A Way With Women

She ignored the rush of relief. “Maybe that time,” she countered. “But that’s not the point. Everybody in town knows what you do, which is probably why you’re trying to find a—” somehow she couldn’t force herself to say bride “—woman from out of town.” When Macon’s jaw tensed, Harper’s eyes lingered a second too long on its firm, clean-shaven line. For a second, she was sure he was considering grabbing her, and she had no idea which way she’d run—out the door or into his arms.

“Dammit, Harper.” The sudden rasping curse hardly offered any comfort. “Since when are you so interested in what I do with other women, anyway?”

“I have no choice! Someone has to take an interest!” The words rang with conviction. “Don’t you understand, Macon? Some of these women don’t even speak English! What kind of relationship could you have with them?”

Anger had begun stoking the fire in his eyes, and now they looked lively, burning into her. “A relationship based on something other than talking?” he suggested, his tone deceptively mild.

She sighed ruefully. “I’d hoped you’d changed over the years.”

“Over the years? I’m only thirty-four, Harper. Hardly over the hill.”

“Your adventures around Pine Hills make that perfectly clear.” Swallowing hard, she mustered her most controlled tone. “Which is why I wrote those women. Macon, the simple truth is, you’re not ready to marry.”

He stared at her. “That’s not for you to decide.”

Throwing up her hands, she glared. “You really want to make an honest woman out of someone? You want kids?” The words honest woman echoed in her mind, filling her once more with guilt since she’d never told him about Cordy.

“You have a problem with that?”

Damn him! Of course she had a problem with that. Was she really going to live in the same town with Macon McCann while he married one of those young, pretty women who kept answering his ads? “You’re going to marry a stranger, Macon? Have a family with her?”

His smile vanished, and she had the distinct impression she’d finally gotten through to him. “You have a child,” he muttered, “so you must know how fulfilling it can be.”

Our child, Macon. Haven’t you realized Cordy’s ours? She could barely find her voice. “What you’re doing doesn’t even make sense,” she managed to say. “You’ve known plenty of women, so why write to strangers? And why come back from Houston, anyway?” For years, she’d prayed he would—and prayed he wouldn’t. “Everybody said you loved it there. They said you were never coming back.”

He hesitated, and as sunlight shifted through a window behind him, a shadow fell, erasing the grooves around his mouth and wrinkles around his eyes, making him look so much like the boy she remembered that she could have cried.

“Cam’s health isn’t what it used to be.”

“Oh, Macon.” Instinctively, she stepped forward and touched his arm. A heartbeat later, when his flesh gave a quick quiver beneath her fingers, she knew getting this close to him was a mistake. Seeing male awareness come into his eyes, she stepped quickly back, edging toward the wall. “Macon, I’m sorry.”

“He’s had a stroke already. Lost some mobility in his left arm. Now he’s got to watch his blood pressure, Harper. He’s got to slow down.”

So do I. She was still feeling the hot touch of Macon’s sun-warmed skin. “You think he’ll be all right?”

“If he quits working the ranch.” For a long moment, Macon was silent, his gaze trailing unabashedly to where two thin straps held up her sundress. His expression hardened. “I’m getting married, Harper,” he said, his gaze returning to hers. “I’m settling down in Pine Hills, and I’m not doing it alone.” Sounding gruff, he added, “I want a woman.”

The raw statement of male hunger made her knees weak, and as their gazes meshed, she felt oddly disoriented. Determined to ignore the palpable energy coursing between them, she kept her voice even. “I guess I didn’t want one more poor soul to get stranded in Pine Hills, the way my mama did.” It was as close to an apology about writing the letters as she could get.

“You could have left, Harper.” He glanced around. “Looks to me as if you did right well in this town, anyway,” he mused, suddenly sounding as if she wasn’t even there anymore. Finding her eyes again, he added, “Why’d you get married, anyway? It was so fast. I didn’t even know you were seeing Bruce. Back then, he was…he was just a pharmacist.”

