had to defend herself growing up. From what Jason could remember, Hank Silver was in trouble with the law more than once over barroom brawls.

“I have two older brothers,” he said. “Ethan and Luke.”

“That’s nice,” she said, not trying to hide her anger. for the next hour they lapsed into silence, a new experience for Jason with a female.

Jason turned south between large posts with the Windover brand carved on the front of each one and drove swiftly along a hard-packed road until they pulled up behind the sprawling ranch house that had belonged to his family for four generations. Moonlight splashed over a combination of red sandstone, rough-hewn logs and glass. A porch with a sloping roof ran along the front and a well-tended lawn was surrounded by a picket fence. Beyond the house were outbuildings, a guest house, a bunkhouse and a barn.

Jason stopped near the back gate and untied the belt, taking her arm to lead her inside. When they entered the house, he switched on lights in a back entryway that held a coat rack, pictures of horses and potted plants. He turned and punched buttons on a keypad to disengage the alarm system that was beeping steadily. As soon as he had finished, the tiny red alarm light changed to green and the alarm was silent.

In the large kitchen he switched on soft lighting that fell over whitewashed oak cabinets and a pale-yellow tiled counter. Jason caught Meredith’s wrist lightly. “Come here,” he said, leading her to the sink. She wore black boots and black, lumpy sweats that hid her figure. And he knew from falling on her and pinning her down in the car that she definitely had a figure. Pulling out a towel, he ran warm water over it and then turned to scrub her face.

“I’d like to see what you look like. You’ve been a dark blob from the first moment I saw you,” he said, looking down at her as he tilted up her chin. At the sight of her in the light, he drew a sharp breath and remorse filled him because she had a raw scrape on her cheek and he knew he had caused it. When he touched her jaw lightly, she jerked her head away.

“I’m sorry you’re hurt. I thought you were a boy.”

Thickly-lashed, large, stormy gray eyes gazed up at him, and the moment his gaze met hers he received the second stunning blow from her. Her eyes took his breath and held him mesmerized. He couldn’t recall ever seeing eyes exactly the color of hers. But it was something more than color that held him breathless. He felt as if he had touched a live wire and sparks were flying all around him. Silence stretched; he realized she was as still as he and he didn’t want to break the contact.

She took the cloth from his hand and began to rub black off her face. He retrieved it, wanting to touch her, wildly curious now to see what she looked like without all the junk on her face. And still neither one of them had spoken or moved or looked away.

“We need to clean up your scrapes quickly. Just a minute and I’ll be back.” Silently, he called himself all sorts of names for causing her face to be scraped raw as he hurried to the nearest bathroom. He returned with a bottle of peroxide. “Lean over the sink and let me pour this over your cheek. It’ll clean your scrape and disinfect it. How long since you had a tetanus shot?”

“Only a year ago.”

She tilted her head and he poured the clear liquid, dabbing gently. “Sorry, if I hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” she grumbled, and he felt worse than before. Finally he patted her cheek dry. “Let’s see your hands.”

“I can take care of my hands.”

“Put your hands out and let me help,” he ordered. When she held them over the sink, palms up, he winced, hating that he was at fault for her injuries. He washed the scrapes, cleaning and disinfecting them. “I wouldn’t bandage those scrapes tonight. Maybe tomorrow when you’ll be out in the world, but let them heal tonight. Now, let’s get off the rest of whatever you have smeared on you.” In slow deliberate strokes he wiped her face gently, while he continued to look into her eyes. The longer he rubbed her face, the faster his pulse beat.

Finally, he had to rinse the cloth because it was covered in whatever she had spread over her face. In silence he rinsed it and returned to a task that was ever so pleasant, slowly stroking her face free of smudges. Besides the fabulous eyes, she had a slightly upturned nose, full pouty lips and prominent cheekbones.

She yanked the cloth from his hand. “I can wash my own face,” she snapped and turned to wash over the kitchen sink. She slanted him a look. “If you’ll tell me where the bathroom is, I’ll wash in there.”

“You’re fine where you are,” he said, not giving a rip about the sink and interested in the smooth, rosy skin beginning to show.

As she shook water off her hands, he handed her a clean towel, and she scrubbed with it vigorously, something he had never once seen a woman do.

