One Magic Night Read online

  "I said men, honey, not males who've never lived any where away from mother dear in all their forty-five years of life.”

  "Hunt has to take care of her."

  Eve gave a soft little grunt. "Since when does a barracuda need tender loving care? Hunt doesn't count and you know it and I know it. I think even Hunt knows it in his more lucid moments."

  "He's good company."

  Eve lifted a shoulder under the sleek dark purple sweater she wore. "It's a good thing you think so. He drives me bananas." Eve tilted her head to one side and gave Leigh a long, considering look. "Somehow," Eve said softly, "I can't imagine Ty Rundell jumping when his mother said jump."

  Leigh couldn't either, but she retorted, "What has that got to do with anything?"

  Leigh's eyes had gone silver, and that was a bad sign, but Eve pressed on. "He's interested in you, isn't he? And you're interested in him, too, at least you should be if you've got a brain in your head. Why don't you give the guy a chance? At least, get to know him a little."

  "It's out of the question," Leigh said coolly.

  "That all depends on what the question is," Eve shot back, getting up to rinse her cup and stash it back on the shelf above the sink. Before Leigh could reply to the gibe, she was gone.

  Forty minutes later she walked to her classroom, telling herself that Eve was wrong. She couldn't let Ty Rundell get near her again. And she wouldn't. She would forget that surge of disappointment she had felt when she thought Ty had gone without even saying good-bye.

  She went into her room and sat down at her desk, her eyes not focusing on anything. She was ready for her class. Her students would come in soon, stumbling, running, or walking decorously, depending on who was in charge of the legs and what mood their owner was in, and they would demand all her attention. But now the room was quiet, and her eyes drifted to the tall corn shock standing in the corner, just as Ty Rundell's throaty laugh seemed to echo in the silent room. "I'm not your private scarecrow.'' She closed her eyes. She could see him, his white shirt covered with leaf and tassel bits, his face dark and casually mocking. But later, his eyes had gleamed with desire…

  Out in the hall a bell rang, and a young girl swooped into the room and circled round Leigh's desk anxiously. "Miss Carlow, I don't have my paper with me. I left it in my locker. Can I go back and get it?"

  She focused her eyes with difficulty. "Yes, Michelle, go ahead."

  "Miss Carlow, I forgot what the assignment was. Can I do it and bring it to you in the morning?"

  Leigh sighed. "No, Jennifer, the assignment is due today. You can do the extra credit assignment listed on the board to make up your grade, if you like."

  Mark Farrish came in and sat down at his desk with a maturity and assurance far beyond his years, and Leigh was reminded once again of Ty. Where had he gone to school? If he lived on a ranch, he had probably ridden on a school bus to get there. What kind of teachers did he have? Had they recognized his quick intelligence, his drive to succeed, his facility with words? Her eyes drifted to the corn shock. She saw a body bent, shoulders pushing against the cotton fabric of a T-shirt, rounded buttocks and lean thighs straining denim. She blinked and shut out the image. She still hadn't gone to get the pumpkins.

  Driving back from the city, he saw them on the roadside stands, pumpkins perched like orange globes on the wooden stalls. He pulled off the road and bought several: three large, two medium-sized, and four smaller ones. He gave the surprised young girl a generous tip and carefully carried them three at a time to the trunk of his car, whistling. The girl at the stand shook her head. She’d never seen anybody so happy to buy pumpkins.

  That evening Leigh sat in the house that was too quiet, the drop lamp in the kitchen shining down on her honey blond hair. With a resolute determination, she kept her eyes on the papers in front of her, touching her pencil to each answer in an effort not to miss one. But her mind kept wandering away. Ty had returned to the apartment, she knew, because his car had been parked in front of the house when she came home from school.

  She hadn't seen him since that disastrous Sunday. Would he try to see her again? Or had he written her off? She didn't want to see him. "I don't," she mumbled aloud with a fierce intensity…and knew she was lying to herself. She shoved the papers aside and tossed the pencil down on top of them. "You can't run away from it," Dean's voice echoed in her ear. "You've got to learn to deal with it. Don't hate yourself for what your mother was. You're only responsible for you."

