Texas…Now and Forever (5 page)

As she walked into the bar, she had to keep reminding herself that she was a different person now. Physically and emotionally. She hardly recognized herself when she looked in the mirror these days. Still, she half expected one of the
patrons to shout her name and come charging around the long, curved bar to accost her.

No one shouted anything. Nor did Haley spot anyone she knew among the few patrons. The two women present gave her a curious once-over before turning back to their companions. The cowboys knocking balls around the pool table at the back of bar displayed considerably more interest in the newcomer, but Haley nipped it in the bud by simply ignoring them. Skirting the dance floor with a lone couple barely moving to a Trisha Year-wood ballad, she claimed a table in a dim corner.

“I'll have a cheeseburger,” she told the waiter who appeared at her table a few moments later. “Medium well. And a lager. Draft.”

“Lager, huh?” He cocked his head, studying her beneath the brim of his battered black Resistol. “You're not from around these parts, are you?”

Only then did Haley realize one of the British idioms she'd cultivated so deliberately over the years had slipped out.

“No, I'm not.”

“Didn't think so. I'll bring your beer, uh, lager, right over to you.”

“Thanks.”

It wasn't the waiter who delivered the foaming mug some moments later, however. It was a tall,
broad-shouldered cowboy with a silver belt buckle the size of a dinner plate and laughing blue eyes.

“This one's on me, beautiful.”

Haley's heart stopped. Literally. She felt it thump, then contract, then simply die. She sat frozen, every nerve turning to ice as she stared at the strong, tanned face above the open collar of a crisp white shirt.

Her utter lack of response might have daunted a lesser man. Not this one. His mouth curving into a half grin, he deposited two mugs on the table.

“I figured if I brought one for each of us, I might just get lucky and be invited to join you.”

She couldn't speak. She didn't dare. She prayed he'd take the hint and go away. Instead he seemed to regard her silence as a personal challenge. Not waiting for an invitation, he claimed the chair opposite hers.

“The waiter said you're not from around here. But when you first walked in, I could have sworn I knew you.”

Her pulse kicked in with a painful surge. Panic raced along her iced-over nerves as his gaze lingered on her eyes, her nose, her carefully sculpted cheekbones.

“Have we met somewhere?” he probed, sprawling loose-limbed and comfortable in his chair. “Dallas, maybe? New York?”

She had to answer. She couldn't sit mute any longer. But it took everything she had to infuse her voice with polite disinterest.

“If we've met, I don't seem to recall it.”

His grin widened at the deliberate put-down.

“Guess I'll have to see what I can do to make a more lasting impression this time.”

Blue eyes gleaming, he tipped two fingers to the brim of his summer straw Stetson. “The name's Luke. Luke Callaghan.”

T
he blond stranger had drawn Luke across the bar like the scent of doe drew a stag. Not only was she gorgeous, but she'd appeared at the Saddlebag at just the right moment.

Luke had piled up almost three weeks of idle time since wrapping up a particularly nerve-bending covert operation deep inside a breakaway Russian republic. He was already bored with the free-wheeling playboy lifestyle he adopted between jobs for the shadowy government agency that had recruited him after he'd separated from the marines. He needed a distraction, and this delicious blonde certainly constituted that.

She'd hooked his interest the moment she walked into the Saddlebag. From a distance, she was stunning. Up close, she thoroughly intrigued him. Take the way she stared at him. Those huge brown eyes seemed to look right through him. Then there was the little hesitation before she returned his greeting. Her aristocratic nose quivered,
and he could have sworn her hands trembled before she buried them in her lap.

If he made her nervous, she recovered quickly enough. Inclining her head in a regal nod, she acknowledged his introduction.

“How do you do, Mr. Callaghan?”

Luke had traveled extensively, both in the marines and in the dangerous operations that now took him to all parts of the globe. He placed her soft, lilting accent without difficulty. She was British. From London, probably, but she spoke with an odd inflection that he couldn't quite pin down.

“I answer better to Luke,” he replied, waiting for her to reciprocate and offer her name. When she didn't, the decidedly male interest she'd piqued when she'd walked into the Saddlebag took on an added dimension. Now she stirred not only his masculinity. She challenged the rather unique skills he'd acquired over the past few years.

Only a handful of people knew about those skills. Or that Luke Callaghan now worked for an organization so secret its name would never appear on any governmental organizational chart. Luke hadn't told anyone in Mission Creek about being recruited by OP-12, even his four best buddies.

Three best buddies, he corrected with an inner grimace.

The thought of Ricky Mercado, who'd once
been closer than any brother, itched like a raw scab that refused to heal. Luke missed Ricky's friendship. He missed the good times they'd had, both at V.M.I. and in the Marine Corps. For that matter, he missed the corps. The old cliché was true. Once a marine, always a marine.

Unless you caused the death of an innocent young woman.