Big gray eyes peeped at him over the towel, and he wondered if he should get ready to dodge her fist again, but she merely folded the towel.

Reaching out, he pulled the cap off her head. When long, slightly curly auburn locks spilled out, he drew a swift breath. Unruly, silken strands curled around her face. From what little he already knew, she was fiery, impetuous and fearless.

“You want anything to eat or drink?”

“No, thank you,” she replied with disdain.

“Come here,” he said, taking her wrist again and leading her through the kitchen, down the hall, into the spacious family room. He led her to a wide, brown leather couch that faced a large brick hearth. With a little tug he got her to sit down and he faced her, releasing her wrist. “Now, why were you slashing Dorian’s tires? What’s going on between the two of you?”

Two

Meredith Silver thrust out her chin stubbornly. “I don’t have to answer any of your questions,” she snapped. No man should look so sinfully handsome. He had black curly hair that he wore long, and it gave him a wild, dangerous look. His features were slightly rugged with a strong jaw, prominent cheekbones and straight nose. It was his thick lashes and blue-green eyes that had stopped her in her tracks in the kitchen.

Meredith wished she hadn’t stood there like a starstruck teen looking at a movie idol, because she suspected Jason Windover drew women the way flowers drew bees.

She glanced beyond him to study the windows. This was no fortress, although he had turned off an alarm system when they entered. She knew how to hot-wire a car, and later tonight she was getting out of this house and away from this man who was becoming a big interference in her life.

“I can still call the sheriff and have you locked up. This is a small town and most of us know each other pretty well. He can come up with some charges to hold you in a cell for a while.”

Her mind raced. She knew lawyers because she had solved computer problems for various ones, but not recently and she had never made lasting friendships with any of them. She didn’t know a single lawyer to call for help. Besides, compelling bedroom eyes were staring at her, an invisible push to get her talking.

“I’ve been trying to find Dorian Brady. Now I’ve found him and he’s telling everyone that I’m crazy and that everything I’m saying about him is a lie.”

“Well, is it or not?”

“I’m telling the truth, but he’s your friend and your good-ol’-boy fellow club member. Y’all are a bunch of snooty male chauvinists, and I know you’ll believe him over me, so what’s the point in even discussing this with you?” she said, becoming more annoyed as she talked because a twinkle had come into his eyes.

“What’s the point in slashing his tires?”

“I just want him to know that I’m here. That I’m in his life and I’m not going to go away. I want to cause that man some grief.”

“He knows you’re in his life, and you are causing him a little grief. But I’ll tell you what, all those good-ol’-boy male chauvinists have voted that I’m to keep you out of everybody else’s hair, so that’s just what I’m going to do. Tonight, you can just stay here under my roof until you simmer down. And tomorrow you can go back to wherever you came from.”

“That’s what you think, mister.”

“Jason is the name, remember?”

“Mister is sufficient. We’re not going to be friends.”

“Now that’s another challenge you’ve just flung at me,” he drawled, and she definitely saw the twinkle in his eyes that time.

Thrusting out her jaw, she leaned closer to him. “I will never be friends with a man like you, buster!”

He looked as if he was making an effort not to laugh out loud. He leaned close. “Why not, Meredith?”

Oh, my! She was going to have to watch it around this one. He was sexy and too handsome and his voice sent shivers skittering around inside her. And those bedroom eyes of his! She moved back and drew herself up. “I’m sure most women just melt when you bat your eyes at them, but I’m not melting, nor will I. I—”

“Challenge number three,” he stated, this time speaking in a slow drawl and looking at her with a speculative gleam in his eyes that made her draw a swift breath.

“I’m not flinging sexy challenges at you. I’m telling you. You probably can’t believe that a female in this whole big state of Texas is immune to your charm.”

“Darlin’,” he drawled in a tone that did curl her toes and sent a flash of heat that threatened to melt her, “I haven’t even begun to turn on any charm. Knocking the wind out of me doesn’t exactly draw out the best aspects of my personality.”

“You attacked me.”

“I stopped a vandal from escaping,” he reminded her. He took her wrist again. His brows arched. “Your pulse is racing, Meredith.”

She glared at him while crimson flooded her cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s fright.”

“You—afraid?”

“There’s good reason to be,” she snapped, pointing at her scraped face and annoyed that her pulse was reacting to him in a wild, uncontrollable manner.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, and to her surprise, he sounded truly contrite. “Come on. Let’s get something to drink. I definitely want a drink.”

