Perfect Family (19 page)

“Her share will be divided evenly among the others.”

“That could get very complicated.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

She was quiet, obviously trying to absorb all the information.

He came to a turn and took a left. The road widened, and businesses began to dot the landscape. Ross turned into one of them. It was a cantina, one frequented by many of the Hispanic hands in the area and also local cowboys. The food was excellent, the music good.

Then he looked at her, suddenly ashamed of his high-handedness. He had used it as a test, expecting her to dislike it and thus strengthen his resolve to stay away from her. He realized now how completely unfair that was. But then he hadn't been acting rationally since he'd met her. “I didn't ask you if you liked Mexican.”

“I do,” she said. Her eyes sparkled suddenly, and he knew she wasn't just saying it for her benefit.

“We could go somewhere else.”
Say yes
.

“No.” She was already getting out of her side of the cab.

He swore silently. But it wasn't the first time one of his plans backfired. He just wondered how badly.

A will. Trusts. An equal share to each child and their blood heirs. The implications echoed in her head after the shock had worn off. She had never thought, never expected …

Inheritances were what happened to other people.

Why hadn't Alex said anything? An overabundance of legal caution?

The thoughts hammered at her. She'd needed the diversion that Ross provided when he'd pulled into the cantina. She'd automatically opened her own door, not waiting for him to come around, but he was there when she stepped down. His hand was outstretched and she took it, feeling the sudden warmth as his skin touched hers. Warmth? It was more like a red-hot poker and she dropped it that quickly.

She still felt the surge of energy reverberating through her as his hand went to the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. She had seen men do that in films, but never had experienced it before. Sure, they'd held her hand, or put an arm around her shoulder, but none had so naturally claimed her both protectively and possessively. There was a casual elegance about it that made her heart pound harder.

She loved the cantina. She'd always liked Mexican food and even had a predilection toward small, out-of-the-way authentic eateries that most people never found, or wouldn't frequent even if they'd heard about them. No tablecloths, no overly attentive waiters.

But the smells were wonderfully provocative, and the small dark interior was scrupulously clean. A singer was belting out a Spanish song on an old jukebox.

A hostess gave Ross a big grin. “Señor Ross,” she said, “I have a table for you and the señorita.” They threaded through a room packed with mostly Hispanic families to a table in a corner. Many of them nodded at Ross, and he stopped several times to speak and introduce her. She was obviously with a well-liked celebrity. She had never seen him like this before. He was totally at ease, a quick smile on his lips. Eyes flashed to her in surprise, and she wondered if he'd ever brought a date here before.

A date
. She doubted he considered it as such.

She knew a little Spanish and caught some words, but all her attention was fastened on her companion as they were seated at a table. A candle in a small bowl provided dim light. It flickered, casting shadows across Ross's angular face, and seemed to make his eyes even darker.

When a pretty young Hispanic girl appeared and asked for their drink orders, Ross looked toward Jessie, an eyebrow raised.

She named a Mexican beer she often drank, and Ross ordered the same.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“I wasn't until I came inside.”

“Everything is good,” he said as the beer arrived, along with chips and dip. The music changed. A slow, sultry song drifted through the restaurant. Jessie understood enough Spanish to know it was a song about doomed love.

Her gaze met his, and she felt herself being singed by his lazy, appraising look. This time, she didn't try to look away. She felt as if every bone were melting, that under his gaze she was turning into one warm liquid puddle.

His lips had a crook to them and she was disconcerted by that dimple that appeared on the rare occasions when he smiled. Other than those two vulnerabilities, his face was all angles and planes. His dark lashes were thick and long, giving him a lazy languid look. Yet there was nothing lazy—or languid—about him. His fingers thrummed on the table with the restless energy that so attracted her. It contrasted with the patience she'd seen in him when he was with the horses.

He raised an eyebrow. “Made up your mind?”

She did something she'd never done before. “Order for me,” she said.

“Are you real hungry?” he asked, then without waiting for an answer turned toward the waitress and in what she thought must be flawless Spanish he gave what seemed an endless order.

“Not that hungry,” she said.

“But
I
haven't eaten yet,” he replied with that rare, attractive smile. He seemed more comfortable here than any place she had seen him. An older Hispanic man came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“This is the owner, Ramon. His son, Dan'l, works at the Sunset. Ramon, this is Jessica Clayton.”

The man bowed. “I am honored. I try to get my son to work here, to take over the business, but no, he wants to be a cowboy.”

“He'll outgrow it,” Ross assured him.

“I am trusting you to make it so,” Ramon said.

“I'm working his ass off,” Ross said

“A conspiracy?” Jessie interjected.

“A very small one,” Ramon said, holding up his two fingers and bringing them close together.

“I won't tell,” she promised.

“I like this one,” Ramon said. He wandered off then, stopping to talk to customers at one table, then another.

“
This
one?” She raised an eyebrow as he had.

He chuckled, a sound that was like a gentle earthquake, if that were possible. She realized the dichotomy of that description. Nonetheless, it fit. She stored it in her mind.

But now she'd allowed some of what he'd said to sink in. She had a million more questions. “Do you know why my father disappeared?”

Any hint of amusement left his eyes. “Not firsthand.”

“But you've heard rumors,” she said. “Suppositions?”

He was silent. His fingers thrummed again on the table. “Those are not for me to repeat,” he said finally.

“I need a friend,” she said. “I hoped I'd found one in you.”

“Don't,” he said. “I have as much to gain or lose as anyone in all this. You should know that.”

“Why?”

“If the ranch is sold, I lose my job.”

Jessie filed that away, too. “Why would they sell it?”

He laughed, but this time there was nothing warm and fuzzy about it. “Money. What else?”