Then you had no business wearing the uniform of a United States Marine. No business holding yourself up as an example for your men to follow. Judge Bridges might have gotten his four defendants off, but Luke accepted full responsibility for the tragic accident. He should never have encouraged Haley to take the wheel. The speedboat was too big for an unskilled driver, its engines too powerful.

Despite the judge's warning to keep his mouth shut, Luke had freely admitted his criminal negligence during the trial. To this day he carried the guilt for that accident like a burr lodged just under his skin. He always would. It tugged at him now as he studied the stranger's face. She didn't look anything like Haley Mercado. Her face was thinner, the features were more defined. Yet for a moment there, when she'd first walked into the bar, Luke's pulse had hitched.

He tucked the memory of the young, vibrant
Haley into the corner of his heart where she'd always remain.

“Are you here in the States on business or pleasure?”

Her glance wavered, dropped to the beer she'd yet to taste. His went to the hands she wrapped around the frosted mug. No wedding ring, he noted. No rings of any kind. Short, oval-shaped nails polished the natural-looking shade women called French white for reasons Luke had never understood.

“Personal business,” she said after a moment, meeting his gaze again. “But I'm just passing through Texas.”

Well, well. Stretching out his long legs, Luke set out to seduce the woman across the table. It was a game he played, the same game all men played when they spotted a beautiful, unattached female. As often as not, he struck out. Occasionally he got lucky. In either case, he enjoyed the preliminary mating rituals that presaged getting to know a woman. Particularly a woman as delectable as this one.

“Too bad you can't spend more time 'round these parts.”

“Why?”

“If you can get past the heat and the dust, this
corner of Texas isn't a bad place to sit and doterize awhile.”

The lazy drawl took some of the stiffness out of her spine. She sat back in her chair and rewarded him with the faintest glimmer of a smile.

“‘Doterize'?”

“It's a local expression,” he said with a grin that admitted he'd just made up the word up, “for forgetting all your problems and pretty much doing nothing.”

“I see.”

She took a sip of her beer, leaving Luke more intrigued than ever. This cool, self-contained beauty certainly didn't suffer from an excess of volubility. Or curiosity. Most folks who'd just met someone for the first time would be launching a few discreet probes by this time. Either she wasn't interested or she was content to let Luke set the pace, which he was more than willing to do.

“So how do you occupy your time when you're not passing through Texas?”

She took her time before replying. Luke formed the distinct impression she was weighing what she'd tell him right down to the gram.

“I'm a graphic designer,” she said finally.

“What do you design?”

Again she hesitated. The arrival of a platter of greasy fries and a cheeseburger provided an obvi
ous excuse for her not to answer. With a murmur of thanks to the waiter, she squared the plate in front of her and arranged her face in a polite expression of dismissal.

“If you'll excuse me, Mr. Callaghan, I'm—”

“Luke.”

“If you'll excuse me, Luke, I'm rather hungry.”

No way was she going to shake loose of him that easy.

“Matter of fact,” he replied, sniffing appreciatively, “so am I. Hey, Charlie!” He pointed to the burger slopping over the sides of her platter. “Bring another one of those, would you? Rare. And two more beers.”

 

This was crazy! Absolutely insane! Behind Haley's polite mask, her thoughts spiraled perilously close to hysteria. She couldn't believe she was sitting across a table from Luke Callaghan, engaging in the seductive, sensual game played the world over by men and women who meet in bars.

She knew it was a game. She also knew that Luke was far more adept at it than she was. If the stories she'd read about him in the tabloids held even a photon of truth, the handsome, jet-setting millionaire had racked up more wins in this particular arena than any rock star or overmuscled, over-paid jock.

Common sense and the self-preservation skills Haley had honed these past years told her to push away from the table. Now. This very moment. Walk out of the smoky lounge. Walk away from Luke.

Maybe if the visit to her mother hadn't left her so raw and bleeding, she might have done just that. Or if she'd ever been able to exercise any common sense around Luke Callaghan. All the man had to do was smile at her in that careless way of his and she melted like the tangy cheddar dribbling over the sides of her burger.

She'd stay for another half hour, Haley swore silently. Just long enough to finish her meal. She wouldn't satisfy the curiosity that gleamed in his blue eyes. She couldn't. But she'd store up every minute of this unexpected interlude to take back to London with her.

She stuck to that plan through their burgers and beers. Luke downed his in man-size swallows. Haley took considerably smaller bites of the cheeseburger and nursed her second beer sparingly. She was fiddling with the mug, knowing it was time for her to leave, when another ballad drifted above the muted conversation and clack of pool balls. Martina McBride this time. One of her new hits that was just making its way across the Atlan
tic. A smooth, mellow song about an old love and missed chances.

Her gaze lifted to Luke's. An old love. Missed chances. A new life that had yet to bring her the private passion she'd once felt for this man. It was still there, she acknowledged. Buried deep under the layers she'd pulled over herself these past years, but still there. It would always be there.