“I’ll come without you holding my hand,” she said, attempting to yank free.

“I think I want to keep one hand under control. You have a wicked punch there. Besides, I don’t want you heaving one of the family heirlooms at me and breaking some favorite vase.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

“Not much you wouldn’t.”

He was tall, broad-shouldered and a very sexy male. Having him hold her wrist made her nervous, even though his grip was light. When she had tried to get free, he had held her without effort, but she knew that wasn’t what bothered her. It was the physical contact with him, however slight, that set her pulse racing.

Maybe if she humored him until he locked her in a room—and she was certain that’s exactly what he would do sooner or later—then she could try to escape. Once they were in the kitchen, he released her wrist. While he pulled a cold beer out of the refrigerator, Meredith studied the windows and latches, which looked quite ordinary. And she had watched when he had turned off his alarm, so she could remember the series of numbers he had punched in. She was certain Jason wouldn’t think she’d try to escape, especially since they were so far from town. He had left his pickup near the back door and if she could get outside to his pickup, she would be on her way.

“Want some pop?”

“I am not drinking or eating with you.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and turned to open the bottle of beer. They returned to the sofa where he sat too close for comfort. She could detect his aftershave, see the faint dark stubble on his jaw.

He set his beer on a coaster on the large cherrywood table standing in front of the sofa. He pulled off a boot and set it aside and then pulled off the other one. “We might as well get comfortable.”

She was half tempted to say she wanted to go to jail, but his house was cozy and there weren’t any bars on the windows and she stood a far better chance of escaping from this ornery Texan than she would from a jail.

“Now tell me why you want to cause Dorian grief.”

“He’s a wicked man. But I know you don’t believe a word I’m saying because he’s in your good-ol’-boy group.”

“Let me decide that.”

“One of my sisters was engaged to him.”

“He denies that. Do you have any proof?”

“Proof of their engagement? No, I don’t.”

“Did he give her a ring?”

“He told her that he was having his grandmother’s diamond ring reset. He kept putting off why it wasn’t ready and at the time, he sounded convincing. He can be charming and he’s good-looking and he’s clever. Everything sounded logical, so I didn’t doubt what my sister was telling me. Twice I had dinner with them, and I had him at our house,” she said. As Merry talked, she had to constantly gaze into those sexy eyes and she could hear how lame her story sounded. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in Jason’s expression, so she had no idea what he was thinking.

“Our house? Are you married?”

“No, I’m not. I live in an apartment in Dallas, but I go home often to the house where I grew up. My mom is a Dallas news anchor and I grew up in Dallas.”

“Another well-known family member.” He tilted his head to study her. “Your mom isn’t Serena Dunstan, is she?”

“Yes, she is. Her real name is Therese Silver, but Serena Dunstan is her professional name. How did you guess?”

“She’s the right age and she’s done some controversial reporting—and won awards. Hank Silver, Serena Dunstan—you’re from a whole family of feisty daredevils.”

“My sister Holly isn’t. She’s a little on the shy side.”

“I would have to see it to believe it,” he remarked dryly.

“Mom’s certainly more well-known than my brother. I’m really close to my three younger sisters, so I’m at our house most of the time. My youngest sister, Claudia, is in high school now, but she graduates this spring.”

“I hope she’s not the one Dorian was supposedly engaged to.”

“It isn’t supposedly,” Merry said darkly, knowing he was friends with the creep and wasn’t going to believe a word she said. “Dorian was engaged to Holly, who finished college early and has a great job as an engineer.”

“Do you have pictures of them together?”

“No, I don’t,” Merry answered flatly, realizing how flimsy her accusations were beginning to sound up against Jason’s practical questions. “There was always a reason why Dorian did or did not do something. When I wanted to take their pictures, he’d put me off and then we’d forget all about it.” The more she talked, the more her anger built again. “I thought Dorian just decided all of a sudden to dump her, but now that you’re asking all these questions—reasonable questions—he must have planned to do this from the very start. She really was in love with him,” Merry said, remembering Holly sobbing and shaking and refusing to eat far too many times. For the past few months she had watched her sister lose weight steadily.

