Rio: Man of Destiny Page 9

  After tugging off his boots, Rio leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Sprawled in the big worn brown chair, in front of a cold stone fireplace, he looked lonely and haunted. The gloomy shadows of the old barn circled him as if waiting to pounce upon him. A flash of lightning lit the room and the reflection careened across the narrow varnished boards. In one corner, his roughly hewn wooden bed was rumpled; behind Paloma was the sink, and to one side, an old refrigerator stirred to life. In the dim light, the white, bloodied bandage on his forearm gleamed, his shirtsleeve torn away.

  Fighting the urge to go to Rio, Paloma shook her head. She shouldn’t have come, she shouldn’t have let herself into the empty, unlocked house—She didn’t want to be curious about the man who haunted her waking and sleeping moments. She didn’t want to dream about making Rio’s empty home into a warm one, with colors and textures and lovely quilts and a creamy sofa before the fire and—I’ll always be faithful... babies between us... She didn’t want to care; she couldn’t afford to care. She was a woman whose suspected father had rejected her and she needed her shields. What was she doing?

  Paloma listened to the hard, fearful thump of her heart. She didn’t know about homes or relationships or the softness she felt for Rio...

  The telephone rang, echoing in the single barren room, ricocheting off the loft above and the supporting beams. Rio sat unmoving, listening to a machine record Lettie’s sugary tones. “Rio, honey, if you’re looking for a late-night supper, you’re welcome anytime.”

  When the message ended, and the echoes of Rio’s snort had died, silence slid across the shadowy room. Then Rio’s voice startled Paloma.

  “What are you doing here, slim?” he asked in a deep tone threaded with fatigue. His eyes remained closed, his head resting back upon the old chair.

  “I think we should talk. How could you tell I was here?” she asked softly.

  “I’m not likely to forget your scent. Not the scent of one woman who has my heart.”

  He’d shocked her, speaking plainly; his words curled warmly around her. She had to put distance between them, to protect herself. “You’re tired. We’ll talk another time. I’ll just be on my way.” She ached to touch him, to smooth that strand of hair back from his face. Instead she rubbed her palms together. “I wouldn’t have come in, you know. But I wanted to talk with you and the rain—”

  “I’m glad you came in. Come here, honey. I need to hold you,” he said too quietly, and she knew that the storm outside had reminded him of the lost boy. The storm reminded her of how he’d held her, as if she were too precious to love as a woman should be loved, his light caresses worshiping her.

  She walked slowly across the varnished boards until she stood over him. Rio’s eyes opened slowly, and the anguish she saw in them terrified her. “How did you hurt your arm?” she asked, startled as Rio’s hand reached to curl around her thigh. He rubbed her leg slowly, as if touching her gave him comfort.

  “A bear cub that didn’t want rescuing. He’s safe now. Come sit on my lap.”

  Paloma shivered; she’d never been held as Rio had held her at the cabin. “I’m a grown woman—”

  “Don’t I know.” There was no humor in the remark. Rio pushed up from the chair and stood for a moment, looking down at her. His gaze strolled slowly down her dirtied sweater and jeans. Then he brushed his lips across hers. “Let’s take a shower. You’re not any cleaner than I am. In fact, I’d say I’m a whole lot cleaner than you.”

  “I’m not that dirty—together?” she asked, astonished. The idea of the shared intimacy shocked her. Rio had that raw, primitive hot look she remembered from their lovemaking. He couldn’t want her again, could he? She took a step back as he came closer. “I didn’t come here to—”

  “You came to tell me off. You can do that right after we shower and you’ve got some food in you.” He lifted an eyebrow, studying her, then hooked a finger around her belt loop and tugged. “I don’t suppose you can cook.”

  “I’m certain Lettie serves good food this time of night.” She’d never been jealous and resented the words lashing out of her. She eased back from his grasp and struggled to control her emotions as she always had.

  “Lettie isn’t who I want or need. Honey, I just want to hold you,” Rio said quietly, as his fingertip smoothed back a strand of hair from her cheek. “What do you think of my home, this old barn?”