Surely she was fooling herself, but she swore she heard something that sounded distinctly like pain. She watched with astonished curiosity as Macon stepped so close that she could feel waves of heat coming from his body. Warmth seemed to push into her, and there was simply no help for how the tips of her breasts constricted, noticeably beading under the strappy dress she never should have worn. The effect wasn’t lost on Macon. His voice dropped, becoming a lazy rumble, turning her bones to rubber. Her stomach muscles tightened; everything else inside fluttered.

“Why, Harper?” he repeated. “Why’d you get married?”

What did it matter to him? And why was he asking her now? Why couldn’t he have stayed in Houston and left her alone? She should have said she loved Bruce, but instead, she said, “I’ll tell you my motives for marrying whenever you tell me yours.”

“Touché.” It was only a whisper, and even if breath from the word hadn’t buffeted her collarbone, the rest of him would have told her his mouth was far too close. Suddenly his thigh was lightly pressuring hers, and fingers were gliding upward on her arm, making goose bumps rise on her flesh. “Here’s the deal,” he murmured, sounding oddly breathless. “I came by to get a few things straight between us.”

She felt faint. “I’m waiting.”

His fingers tensed on her arm, almost hurting. “You never waited, Harper.”

Her temper flaring, she stepped back, then realized she was pressed against the wall. Her hands skated behind her, flattening against the plaster for support. “Save the fancy verbal moves for your bride. You’re the one who left Pine Hills.”

“But I’m back.” Macon’s eyes captured hers, holding on so fiercely she didn’t think he’d ever let go. “This might be a small town, but it’ll have to be big enough for us both. From now on, leave my mail alone, and I’ll forget about the letters and not press charges.”

She swallowed around the unexpected lump forming in her throat. “Thanks for letting me off the hook.”

“No problem.” He drew a deep breath, and she sensed he was affected by the scent of perfume he took with it. “I know you planned to leave here years ago,” he said, seemingly trying to hide how affected he was by her proximity, “but you married Bruce, and now things haven’t turned out the way you wanted, so you’re meddling in my life. You’re mad because I left here and lived my dreams, Harper. But I forgive you.”

So that’s what he thought. Pain sliced through her at his lack of understanding. She had no idea where her mama’s dreams ended and her own began. Her mother had hated Pine Hills and wanted Harper to leave. Escape, she’d called it. But Harper had liked doing her homework in the Laundromat after school, listening to the familiar rhythmic sound of the dryers while she joked with customers. She’d liked sneaking off to meet Macon, too. She knew she was smarter than average, but she’d never needed to be somebody important. Her voice caught. “Maybe there were other dreams, Macon.” Like leaving town with you. She could hear her mama’s voice. You think that rancher’s boy cares about you, girl? No, ma’am. He’s the richest boy in town. To him, you’re just some girl that’s gonna wind up working in a Laundromat like your mama. For a breathless moment, dread pushed at Harper’s chest, and she thought she’d suffocate.

“Harper?”

All the air left her lungs. “I’m sorry for what I did, Macon,” she said, knowing she had to make him leave. “Really. Please, you’d better go now.”

He become utterly still. Only his breath moved, teasing her ears as he leaned nearer. “What if I don’t want to?”

Gazing at him, she suddenly couldn’t pull her eyes from his mouth. A kiss would mean so little to him, she thought illogically, craving a taste. According to gossip, he dispensed those kisses all the time. He let them fall from his damnable lips like spring rain. Maybe if she had just a taste of him, she could finally forget him.

His voice was mesmerizing. “What if I want to stay?”

“You always did do exactly what you wanted, didn’t you, Macon McCann?”

“Then I sure as hell shouldn’t stop now,” he drawled roughly, brushing his body against hers, the taut, hard sweep of his hips coming with a rustle of denim. She hadn’t looked down, hadn’t known he was aroused, but she felt it now. He felt so hard and hot and thick that her knees nearly buckled.