“Holly believed Dorian and was taken in by him. She had bought a wedding dress—”

“No ring, but she bought a dress?” Jason asked doubtfully, as if Holly were lost in fantasies.

“I can’t tell you how believable he made it all sound.”

While blue-green eyes studied her, she wondered what was running through the lanky Texan’s mind.

“Men can be very convincing when they want to. Even in the biggest of lies,” she added.

A shuttered look altered Jason’s expression slightly. “I don’t think you should limit that to men,” he said in a cynical tone that surprised her.

“I can’t believe any woman ever hurt you. I’ll bet you draw them like flies to honey.”

The twinkle returned to his eyes. “Whatever makes you think that?” he asked with great innocence.

“Stop fishing for compliments! You know you’re a good-looking and sexy stud.”

“Son-of-a-gun, darlin’,” he drawled. “You will turn my head. So you think I’m a sexy stud?” The words rolled out like soft velvet sliding across her skin, and Meredith wished she hadn’t said anything. When would she learn just to keep quiet? But then, how could she sit in silence when he was looking at her with an eagle-eyed intentness that made her nervous and made her want to chatter?

“Why don’t we go out to dinner tomorrow night? I can drive to Dallas,” he said.

“Thank you, but I have other plans. And I’m not leaving Royal.”

“You have friends here in Royal?”

“No, I don’t know anyone except Dorian, and now you. I’m staying right here in Royal. You can’t make me leave town.”

“You plan to slash Dorian’s tires again?”

“No, I won’t,” she said, annoyed with him and trying to ignore the little nagging voice inside that wanted to accept his offer of a dinner date. “I wouldn’t tell you anyway, but I don’t have other plans. I just don’t care to go to dinner.”

He grinned, a full-fledged, heart-stopping grin with perfect white teeth, and she tried to catch her breath and not stare. With an effort she shifted her gaze to her fingers laced together in her lap. She had just turned down a date with that grin. Just sitting there doing nothing, the man was handsome, but when he smiled, he was to-die-for gorgeous. His smile could melt the coldest heart. She just knew it had better not melt hers. And she knew he had an ulterior motive in asking her to dinner because he was trying every which way to learn her plans about Dorian and to keep her away from him.

“I’m sure you’re unaccustomed to any female turning down an offer of a date with you, but I’m not interested.”

“Well, in that case, we’ll sit right here at my house. You can go with me tomorrow to pick out a computer and we’ll have dinner at home and you can help me set up a new computer—”

“You’re kidnapping me!”

“No, I’m not. You’re free to go. You want to leave, I’ll take you straight to the sheriff. After all, I caught you in a criminal act.”

She glared at him. “I don’t want to go to jail. I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t want to go to jail, either. My house is far more comfortable, and I’m better company that any of those deputies and you can have something to eat or drink whenever you want.” He gave her a speculative look. “You know, men have been breaking women’s hearts and vice-versa since the beginning of time. Your sister got jilted by a low-down lying rascal—as you would say—but that happens. When it does, you pick up and go on with life.”

She bristled. “How easy that is for you to say! You’re a playboy and I’m sure you’re incredibly experienced at breaking hearts. I’ll bet you’ve left a path strewn with them back to when you were just out of elementary school.”

“Grade school? I don’t think so!” he said and rewarded her with another fabulous grin.

“And I’ll bet no female has ever broken your heart. So don’t even talk to me about how unimportant a broken heart is!”

He tilted his head. “Another swift punch—somewhat undeserved, I think. I’ve always made it clear that I’m not a marrying man. I’m not into commitment and I always state that up front. I have never been engaged to anyone and never hinted at engagement. So don’t lump me in with broken promises of engagement. There’s a difference. Anyone who dates me knows exactly how I feel about marriage. I’m very open about it. Most of the women I date feel just the way I do.”

“Why aren’t you a marrying man, if I may ask?”

Again, she caught that brief shuttered look and a muscle working in his jaw. He had some touchy point, something that had happened to him that had soured him on marriage.

“My brothers have had disastrous marriages that have torn apart their lives and hurt their children. I don’t ever want to go through that.”

She suspected there was more to the story than he was telling her, but they were little more than strangers and she could understand why he would be reluctant to tell her about himself. As he talked, he unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. She didn’t think he was aware of what he was doing, but she was certainly aware of the slight glimpse of a tanned, well-sculpted chest.