“Don't make me fish this out, piece by piece,” Jessie pleaded.

“The ranch is barely staying afloat,” he said reluctantly. “An offer has been made for the land. Some moneymen want to create ‘a planned development,' as they call it. The offer is very high.”

“And Sarah is blocking it.”

“For the moment,” he said, his obsidian eyes watching carefully.

A chill ran down Jessie's back. He did have a reason to take her out tonight. He was telling her himself, before she found out from others. For a few silly moments, she'd actually thought …

She was suddenly glad she hadn't told him about the intruder. Or intruders. The one at the Quest. The one at home. The one at the bookstore. An ominous pattern was developing, and she had no idea whom to trust. But why would anyone be snooping into her life if all they wanted was her vote? They already knew everything there was to know about her. Probably more than she did, herself.

She also found it was useless to ask him more questions about her father. He wasn't going to answer. She was not going to be a supplicant. She would get the answers for herself.

The happiness Jessie had felt at being with Ross drained away. Sure, he had told her more than anyone else had, but not enough. He was hiding as much as the rest of the family was. She had believed the Clementses the perfect family, the family she'd dreamed of for so long. All her life. And now she didn't know who or what to believe.

The perfect family, indeed
.

The food came. She knew it was probably very good. Yet it tasted like cardboard. Their conversation slowed, halted. The magic seeped away like sand through fingers.

He was still devilishly attractive. Her heart beat faster when she looked at him. She nearly melted under his gaze. But she couldn't trust him. And she would never let herself be used. Not ever again.

“Jessica?”

“There's more, isn't there? There's more to all this than you're telling me.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything.

“Dammit,” she said. “I want to know.”

“Jessica, I shouldn't have told you what I did. The family agreed that Alex would explain everything after the DNA results came back.”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“
I
didn't agree. I thought you had a right to know.”

She was angry. And hurt. She felt like a puppet being manipulated by any number of puppeteers.

“You're not going to tell me more, are you?”

“I can't tell you, because I don't
know
.”

“I'm sorry I asked.” She heard the stiffness in her voice, the chill.

“Don't be.” But his voice had cooled, too. The distance between them was growing greater by the minute.

They finished in silence, she leaving much of the food. He looked askance at her.

“It's good,” she said. “I'm just … not hungry.”

He nodded. He pulled out a twenty and a ten without receiving a bill, put them on the table, then stood. She wonder if this was his usual practice, but she had little time to consider it. His arm again guided her to the door. He stopped to say good-bye to Ramon, and then they were outside in the warm air.

His touch was just as firm, just as confident. Just as warm. Just as enticing. She wanted it so badly. She wanted to trust it.

She couldn't
.

He opened the truck door for her, and she stepped inside. She watched as he walked around, got in on his own side, and started the engine. He didn't say anything else until they reached the resort.

“Where to?” he asked when they got to the entrance.

She felt a momentary relief that he hadn't automatically driven to her casita. Or was he just too intelligent for that?

She gave him directions, then opened the door of the pickup as he stopped. But if she thought to outrun him, she didn't. He was at her side, taking the key from her hand and opening the door to the casita.

He stood to one side, but his hand caught her as she started to walk in. “Jessie, you're right not to trust anyone, but …”

Then she was in his arms, and he was looking down at her. His eyes weren't enigmatic now. They were intense and sexy as hell. She saw that much before his lips touched hers. Searching at first, then with a beguiling laziness that sent waves of desire radiating through her. His fingers touched her cheeks with a softness and gentleness that were more persuasive than any more determined seduction. Her blood warmed, her senses danced.

He swept her closer, and her body pressed against his. She could hear the beat of his heart, feel the hard, muscled strength of him. Her breath caught in her throat, and she opened her mouth. His tongue entered. Exploring. Seducing. An ache started deep inside, a deep, intense yearning for something more.

Could she trust
this?

She'd closed her eyes, but now she opened them and looked up. His eyes were partially curtained by those thick lashes, as difficult to read as ever. He was a man who'd learned to control his feelings. Her hand went up and touched the back of his neck, the thick dark hair curling slightly around her fingers. The intimacy was so strong she thought she would drown in it.

His kiss deepened and she responded in a way she'd never done before. Emotions surged through her as did acute physical reactions. The enchantment she'd felt earlier wrapped around her.

The warm breeze quickened and brushed their bodies. She was only slightly aware of that new sensation. It was an added aphrodisiac when none was needed. All she needed at the moment was Ross Macleod.

Even if she didn't trust him. Or his motives.

That didn't matter at the moment. Her cautions, her good sense, were swept away by his nearness, by the intoxication of his touch, the promise of his fingers, the sweet seduction of his lips. She found herself melting into him, her mouth responding to his, her body wantonly clinging to him. She felt his body change, grow hard and wanting. Expectation built furiously inside her.

His hands moved from her face to her hair, then to the back of her neck, playing with nerve ends she didn't know existed as his kiss deepened, became harder, more demanding, more searching. She could barely breathe under the onslaught. Her body felt like a willow, bending to him, depriving her of all will of her own.

She felt she was drowning in him, in the intensity that was so much a part of him. Piercing need ripped through her. Not just physical need, but something far stronger, far needier. She had been alone so long.

But even as she felt the painful need, a delicious warmth started to move through her. His mouth gentled suddenly, surprising her. His lips moved, brushing kisses against her cheek, and strangely, those kisses were far more sensuous, far more arousing than his lips had been against hers. Her entire body trembled and ached and tingled.

Her hips arched toward his, and her breasts strained and hurt. She wanted to stretch against him, to feel the growing bulge under his jeans, to …