  A longing to hear Dean's voice sent her to the phone that sat on the table by the couch. She put her hand on the receiver, and pulled it away. She had made a vow that she would not call Dean just because she needed him. She called only when she had good news; a student had begun to improve, or she'd read a new book she liked. She hadn't even called him the night there had been an old movie of her mother's on television. She'd sat there and watched it, commercials and all. She'd forced herself to remember…and to try to forgive. She wasn't at all sure she'd succeeded.

  A knock sounded on her door. She froze. There was a moment of silence, and then the knock went again.

  He stood out in the hall, wearing the same jeans he'd worn that Sunday afternoon. His denim shirt was a slightly darker blue, the cuffs rolled back. In his hands, propped against his chest, was an idiotically small pumpkin.

  He said, "Happy Halloween." Then, quickly, before she could answer, he handed it to her. "A peace offering."

  "Thank you," she said, in that low husky voice that seemed to be very familiar yet shook him with surprise every time he heard it. The timbre was exactly like Claire's.

  He leaned against the doorframe. "You're welcome."

  "I…” She seemed nervous. He wondered why. "Come in, won't you?"

  His blue eyes flickered over her face. "Thank you, I will, just for a moment."

  She had been working on papers, he saw, for only the drop lamp in the kitchen was lit, its pool of light falling on the scattered pile on the table. With a quick grace, she walked to the lamp beside the couch and bent to turn it on.

  "Don't bother," he said softly. "I won't be staying long. I only came to give you the pumpkin, and to tell you that there are several more in various shapes and sizes waiting to be delivered to your classroom whenever you say."

  She stood there, awareness of his attraction pulsing through her, wishing he weren't who he was, wishing she had the courage to ask him to stay for a cup of coffee. Her thoughts about Dean had weakened her resolve not to give Ty any encouragement. She knew her apartment would be bleakly empty when he walked out the door. "That's not necessary," she protested, her mind not on her words. "I can take them with me tomorrow."

  He shook his head. "Would I be interrupting if I brought them to the school around ten o'clock tomorrow morning?"

  "Ten thirty is the break between classes," she said, setting the small pumpkin down on the table at the edge of the couch.

  The look he gave her was bland, unreadable. "Ten thirty, it is, then." He turned to go.

  Chapter Six

  He was almost out the door. She said quickly, "Would…would you like a cup of coffee?"

  He turned, his face not quite as cool as it had been a moment ago. He was surprised, she could see that, and he wasn't trying to hide it.

  "I only came to bring you the pumpkin,” he said softly.

  She recoiled as if he had hit her. “Yes, of course,” she said stiffly and turned her back to him, rapping her arms around her middle, feeling suddenly chilled and cold and wishing that he would go.

  She heard the door close and thought he was gone. She turned around and gasped with surprise when he caught her arms and pulled her toward him. For a moment he simply held her there, her back against his chest. His closeness made her quiver. He uttered a low sound in his throat and turned her in his arms. “So quick to take me the wrong way," he said, holding her away to gaze into her face. "I only meant I didn't use the pumpkin as an excuse for a reason to stay." His hands moved over
her back, his touch gentle and comforting, his eyes caressing her face. Then his pupils flared, become dark and enlarged, and the grip on her back tightened. "At least, that’s what I told myself.”

  He lowered his head. His warm tenderness tore away her last shred of resistance. She raised her lips to his eagerly, all thought, all hesitation vanishing. A rush of elation filled her, sweeping her reluctance away. She wanted him. Her mouth and body clamored to know him completely. She wanted him to kiss her, touch her, love her.

  He sensed her changed mood instantly. With a naturalness that soothed, he urged her lips apart and thrust his tongue in to explore the warm dark cavern that awaited him. She raised her hand in an instinctive need to touch him. The feel of the smooth cotton shirt and the hard flesh underneath encouraged her to slide her fingers upward underneath the material and find the well-shaped bones and muscles and to explore them with the palms of her hands. Touching his bare skin was an absorbing pleasure that combined with probing of his tongue inside her mouth sent tremors of desire spiraling up through her.