“McBride's good,” Luke commented, meeting her gaze. “Too good to pass up. Care to take a turn around the floor?”

A polite refusal formed on her lips. Luke saw it coming. In a preemptive move, he pushed back his chair, rounded the table and held out his hand. Memories of the disaster that had followed the last time she'd slipped her hand into his kept Haley in her seat.

“One turn.” Undeterred by her obvious reluctance, he smiled. The tanned skin beside his eyes crinkled. “It'll help settle those fries.”

Two seconds passed. Five.

Slowly, Haley entwined her fingers with his.

As she let him lead her to the dance floor, her doubts and insecurities fell away. One touch, and she knew this dance would lead to another. One feel of his body against hers, and she gave up fighting the hunger he stirred in her. Strangely she no longer felt the least hesitation. She wasn't a fright
ened girl any longer, torn between her desire for one man and the desperate need to escape another. She was a woman, with a woman's needs and a woman's cravings.

Tomorrow she'd honor her promise to her mother and return to London. Tonight she'd create an indelible memory to take with her.

 

Luke felt the change the instant he took her in his arms. Without knowing how or why, he understood she'd altered the rules of the game. She didn't put up so much as a token resistance when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Thigh to thigh, they moved to the music.

Lord, she felt good. As if she'd been molded to fit to him. His chin grazed her temple, right where curly strands feathered her forehead. Her high, full breasts were positioned to cause the maximum disruption to his rational thought processes.

A corner of his mind warned that he knew next to nothing about this mysterious stranger. Not even her name. Yet her reticence didn't set off any silent alarms. Not the kind that would have raised the hairs on the back of his neck and made him check the snubnose .38 he usually carried in an ankle holster, anyway. Shutting down that busy, in
tensely curious corner of his mind, he gave himself up to the pleasure of her body moving against his.

When the song ended, Luke didn't release her. She tipped her head back. Her brown eyes regarded him steadily. It wasn't a question he saw in their gold-flecked depths, but an invitation. Only too happy to oblige, he bent his head and brushed her lips with his.

If she hadn't already aroused him both mentally and physically, the taste of her would have done the trick. In a heartbeat he went from hard to aching.

His arm tightened around her waist. He considered inviting her out to his place, but she might bolt if he turned her loose long enough to make the twenty-minute drive. He was trying to figure out how best to get her out of the bar and into the closest bed when she answered the question he hadn't asked.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I'll go to one of the rooms out back with you.”

Whoa! Now this was getting lucky and then some! Disguising his astonishment behind a swift, slashing grin, Luke steered her back to the table. While she collected her clutch purse, he made a quick detour and tossed a fifty down on the bar.

“The key to the presidential suite, Charlie. And hurry.”

“The presidential suite, huh?”

Grinning, the combination bartender/motel clerk slid a key across the smooth-grained oak. The unofficial designation of the largest unit was a joke among the several generations of cowboys who'd occupied it for varying lengths of times over the years, Luke and his friends included. From past experience, however, he knew it was clean, comfortable and recently renovated. He wouldn't take any woman there if it wasn't, much less this enigmatic, thoroughly arousing stranger.

As they crossed the parking lot, Luke half expected her to change her mind and call a halt to things. That she didn't surprised and aroused him all over again. By the time they reached the largest unit, he was walking with a hitch in his step.

He couldn't remember wanting a woman as much as he wanted this one. Maybe it was the secrets she held to herself. Or how she flicked her tongue along her lower lip in obvious nervousness. Yet she didn't so much as blink when he curled his hands around her upper arms and pulled her to him. He couldn't quite believe it when he heard himself offer her a last chance to back out.

“You sure about this, sweetheart? Not that I want to see you walk away, you understand. I'd
just hate for you to wake up with regrets come morning.”

She made a small, choking sound. Sliding her palms up his shirtfront, she gave him a half smile. “Oh, I'll wake up with plenty of regrets. But not about this. I'll never regret this.”

Luke would have had to be a hell of a lot more—or less!—of a man to hold back at that point. Swooping down, he captured her lip with his.

Her mouth opened under his. Warm. Willing. So incredibly erotic that the ache in his groin speared up, into his belly, and down, right to his boots. He'd had his share of women—more than his share, Tyler and Flynt and Spence often groused. He'd also developed one or two sophisticated techniques for finessing a woman out of her clothes over the years.

There wasn't anything sophisticated about the need that rose up now and kicked him square in the gut. Taking his cue from the way her fingers dug into his shoulders, he widened his stance, dragged her hard against him and drank his fill.

Or tried to.

The more he took, the more she gave, until Luke couldn't tell whose need kept them locked together, their bodies straining. All he knew was that he wanted this woman with a fire that burned clear
through him. With a low growl, he fumbled the clip from the back of her head, thrust his fingers through the thick silk of her hair and anchored her head for his kiss.