“Those sweats may be rather warm for this time of year. Want something more comfortable?”

“That would be nice,” she said and he stood, reaching down to take her wrist.

“You don’t have to hold me.”

“Only your wrist. I can keep up with you better this way,” he answered lightly, but it made her stand closer to him than was comfortable. He had to be a couple of inches over six feet tall. The top of her head reached his shoulder and she felt as if tiny currents of electricity were jabbing her when she was close to him. The prickly awareness put her on edge because it was so uncustomary for her. What was it about him that caused the sparks? Surely not just his movie-star looks. She shouldn’t be susceptible to bedroom eyes and a high-wattage grin. Something about him had her heart skipping way too fast and she could just imagine the broken hearts he had in his past.

They entered a large hallway decorated with Western art and he directed her back across the kitchen to another hallway. “The east wing of the house has spare bedrooms, my office and a workout room. We don’t use these bedrooms unless everyone is home.”

“Who is everyone?”

“My brothers and their families. They’ve remarried and have kids. We spend a lot of time here,” he said switching on lights and she entered another large, comfortable room with leather-upholstered furniture. A pool table was in the center of the room with a Ping-Pong table in a far corner and an immense stone fireplace along one wall. A wide-screen television stood at one end and one wall was lined with shelves filled with books. Two large gun racks were against another wall with an antique sword mounted over the fireplace.

“I can see why. You have everything you need here at home.”

“Not quite,” he drawled, and she knew he was referring to a woman companion.

“Don’t you get lonesome here?” The moment she asked, she knew it was a ridiculous question, and she answered before he could. “I know you don’t get lonesome anywhere. I’m sure I’m keeping you from some woman’s company tonight, and I’ll bet she’s quite unhappy about it.”

“No, I told you. There’s no one in my life right now.”

“If there’s not, she must be only a day away. I can’t imagine you going ten minutes without a woman close at hand.”

“Tonight I’ve got you, darlin’,” he drawled lightly, and she knew he was teasing her.

“And I know full well you didn’t want me.”

“I didn’t say that. I’m just assigned to keep you out of trouble.”

“To keep me away from Dorian is the truth. You can’t watch me forever.”

“Nope, I surely can’t, but for tonight I can do my assignment.”

She was acutely aware of his fingers still circling her wrist. Moving close at her side, he led her to another large room where he switched on a light. “Here’s my office.”

“What a beautiful desk.” When she wriggled her arm, he released her. As soon as he did, she crossed the room to look closer at the satinwood-and-ebony desk. “This looks old.”

“It is. My grandfather brought it home from Europe on one of his travels. I’ve tried to add some antiques to this home since I’ve had the house.”

“This is a beautiful desk,” she said, running her fingers along the smooth wood. Antique glass-fronted cases held books, but before she could read the titles, he took her arm lightly and led her back through the kitchen toward the center of the house and the west wing. “We’ll be staying in this end of the house.”

While they sauntered down the hall, Meredith considered escape. Maybe if he drank a few more beers, he would sleep dead to the world and her escape would be even easier.

“I’m surprised you don’t keep a dog out here.”

“There are several dogs on the ranch, but they’re down at the bunkhouse with the men.”

“Don’t tell me dogs don’t like you.”

He glanced at her with amusement in his eyes again. “I get along fine with the dogs. They’re just shut in the bunkhouse at the moment. Want me to get one of them up here?”

“Heavens, no! I just found it unusual to be out in the country and not see a dog.”

“Well, city girl, the dogs are here. I’ll show you tomorrow. Right now, I’ll show you around the house. Here’s the dining room.”

She looked at a large room with a Texas-size carved, mahogany table that held ten chairs on each side and two arm chairs at each end. A sparkling crystal chandelier caught the light and silver gleamed on the buffet. Another brick fireplace was at one end of the room.

“Do you actually eat in here?”

“Sure. The table is over one hundred years old and my great-great-grandfather had ten kids. The Windover descendants are all over Texas. We have big family get-togethers, and each of my brothers has four kids, so that’s at least twelve people when they come home. There’s a guest cottage in back for the overflow.”

“What about your parents?”

Again she caught the briefest shuttered look before he turned his head away and switched off the dining-room light. They moved down the hall. “My parents were divorced. I haven’t seen my mother since childhood, and my dad died last year.”