“Where’s Cordy?” he said.

Hearing her son’s name brought her to her senses, but Macon had already filled the space between them. How could she fight what she felt right now? She couldn’t bear to admit it, but she’d probably lured Macon here by writing those letters. The seductive dress, upswept hair and new makeup were telling, too. A heartbeat passed, then his throaty words slurred against her hair. “Where?”

She could feel his lips brushing the strands. Her heart beat wildly. Get away, she ordered herself. Sidestep. Brush past. Push open screen door. Step outside and breathe deeply. Clear your head, Harper. It should have been so simple, but the eyes riveted to her lips were all amber fire.

“Where, Harper?”

She shouldn’t have said it, but she did. “Not here.”

Hot was the first thought that came a second later, when Macon’s mouth crushed down on hers. Burning hot. Moving with unrestrained trembling hunger, he parted her lips with the slow thrust of his tongue. Wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, he steadied her as he kicked the storm door, shutting out the summer sunlight. He threw the dead bolt, the loud click making her pulse soar, the masterful strokes of his tongue making her climb. Up through dark tunnels, she strained for the feeling, whimpering and aching as practiced, work-roughened hands deftly slid between their bodies, caressing her breasts and belly as they swiftly unbuttoned the front of her dress.

She reached down, her fisted hand opening on a hard-muscled thigh before sliding over to grasp him intimately. He was so aroused, so big, all throbbing ready heat pulsing through denim. Her dress was open, too—all the way now! Just as she squeezed him firmly, her fist closing around his length, he pushed the dress from her shoulders, making her head swim as he exposed her bra.

She couldn’t believe what this man did to her, no more than she could understand why she hadn’t felt this with Bruce. And then those thoughts were gone because Macon was admiring her with a hot gaze, looking down, his greedy eyes devouring her belly and simple white panties. He brushed his knuckles over the mound, lightly grasping her tangled hairs through the silk, then quickly, he unhooked the front clasp of the bra and pushed the cups back toward her shoulders. The way he looked at her bare, aroused breasts made her feel heartbreakingly beautiful. His whisper was hoarse, the words slurred. “I’ve missed this, Harper.”

Sucking a breath through gritted teeth, he used both hands, lifting and cupping her breasts from beneath, mercilessly kneading them, pushing them high and pressing them together, deepening the damp crevice between them as he locked his groaning, liquid mouth to one. Releasing a throaty growl that, alone, was enough to make her shatter, he ground himself against her, rolling his hips as she arched to meet him. She cried out, gasping as he bit, nibbled and soothed a painfully erect nipple with his mouth, leaving her so damp between the legs that she was shaking. Only after long, torturous moments did Macon lean back, tersely demanding, “Look at me, Harper.”

She did, and the past vanished. There was only their present connection—light and shadow playing on his face, the warmth of long-suppressed desire in his eyes and finally the blessed fusion of his searing mouth to the breast he’d already left glistening. Thrusting her fingers into his hair, she whimpered again, twisting for the rasp of his teeth. Chest heaving, she drew in the woodsy scent of him, everything inside her reaching higher, endlessly higher like a kite, as his urgent hand tugged down her panties.

“There, Harper,” he soothed, in a ragged whisper, his hand parting her knees, and then gentle thumbs pressing circles ever higher on her open thighs. When he reached the apex and stroked the pearl he’d laid bare, she was so lost she barely even heard the rake of his zipper, but she plummeted into a whirlpool of wet, blind darkness when his bulging thighs pressured hers again. She’d waited so long for this…for him. Dizzy, her knees weak, she clung to his shoulders. Lower down, she felt the hair that protected him, rough and tangled and wild, and then the raw living silk of his erection. She’d never known a man could get so hard. The dangerous thickness of the shape made her gasp, and he moaned his response, dragging his trembling lips back and forth across hers. “Harper…oh, Harper.”