  He held her closer, guiding a hand under her nape and threading his fingers up through her hair, the other hand clamped on her hip, making her acutely aware of his arousal.

  She should have fought off the waves of sensual pleasure that washed over her, but she couldn’t. She gloried in the hard press of his body against hers, his chest crushing her breasts, his hips cradled in hers. He kissed her possessively, as if she were already his and he was hers, as if their mouths had met long ago and knew all there was to know about pleasing each other. She was melting, sliding into a languorous need to have him go on kissing her forever, when his mouth left hers to wander down the sensitive cord of her throat to settle moistly in the hollow, moving against her skin with the lightness of thistledown.

  “Leigh. You’re in my bloodstream and I can’t get you out…”

  She was the one who was absorbing him, taking him into her mind and heart. “Ty…”

  He kissed his name from her lips, his mouth capturing her again, tenderly discovering its full curves. He savored her with each touch of his hands. She was drowning and soaring at the same time, glimpsing heaven as she never had before.

  His mouth fastened on hers, and he moved with her, taking her around the couch and down with him into its soft cushions, his hands gentle but insistent. She made a small sound of protest and he feathered his lips across her earlobe, nibbling it in possessive yet consoling love bites. "Do you know what those cries are doing to me? I want to kiss them from your mouth," he murmured against her lips, "and turn them into cries of delight.” He pressed her backwards until she half lay underneath him. His eyes gleaming, he trailed a fingertip down the smooth skin just below her throat. His fingers trembled with a controlled passion, a passion that woke every cell in her body to vibrating life. Watching her, he let his fingers trail lower to the top button of her blouse. Deftly, he freed it. The brush of his fingers on her naked skin filled her with a sense of rightness that she had never felt with any man before. She breathed in sharply. He paused. "Leigh?" he said huskily.

  "Oh, please…" Her husky groan told him she wasn't protesting. A smile curved his lips. He bent over her to nibble at the silken skin of her throat as he undid the next button, his fingers brushing over the front clip of her bra. He let his hand linger there for a tantalizing moment. She closed her eyes, waiting, her breath caught deep in her lungs. In an agony of suspense, she felt his fingertip move over the clip, and leave it intact to wander further down.

  She opened her eyes, long lashes fluttering back. His face loomed above her, lean and sensual, a faint smile playing around his lips. Another button was undone, and with a quick, practiced movement he pulled her blouse free. Cool air touched her skin, and brought with it a measure of sanity. "Ty-"

  "Shh." He covered her mouth with his own, his chest pressed against her naked midriff. Her whole body responded to him, her mouth softening to accommodate his, her hands reaching for the dark hair at his nape, her breasts still bound in satin-striped nylon nudging his chest, their buds taut in anticipation. He trailed his mouth down her cheek, lower still over her throat and lower still to the mature curve above her bra, the moist path of his lips an erotic promise of more to come. Keeping that promise he tongued the deep valley, then trailed over her skin to send electric shocks down her spine. Slowly, sensually, through the tiny wisp of material, he took the rosy center in his mouth and teased the peak, circling its roundness.

  She writhed with need and clasped his nape to urge him closer. He murmured against the soft skin of her breast, his fingers at the clip, “Let me love you, Leigh. I need you.”

  I need you. Memory crashed in and devastation followed. She rocketed upward, catching him off guard. Scrambling to her feet, she stumbled away from the couch before he realized what happened.

  “What the hell…” He looked dazed. She faced him, holding the edges of her blouse together, her gray eyes molten. He lunged to his feet and headed toward her.

  “Stay away from me,” she said.

  He halted as if stopped by a brick wall, but she could see the effort it took him to do it. In spite of what she wanted to feel, a flicker of admiration shimmered through her at the strength of his control.

  “I want you to go.”

  He stared at her. “I don’t believe that.”

  ‘You must,” she retorted, her voice husky.

  He continued to study her for a suspended moment in time. Then his manner changed subtly, as if he had recovered from the initial shock of her rejection and was able to think logically. He gave her a cool, reasonable look. "Don't you think you owe me some kind of explanation?"