“I’m sorry you lost your father. My dad died when I was eleven.”

“I miss my dad,” he said gruffly. “Eleven must have been a rough age to lose your father.”

“It was, but my parents were always very involved with each other and not as much with us kids. Particularly my mom. My mother was just not meant to be a mother. I was always mother to my sisters and that was all right with me and good for Mom. Dad helped with the girls.”

“So you were mother to your sisters. Was your brother Hank the second dad?”

“Hardly,” she answered dryly. “Hank’s wild. When Dad died, Hank got more wild. He’s in trouble half the time and he’s out of touch with the family. I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

“I sort of remember that he’d been in some scrapes,” Jason said politely, and she could imagine that if he knew her brother, he knew some of the predicaments Hank had been in.

“If you know Hank, you must ride in rodeos.”

“I used to, but I haven’t had time in the past few years. I was a saddle bronc rider. I did a few months of bull-riding, broke my arm and quit.”

“I don’t know how many bones Hank has broken.”

“Here’s the living room,” Jason said, switching lights on in a formal room that was exquisitely furnished and looked as if no one ever used it, much less a houseful of men. It was the one room that did not appear to hold any antique furniture, and it struck a slightly strange note with the rest of the house.

“This is a nice room,” she said, noticing that the blue satin drapes were faded, but still looked elegant.

“Yeah, well, we don’t spend time in here,” he said, switching off the lights. His voice was harsh, and she realized there were undercurrents in his family that he didn’t talk about. She suspected he didn’t talk about a lot of the facets of his life. She was beginning to decide the real Jason Windover might be hidden from the world.

“Here are the bedrooms,” he said, switching on lights and moving down the hall as she looked into rooms that were spacious, masculine and comfortably furnished. “My bedroom is the master bedroom at the end of the hall and I’m going to put you in here tonight, right next to me, so I can hear you.”

He switched on a light and crossed to the closet. She looked at an elaborate Louis XVI bed of dark, hand-carved mahogany. A tall chiffonier matched the bed. The room had pale-green and off-white colors, and, as she looked around, she wondered how many other women had stayed in it.

He tossed out a cotton robe. “Here’s a robe. I’ll give you some of my T-shirts so you can get into something cooler. There’s the bathroom and towels are in the cabinet. Change and we’ll get something to eat.”

She nodded and he motioned to her. “First, come see my bedroom, and I’ll give you the T-shirts.”

She followed him to a spacious bedroom with a brick fireplace, shelves of books, another large television, a tall, rosewood armoire with an ornate cheval glass beside it. A second keypad for the alarm system was in his room, so he could switch it on or off from either end of the house. A king-size four-poster bed dominated one end of the room and a stack of books stood on a table beside the bed. She strolled over to see what he read and looked at titles about the Second World War.

“You like history.”

“Yes,” he answered while he rummaged in a drawer and handed her a stack of folded T-shirts. “My grandfather was in the landing at Normandy in the Second World War. He kept a diary of sorts and because of that, I got particularly interested in that war.”

Jason thrust the pile of shirts into her hands.

“Thanks. I’ll need only one.”

“Take them all. After we say good-night, don’t try to leave the house. I have the alarm turned on. If you open a door or a window, it will trigger the alarm. When we go to bed, I’ll change the setting and the alarm will go off if you step into the hall. You’re in a cell here. It’s just much nicer than the one in Royal.”

She nodded again, left his room and went to hers, closing the door behind her. She showered and washed her hair. She found a dryer and dried her hair. It had a natural curl and was unruly, but tonight she didn’t care. She pulled on a navy T-shirt and slipped back into her sweatpants and then left to find him, returning to an empty family room and then going to the kitchen where he was making sandwiches.

He glanced over his shoulder and then turned to look more carefully at her, and she wished she were back in the lumpy sweatshirt. The T-shirt clung, and the look he was giving her was making her tingle all over.

“My goodness, Meredith, you clean up good.”

“My friends call me Merry,” she said breathlessly, knowing she needed to re-engage her brain. The man was definitely not one of her friends. Nor would he ever be one.

He crossed the room to her, stopping only inches away, and she hoped he couldn’t hear her drumming heartbeat.

