Look, But Don't Touch

She heard him pad to the kitchen. Then she grabbed her clothes out of the bathroom, and as she leaned down and pulled on her jeans, she caught the scent of him again—as if he’d just removed his shirt and handed it to her. With nervous energy she crossed her arms over her chest and hugged the fabric close. For a long moment she held her breath, then let it out, chastising herself for being bewitched—for that was the only excuse she could come up with for how she was feeling. Clasping the towel with both hands, she leaned her head forward and began rubbing her wet hair.

“Coffee’s ready. Sorry, it’s black.” Wearing a pair of worn jeans, riding low on his hips, and a University of Texas T-shirt, he was carrying two mugs.

He walked over to her chair, handed her one, then moved toward the television. “Hope you don’t mind, but I want to catch the news.” He turned on the television and collapsed in his easy chair as if nothing had happened between them. Flipping channels, he seemed to focus all his attention on the news reports as if she wasn’t there. Was he finding this as strange as she was? Was he going to ignore her reply about stripping?

Moments later he was totally involved in the story of the solving of a five-year-old case, an undertaker who’d killed his wife and buried her in the same casket as the elderly aunt of one of San Antonio’s leading citizens. At the time, the undertaker appeared to be grief stricken. With no body or evidence to support foul play, the police had been forced to release him. The mortician’s wife had disappeared. Only the determined efforts of a Texas Ranger had finally solved the case. The problem was, he’d neglected to get permission from the family whose plot he’d disturbed.

Cat stood and walked over to the fireplace. The rain had stopped. It was time she left. As she turned to tell him, she noticed a desk in the corner and the pictures under the glass top. They appeared to be his family. Boys playing football. A girl hugging a guy.

No, not just a guy, it was the man she’d just made love with. He was wearing a white Stetson and a badge.

The woman was Bettina Dane.

“Now, for a word with the officer,” the television reporter was saying. Cat turned to the TV and watched him walk toward a tall, dark man wearing the customary white shirt and white Stetson worn by the Texas Rangers. “He’s the newest member of the San Antonio unit and he’s setting a remarkable record. A champion of law and order, he’s being called San Antonio’s supercop. Excuse me, Ranger—”

Cat leaned forward. She recognized that silhouette.

“—Jesse James Dane. Could we have a word with you?”

“No comment,” was the icy reply as he turned away.

Jesse James Dane. Bettina’s brother. The very man she’d planned to avoid. Suddenly a click changed the station to the weather channel where the forecaster was informing the public that the possibility of flooding was not over.

Jesse turned and saw that she’d witnessed the news clip. “I think I’d better go,” she said.

She watched Jesse take a big swig from his mug, give an elaborate shrug of his shoulders and lean back. “Relax. You’re safe from arrest. I’m off duty. Besides, the storm may be past, but you never know about flooding. Until we’re sure, you’re welcome to stay.”

“No!” Cat handed Jesse her mug and babbled like an idiot. “I have to get into town. Mr. Szachon is expecting me. I’ll get your shirt back to you. I’ll be able to buy you a new bike if this job goes well.”

Jesse stared at her. Sterling Szachon. He should have known. Everything about her said high-priced. From the beginning she’d been honest—she was out of his league. She was also a woman who gave full value for her service. He could attest to that. But her announcement that she was meeting Sterling Szachon knocked him for a loop.

As rich as Donald Trump, as handsome as sin, Szachon had taken San Antonio by storm. Like Trump, he had a reputation for success with both business and the ladies. He had a new female companion at his side every six months. The gossip was that they were all informed they were temporary. When their time was up, he’d give them something very expensive and send them happily on their way. The gossip didn’t say the women were professionals, but this mystery woman with the El Camino had said he would be her employer. He couldn’t blame her for keeping her profession private with her quip that she did the hiring, but he couldn’t stop a pang of regret. He stood and took a step toward her.

“Keep the shirt. And you’re not responsible for my bike. I have insurance.”

“Thank you for the shirt,” she said formally.

“Thank you for driving me home,” he murmured just as stiffly, following her as she backed out the kitchen door, stepped into a puddle of water and skidded.

He caught her elbows and she was in his arms again. There was an odd moment where both were absolutely still. By the light in the kitchen, he could see the clear blue of her eyes fringed by brown-gold lashes. He felt her catch her breath and hold it.

He’d thought he was in control. Since the death of his mother, he’d spent ten years training himself to erase emotion. Love hurt once it was gone. And this was a love-’em-and-leave-’em woman. But as she slowly let out the air in her lungs, he leaned forward and kissed her again. Like a lover, not a stranger. He hadn’t known he was going to do it.

For a second Cat parted her lips, then moaned and pulled away, her eyes open wide in surprise.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice a throaty whisper.

“You’re in Texas,” he said. “people here kiss hello and goodbye.”

“I…h-have to go,” she stammered, pushing out of his arms and dashing to her truck.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t know her name. He didn’t want to. It was better that way.

THE EL CAMINO’S ENGINE started, just as she’d said. From the way she sped away, it was clear that if she had to, she’d swim to get away from him. As a man, he knew he ought not to go after her. As a Texas Ranger who had caused her desperate need to run, he told himself he couldn’t not go. She didn’t have to know. He’d just tag along behind her to make certain that she made it into town.