  "I don't owe you anything. All I want is for you to leave."

  Those cool blue eyes examined her for another long moment. Then purposefully, he turned and went to stand in front of the slanted windows and gaze out into the darkness just as she had done a few hours before.

  Incredulous, she stared at the lean strength of his back pulling the material of the denim shirt, the tousled attractiveness of the thick, dark hair, hair disheveled by her own fingers.

  "What do you think you are doing?" She was angry and glad of it. The anger took away the pain.

  He didn't turn to look at her. To the darkness, he said, "I believe it's called passive resistance."

  "Well, you can do your resisting somewhere else." The dark head didn't move, and the sight of him made something rise inside her throat, along with panic. "I want you out of here." The words which should have been forcible came out in a low, strangled tone.

  Slowly, he swung around to her. "Do you?" An arched eyebrow made his disbelief clear.

  Furious, she cried, "Don't you understand plain English?"

  "I understand enough about people," he said, "to know they seldom say what they mean----especially if their emotions are involved."

  "There aren't any emotions involved here," she said heatedly.

  Slowly, he let his gaze rove over her disheveled hair, her heated cheeks, her hastily buttoned blouse. "You felt nothing? It was simply a physical thing with you?"

  “Yes,” she said, thankful to have such an easy out.

  His gaze held hers. "We were just engaged in a means of mutual satisfaction, I take it."

  "Of course," she said, feeling calmer.

  "Then why," he said softly, "shouldn't we just go ahead and-satisfy ourselves?''

  "I'm not interested in simple satisfaction."

  ''You seemed willing enough a moment ago," he drawled slowly.

  "I changed my mind."

  "A woman's prerogative," he murmured.

  "Anybody's prerogative. I'm not accustomed to jumping into bed with a man on the slightest provocation…”

  "Judging by your current reaction," he interrupted smoothly, ''I'd say you aren't accustomed to jumping into bed with a man at all."

  Her eyes flashed. "That will make excellent copy for your movie, won't it?" she said sarcastically.

 
The tiny muscle on the side of his jaw moved. Then he said blandly, "Do you really want me to leave?"

  "I thought I'd made that very clear."

  "Have dinner with me tomorrow night:" He’d cooled down enough to think. By then, he should have heard something from Deke. His tone was cool, matter-of-fact. She stared at him, dumbfounded.

  "Just say yes, thank you, quickly, before you lose your nerve."

  "No," she said.

  He shrugged as if her answer had been exactly what he expected and moved to the couch. With slow, elaborate movements, he sat down, stretched his legs out and put his head back.

  "What do you think you are doing?”

  "Getting comfortable," he said. "I have a feeling it's going to be a long night."

  "You’re not spending it here."

  He closed his eyes. "I will be, unless you agree to go to dinner with me."

  "I’m not going to dinner with you."

  "Then I guess I’d better get comfortable," he murmured.

  “You’ll wake up with a crick in your neck.”

  “Small price to pay.”

  She took a step toward him, not knowing what she had in mind to do.

  He opened one eye and looked at her. "Are you going to throw me out bodily?" His voice softened. "Go ahead." He extended his hand toward her and smiled. "We both might enjoy that." The lilting, sensual challenge in his voice made her back away.

  She took a step forward, her temper nearly goading her into a physical confrontation. But cool reason intervened. She wouldn't have a chance against that lean strength, and she had even less against his hard determination. All right, he wanted to sleep on the couch, let him. Let him stay there and get cold and end up with aches in every part of his body. What difference did it make to her? She turned and went into her bedroom, and realized there was no key for the lock on the door. The house was old, and there had never been a need to ask Viola for the key to her bedroom. Not only that, she usually left the door open. The room would be an icebox in the morning if she didn't allow the heat to circulate.

  She stood in the middle of her bedroom, shivering, hugging her arms around her. She wouldn't sleep a wink knowing he was out there, knowing he could walk into her bedroom any time he pleased…and knowing that if he did, she wouldn't have the strength to send him away a second time. It wasn't only the cold that made her teeth chatter. She had been aroused…aroused in a way that had only happened to her once before in her life.