“So we’re going to be friends,” he drawled in that deep, sexy voice. He reached out to touch her hair, letting locks slide through his fingers, and she was aware of the faint contact. “That’s interesting.”

“I spoke before I thought,” she admitted.

“You don’t want to be friends?”

“I don’t think it’s possible.”

He focused on her face, moved closer and tilted up her chin. She was too aware of his finger holding her chin, too aware of all of him. “I am sorry about your scraped cheek and hands. You shouldn’t ever have something like that happen. I hate that I caused your scrapes and bruises. I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” she said, wishing he would move away, but unable to move herself. Another one of his riveting looks nailed her and she gazed back, too aware of the silence stretching between them. “You’re standing too close,” she said, aware she was hemmed in by him and the kitchen cabinets behind her.

“I am? I disturb you?”

“You’re not adding me to your list of broken hearts, Jason, so just move back and give me room.”

“All those challenges,” he said quietly without moving an inch, placing his hands on the cabinets on both sides of her and moving even closer. “Now do you really expect me to ignore them?” he asked softly. “You’re the one who brought them up.”

“I didn’t mean any of them as challenges to you. I’m not impressed. I’m not interested. I don’t want to go to dinner or anything else with you.”

“You might hurt my feelings.”

“There’s no way I can do that,” she said, finding every word more difficult to get out. He stood entirely too close and he was entirely too handsome. And she was being far less than truthful when she told him she wasn’t impressed. Oh, my. She’d bet the house that his kisses would melt any recipient into a bubbling blob.

“I have a heart that can be broken just like anyone else’s.”

“I think your heart is locked away behind impervious armor and no woman will ever get to touch it.”

He ran his finger along her throat, a faint touch that sizzled. “I’m not invincible.”

“I don’t care to find out. I think you said we were going to drink something,” she reminded him, trying to look away and glancing first at his mouth, fleetingly wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Why would she wonder something like that about a man like Jason Windover? Had her brain gone completely to mush?

“Oh, sure,” he answered as if that were the last thing on his mind. “What would you like?”

“Just some pop.”

He moved away, and she could breathe again. Watching him as he walked around the kitchen, she was thankful his attention had shifted from her. He brought her pop poured over ice in a tall glass, and he carried another beer and she hoped it would knock him out for the night, yet he had a way of slowly sipping them that made them last.

Finally they were settled back on the sofa in the family room. Jason sat too close with one arm stretched on the back of the sofa and one leg bent, his knee on the sofa only inches from her thigh. He offered her a sandwich which she declined. He helped himself.

“I think you should forget about Dorian and go home,” he said, taking a bite of his cheese sandwich.

“Maybe so.”

“You don’t mean that. You’re just patronizing me until I’m out of your sight. You can’t change him. You can’t accomplish anything. You’re just a fly buzzing around his head annoying him.”

“Maybe that’s all, but he deserves to be annoyed.”

“Merry, I said it before and I’ll say it again. Women have jilted men and broken their hearts. Men have jilted women and broken their hearts. When it isn’t a deep commitment, you just pick up and get over it.”

“I’m sure that’s the philosophy of your life,” she said, becoming aggravated with him again. “My sister is losing weight. She’s broken-hearted. Her work is getting neglected. Her life is suffering.”

“She’s got to get over him. Introduce her to new guys,” he said, finishing his sandwich and taking a sip of beer.

“She doesn’t want to meet any guy right now.”

“I’ll repeat, when there hasn’t been too deep and too lasting a commitment, then broken hearts mend.”

“Thanks, Abby, for that bulletin.”

“It’s the truth. They weren’t married. They hadn’t known each other for years.”

“That’s so easy for you to say! She’s heartbroken and I want him to know he can’t walk all over someone and then turn his back and walk away. I want to cause him some grief. He’s hurt her and taken her money—”

Jason turned to look at her. “Dorian took money?”

“Yes. Holly didn’t have a lot, but she’s very thrifty. She has a good job and she’s saved quite a bit for having just been out of a college a few years.”

“Are you certain he took her money?”

“Now you’re interested,” Merry said, once again annoyed with him. “Money’s important to you, but Holly’s broken heart isn’t.”

“There’s a difference. If he took money, he may have broken the law,” Jason said quietly, and she realized she had his undivided attention now.

“Tell me exactly what Dorian did,” Jason said.