  “It’s lovely. The floors and the paneling are beautiful. So airy and spacious—” She closed her eyes as Rio’s mouth brushed hers, taking her breath away.

  “It was the first barn on Blaylock land. It suited me, just like you do. You’re the first woman who’s been here. I’d like for you to live with me...and I’d like a marriage certificate over our bed.” Then Rio placed his face against hers, nuzzling her cheek as if absorbing her into him. “You look so stunned. It’s a small thing, a man wanting a woman to hold forever, the other part of him... I’m glad you’re here, honey.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to the dance with you, Rio,” she began, shaken by the emotions churning within her. A marriage certificate. She’d fought attachments all her adult life, afraid of losing too much, and yet Rio offered his heart and home and a wedding ring.

  “Fine. We’ll stay home.” He took her hand and leaned his cheek into her keeping, turning to brush a kiss against her palm. “I missed you.”

  Shaken and fearing the warmth curling inside her, Paloma pulled away, rubbing her hands on her thighs. She stepped back from Rio, and stood behind the single worn chair, using it as protection. “I’m leaving.”

  Rio’s eyes darkened as he bent to unlash his chaps. He ripped open the brass buckle and tossed the chaps into a corner. “Slim, you are not going up that damned mountain this time of night”

  She met his scowl with her own and realized that his anger had given her a shield and an escape from the softness she’d felt a moment ago. “You’re not my father, or my guardian. I’m a big girl, Rio. I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen.”

  “Take a note—I’m your lover and I’m going to be your husband, and all the rest is just leaves blowing in the wind.”

  The outrageous claim took her breath away, and an anger she never released sprang into life, tearing through her until she shook. She realized her fingertips were digging into the old chair. “Not likely,” she managed.

  Rio’s black eyes flashed; his mouth tightened. “I’m not an arguing man, but so far today, I’ve argued with about everyone, including old Doc Bennett. He didn’t want to report the teenagers who were hassling him. I gave them fair warning, just like I’m giving you. A man likes to come home to a woman with a kiss on her lips, not sass.”

  While Paloma struggled with the arrogant statement, putting her in a feminine role to his masculine one, Rio grinned. “You were missing me, or else you wouldn’t have been here, waiting to kiss me. Come here, slim. Give me one of those mind-blowing kisses and I’ll give them back and we’ll talk about the babies we’re going to have. The Blaylocks are prone to have boys, but I’d like a sassy little blue-eyed girl to cuddle.”

  “I’m going to give you something, and it isn’t a kiss. You could have been killed by that bull,” Paloma finally managed when visions of a family with Rio stopped dancing through her head. She didn’t trust herself now, not with Rio teasing her.

  “Old Mad Mose? He was just doing what he’s supposed to do. But I’m glad you worried about me. Your trouble is that you don’t know how to play,” Rio said thoughtfully. He glanced down at her fingertips, sunk into the tattered brown fabric. “Stop terrorizing my chair. It’s my favorite.”

  “This ragged old thing. No wonder it’s your favorite—there’s not another piece of furniture in this house, except your bed. If I had this lovely home, I’d—” She’d never had a home, nor cared about one; she didn’t know about caring for them, living in them.

  Rio’s eyes narrowed as he began to move around the chair. “You’d what?”

  Paloma didn’
t trust the wicked, delighted look in his eyes—as though he’d found a new game, and she was it. “Don’t you come another step closer!”

  “Hmm. I’ll just bet you haven’t been chased or tickled in a good long time.”

  She flipped her braid behind her shoulder, placed her hands on her waist and wondered how to handle the playful male grinning at her. Curiously she felt like answering his challenge; she felt young and dancing with life. “I’ve had self-defense classes.”

  “Well, then,” he said, pushing the chair out of the way with his foot. “Since neither one of us seems too tired now, let’s have at it.”

  “It?” Visions of Rio’s gleaming, powerful body rippling in the cabin, loving her, sent a bolt of heat surging through her. The shocking need to meet him, struggle against him, surged through her.

  “Boy-girl stuff. Wrestling. Smooching. I’ll let you win.”

  “Oh, I’m certain you’ve done plenty of that.”