He watched as her truck sputtered a bit. But she was a good driver and made it onto the bridge. His vehicle, a Dodge Ram, rode across the water like a big sleek boat. He kept his distance, allowing her the illusion of being alone—at least until they reached the hotel. He slowed his truck as she drove onto the mock drawbridge entrance to the Palace, unloaded her luggage, then handed the keys over to the valet. Szachon had built a place that rivaled the Taj Mahal. If there’d been a ten-star rating, this hotel would get an eleven. The high-priced call girls he’d known about couldn’t afford to operate out of the Palace unless they were invited. This woman had a personal invitation.

With her long, determined stride she headed for the revolving doors, then stopped and turned back, her eyes scanning the street as if she sensed his presence. For just a second they seemed to connect on some level and he felt an odd tingle, then she tilted her chin up and entered the hotel.

He drove across the ramp, lowered the passenger window so that he could see her pause briefly at the registration desk then be whisked away toward the elevators without registering. Obviously she was expected.

What the hell was wrong with him, following this woman? He already had an appointment with his captain in the morning for what was certain to be a dressing-down. Getting a judge’s permission to disturb a grave without knowledge of the family had solved the crime, but he hadn’t followed political protocol. In his mind, the end result justified the means since he’d managed to solve a case. But he’d put a question mark in his file.

A Texas Ranger often operated alone, but he was expected to use good judgment. Jesse knew the captain wouldn’t gloss over his actions, even though he’d found the murdered woman and made the arrest. All he could do was apologize to the grieving family of the woman whose grave he’d opened.

He understood about grief and loss, and he’d found his own way to survive. First the marines, then later the Texas Rangers. They’d become his family, his stability in a life that had been an angry rebellion. Each had provided boundaries and taught him the value of rules. Now, he’d not only broken a department rule, he’d broken a personal one, as well.

Tomorrow he’d accept his captain’s punishment. Tonight, watching the most incredible woman he’d ever made love to disappear into another man’s territory was punishment enough.

AS THE ELEVATOR Cat and the Palace bellman shared shot up the side of the lobby, she was only vaguely aware of the luxurious hotel decor. Her mind seemed to be fused to a simple adobe house behind the church. From riding a Harley in the rain to fussing over the weather, everything about Jesse James Dane had been a contradiction. They’d shared incredible sex, then he’d turned away, glued to a newscast.

Normally she picked men that were easy to define. But this time she hadn’t picked. This time she’d been slammed into him thanks to a storm and her instincts to be a Good Samaritan. At least he didn’t know she was a friend of his sister Bettina’s.

As the elevator slowed Cat forced herself to concentrate on the man she was about to meet. Sterling Szachon was expecting her. He’d pay her well and provide living quarters and a liberal expense account. In return, she’d select the sites and photograph the models for his male underwear catalog. To make that happen, she’d forget about Jesse James Dane, Texas Ranger, trouble in every sense of the word.

At least he didn’t know her name.

THE ELEVATOR DOOR slid open with a whisper. She realized that they were exiting into a private corridor. The bellman wheeled his cart past the main set of double doors down the corridor and unlocked a smaller door.

Cat entered the room, caught sight of the elaborate fruit bowl and flower arrangement and knew immediately that this had to be a temporary arrangement. No catalog photographer was provided with such luxurious surroundings.

“Are you certain this is where I’m supposed to be?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, ma’am. Mr. Szachon left instructions for us to take you to your room. The top floor houses his personal living quarters, his office and his executive staff. He owns the hotel, you know.” He unloaded her bag and camera equipment, adjusted the drapes, pointed out the television and gave her the special elevator key needed to reach the top floor. She gave him a tip and he excused himself.

Well, maybe, she decided, but until she met Mr. Szachon she would leave her bags packed. This room made her uneasy. Until she signed the contract, this wasn’t a done deal. And staying in her employer’s quarters was unacceptable, even if the rest of the staff did enjoy the same privilege. She made a list of what she needed, including a sample case of his underwear and an assistant, preferably female.

By ten o’clock she’d eaten the fruit. By midnight she reined in her frustration at being ignored, pulled off everything but the flannel shirt and her panties, and went to bed. She’d get a good night’s rest and meet with the underwear king in the morning at her convenience.

But sleep was elusive. She tossed and turned, trying to empty her mind of distractions. It wasn’t her meeting with Szachon but her physical collision with Jesse Dane that kept intruding. He simply marched into her mind and took control.

He hadn’t taken anything she hadn’t given, but nothing about their lovemaking had been ordinary. It was almost as if she had been the victim of one of those fancy new drugs but she’d had nothing to eat or drink and she didn’t have to be told that Jesse was true-blue and full of propriety. Jesse was a ranger and by definition, followed the rules. A man like that tended to be her least favorite type, unless the man was following her rules.

And she hadn’t set any.

She hated to admit it but no man had ever affected her so strongly. Her body still strummed its need for more. She didn’t understand the lingering aftermath of heat.

She understood control. It was something her father had valued. Control was a state of mind, a kind of self-protection for someone who lived by the book. There were rules of order and, just as her father had done, she was certain Jesse kept every one of them. Except where women were concerned. Apparently he had different standards for one-night stands with perfect strangers. Still, like her, the ranger seemed to be out of sync at the end. Considering he lived by the rules, she was surprised he hadn’t escorted her back to the hotel. For a moment there, she’d been disappointed that he hadn’t.