  “I may be worn around the edges a bit, but that night, up at the cabin, you were my first woman in a long time—and I never stayed the night before. Just what would you do with my house?” he pushed. He rubbed his hand across his chest and Paloma forced her eyes away from the hair there, her fingers itching to touch him.

  “I’d get a cream-colored sofa for one thing, and create the room’s colors and textures around it...and I’m certain you’re used to moving fast in your affairs.”

  “Affairs? I thought I was getting married once at eighteen, but that wasn’t what you’d call an affair. I’ve dated, but couldn’t find what I needed. After a time, I settled back, comfortable in my life. Dating and affairs weren’t what I wanted. I’m old enough to know the difference. So are you.”

  She backed slowly from him and almost fell into the chair. She scrambled to her feet and moved behind a supporting wooden beam. She hurried on, talking about anything but what had happened between them. “I’d get rid of those guns on the wall and the bullets and—”

  “Rifles. A man has to have his rifles and his chair,” he corrected sternly as if defending his basic rights as a man. “Is your ankle the reason you don’t want to go to the dance? Does it hurt now? How did you break it?”

  “You are single-minded, slow-thinking, stubborn—I broke it when I was four, climbing up a tree for a stranded kitten. It healed improperly because my mother wanted me to be a ballerina at the time. I was on my feet too soon. Why is this dance so important to you?” She leaped to one side as he reached out to grab her and found herself fighting a smile. “Don’t think I can’t dance.”

  He reached again and lifted a doubting eyebrow. “Mmm. So you say.”

  “I can.” What was that joyous, light emotion zinging through her? Why was she smiling and her heart racing?

  “I need you to save me from Lettie,” Rio said too seriously watching her. “She’s been after me for years.”

  “I think you can manage. Siccing her on your brother Tyrel wasn’t nice.”

  “Neither is he. When you take away that fancy city suit he’s like Micah Blaylock, who homesteaded our land.” Rie chuckled and moved to block her path to the door. “What de you say we take that shower and go into town for dinner a Mamie’s Café? Later, we can park my pickup overlooking the lake and we can get steamy.”

  “Steamy?”

  Rio shrugged. “It’s a classy term for necking. You know we kiss and cuddle and the windows get all steamy.”

  The image took her breath away and a warm flush moved slowly up her throat. “I have never done such a thing in my life.”

  He chuckled and bent, lifting her to his shoulder. As he walked across the floor, he slapped her bottom gently, then caressed it. “It’s time then. I’d like to do a bit of that afte we’re married, too. And a bit when the babies come along And a bit when we’re in our golden years.”

  “Just where are you taking me? Ummph!” She landed or her back, Rio standing over her. “You’ve got to stop talking about marriage and families, Rio. I’m not a likely candidate.’

  “You suit me. You look all revved and hot, slim,” he whis pered unevenly as she scrambled out of the bed, facing him on the opposite side. He nudged the bed with his knee, and the mattress slid to bump against her. “Did you miss me?”

  “Why do you want me?” she countered, the question flying out before she could stop it.

  “Because it’s right between us. The bed is new, if that’ what you’re wondering, blue eyes. I made it for you, to keep from coming up the mountain and getting you. Sometimes a man just knows, and that’s that,” he said firmly, as if the worle would turn over and he’d have the same opinion. Rio stripped away his shirt. The rain had stopped; moonlight was pouring into the room, gleaming on his chest and his shoulders.

  Paloma trembled, fighting the urge to smooth his chest, run her fingers through that dark wedge of hair. No one had ever wanted her for herself, except Boone. Rio reminded her of the kind old man who had protected her, yet the relationship Rio was offering terrified her. “You’re upsetting me,” she said when she could speak.

  “Uh-huh. So?” Rio opened his belt buckle and the first snap of his jeans. “You’re upsetting me. Put terror in there someplace. You think it goes down easy to know you’re dead set on living up in that cabin where anything could happen to you?”

  “I’ve taken care of myself for years.”

  “Well, then. It’s about time you let someone else lend a hand. I’d really prefer you’d let that be me.”

  “Stop undressing,” Paloma ordered, shaking now as Rio’s jeans slipped a bit more, revealing the white band of his shorts.

  “Honey, if I don’t step into that shower now, in another second, I’m not letting this bed between us stop me from kissing you,” Rio said darkly.

  “Oh.” She’d managed graceful conversation with leaders of the world’s most powerful governments, and now the single word was all she could manage.

  Rio nodded curtly and walked into the bathroom, the dim light gleaming on his shoulders and arms. His jeans slipped a bit-more, and a fierce ripple of hunger shot through Paloma. She wanted to reach out her hand and—She could feel the tempo of her desire, whipping around her. If he turned...if he came back to her...if he kissed her slow and sweet and hot... When she heard the sound of running water, she swallowed. Rio went right for the soft center of her, the place she’d protected for so long. As a woman, she hadn’t played games. She hadn’t wrestled playfully, part of the game of man and woman teasing each other. She hadn’t been told of a man’s desire to kiss her, to love her, to marry her, to give her babies.... Okay, so Rio Blaylock was a fascinating man, with interesting edges and the ability to ignite in her an excitement she’d never known. Not even with the man she thought she’d loved at twenty—the man who’d had no intentions of marrying her.

  Paloma realized her hand hurt, gripping the gleaming, stripped wood of Rio’s bed. He’d made it for her. Could she believe him? She turned her hands, staring at the capable slender fingers that had shaped her career, her life. She hated Rio for speaking plainly, for slipping through her defenses, for teasing her. She hated him because now she knew that she had given herself to Jonathan with hopes and dreams, and he’d given her nothing. Now, her experience with Rio clearly defined how stupid she had been.

  Angry with Rio and shocked by her unsteady emotions, Paloma stalked across the empty room to jerk the pickup’s keys from the wall peg. She opened the bathroom door and reached to flush the toilet, momentarily diverting the cold water. Rio’s curse shot into the steamy room. He quickly turned off the faucets and ripped back the shower curtain. “Don’t tell me that was an accident.”

  She smiled too sweetly, enjoying his dark scowl, and rattled the keys. “You can pick these up at the feed store tomorrow.”

  His hair was plastered to his head, water beading his dark, savage scowl. “People will talk.”

  “They know I’m not your type.” She glanced at his tanned forearm, the nasty lashes across it. “Don
’t forget to put antiseptic on those wounds.”

  She didn’t trust his smooth “Yes, ma’am,” as he stepped out of the shower, his eyes gleaming beneath those outrageously long black lashes. Water flowed down his body, beads shimmering on his dark skin, and she fought to keep her eyes locked with his.

  Paloma inched back, trusting neither Rio nor the surging emotion within her. She vibrated with the need to launch herself at him, to wrestle and pin him and kiss him, and—Frightened by these unfamiliar, jarring emotions, Paloma eased back out of the bathroom, with Rio advancing on her. “You’re dripping wet. You’ll catch cold. You’ll ruin the floor.”

  “Uh-huh. For a minute there, I thought you might throw something at me. What did I do?”

  She threw out her hands, then looked at them, shocked at the dramatic display. She pressed them down to her sides, and her fingers curled into fists. She couldn’t tell him that he’d made her feel like a woman, and that now, she knew she’d thrown away a precious part of herself on Jonathan. “What didn’t you do? You’re impossible.”

  “Uh-huh.” He advanced another step, and Paloma fought to keep her eyes from lowering. She slammed the bathroom door, turned and ran out of the house into the rainy night. She heard him behind her, then Rio caught her waist with one arm, she twisted and they went down in a cold mud puddle. Rio shifted his body as they fell and took the brunt of the impact.

  “Now you’ve done it. You catch cold and Roman will have my hide. He’s got a heck of a left jab,” Rio muttered as he pushed back a muddy strand of hair from her cheek. He settled back in the mud to study her intently, as if considering a volcano about to explode. “Yell. It will help,” he offered in a brotherly, helpful tone.

  “That was a football tackle,” she finally managed to sputter, outraged. “You actually tackled me! I never yell!” She clamped her mouth closed, realizing that she had come close to doing just that.