Read Online Rawhide and Lace by Diana Palmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diana Palmer
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by the arms and actually shook him. "The car came at me around a curve, head on," she said, frustrated into telling him the truth about the wreck. "Nobody could have avoided it, upset or not!"
He watched her without speaking for a long moment. "Is that the truth?"
"Yes! And it was in New York State, just minutes from home, Ty. I could have been driving out of the city to an assignment and had it happen." She held his eyes with her own, adding slowly, "You didn't cause it."
He shook his head and smiled grimly. "Didn't I?" He took a slow breath and seemed to notice her hands for the first time. "Would you have had the baby?"
"Of course," she said without thinking.
He reached out and touched her cheek where the hairline scar ran just beside her ear. "Someone would have told me, eventually," he said quietly. "I'd have come to you. I'd have married you."
"What kind of life would that have been?" she asked sadly, searching the hard lines of his face. "You'd never have accepted what I did for a living, or even the way I was. You didn't want a butterfly-you even said so. And modeling was my whole life. I loved it; I loved the bright lights and the people and the delight of showing off pretty clothes." The smile that had animated her face faded as she remembered the wreck. "I lost all that. I can't go back to it, not like this. I can learn another kind of work, but nothing will ever replace modeling." Except you, she wanted to say. But she couldn't. She couldn't lower her pride enough to tell him that living with him and being loved by him would have been more than enough recompense for the career she'd lost.
She turned back toward the sofa, stumbling a little.
"Oh, damn this leg!" she burst out, near tears.
"If you don't like it, suppose you fix it," he said. "Exercise it, like the doctor told you. If you want your career back, earn it!"
She couldn't know that her remark about her career had caught him on the raw, that he was hurting because she'd as much as told him that he didn't matter. He deserved it, he knew he did, but it cut all the same.
"Okay," she told him defiantly. "I will!"
He smiled. "Good. Now go get on something you can exercise in and I'll coach you. We can have coffee later."
She hobbled down the hall to her room without a backward glance. And she told herself she hated him more than ever.
The first session was more painful than she'd anticipated. She did the exercises described on the sheet, with Ty looming over her, demanding more than she thought she was capable of.
"You can push harder than that, for God's sake," he said when she slackened.
"I'm not a man!"
He looked pointedly at her firm, full breasts under the revealing fabric of her body leotard, and a faint smile touched his mouth. "I'll drink to that."
"Stop looking at me there," she told him haughtily.
"Wear a bra next time," he countered, watching her from his armchair as she stretched on the carpet. "I can't help it if I get disturbed by hard nipples."
She gasped, flushed, and sat up in one sharp movement. "Tyson!" she burst out.
His eyebrows arched, and he looked as hopelessly the dominant male as any movie sex symbol. "Why the red-rose blush, honey?" he asked innocently. "Or don't you remember that you had sex with me on this very carpet?"
"Oh, I hate you!" she cried, eyes flaring, cheeks flaming, hair disordered and wild around her oval face. The leotard emphasized her thinness, but it also lovingly outlined a body so exquisite that lingerie companies had bid for her services as a model.
"No you don't; you just hate sex," he replied. "And that's my fault. But one of these days, I may change your mind about that."
"Hold your breath," she challenged.
"Daring me, Erin?" he asked, and his smile held shades of meaning as his silver eyes glittered over her body.
Watching those eyes, she began to tingle from head to toe. Her hip
He watched her without speaking for a long moment. "Is that the truth?"
"Yes! And it was in New York State, just minutes from home, Ty. I could have been driving out of the city to an assignment and had it happen." She held his eyes with her own, adding slowly, "You didn't cause it."
He shook his head and smiled grimly. "Didn't I?" He took a slow breath and seemed to notice her hands for the first time. "Would you have had the baby?"
"Of course," she said without thinking.
He reached out and touched her cheek where the hairline scar ran just beside her ear. "Someone would have told me, eventually," he said quietly. "I'd have come to you. I'd have married you."
"What kind of life would that have been?" she asked sadly, searching the hard lines of his face. "You'd never have accepted what I did for a living, or even the way I was. You didn't want a butterfly-you even said so. And modeling was my whole life. I loved it; I loved the bright lights and the people and the delight of showing off pretty clothes." The smile that had animated her face faded as she remembered the wreck. "I lost all that. I can't go back to it, not like this. I can learn another kind of work, but nothing will ever replace modeling." Except you, she wanted to say. But she couldn't. She couldn't lower her pride enough to tell him that living with him and being loved by him would have been more than enough recompense for the career she'd lost.
She turned back toward the sofa, stumbling a little.
"Oh, damn this leg!" she burst out, near tears.
"If you don't like it, suppose you fix it," he said. "Exercise it, like the doctor told you. If you want your career back, earn it!"
She couldn't know that her remark about her career had caught him on the raw, that he was hurting because she'd as much as told him that he didn't matter. He deserved it, he knew he did, but it cut all the same.
"Okay," she told him defiantly. "I will!"
He smiled. "Good. Now go get on something you can exercise in and I'll coach you. We can have coffee later."
She hobbled down the hall to her room without a backward glance. And she told herself she hated him more than ever.
The first session was more painful than she'd anticipated. She did the exercises described on the sheet, with Ty looming over her, demanding more than she thought she was capable of.
"You can push harder than that, for God's sake," he said when she slackened.
"I'm not a man!"
He looked pointedly at her firm, full breasts under the revealing fabric of her body leotard, and a faint smile touched his mouth. "I'll drink to that."
"Stop looking at me there," she told him haughtily.
"Wear a bra next time," he countered, watching her from his armchair as she stretched on the carpet. "I can't help it if I get disturbed by hard nipples."
She gasped, flushed, and sat up in one sharp movement. "Tyson!" she burst out.
His eyebrows arched, and he looked as hopelessly the dominant male as any movie sex symbol. "Why the red-rose blush, honey?" he asked innocently. "Or don't you remember that you had sex with me on this very carpet?"
"Oh, I hate you!" she cried, eyes flaring, cheeks flaming, hair disordered and wild around her oval face. The leotard emphasized her thinness, but it also lovingly outlined a body so exquisite that lingerie companies had bid for her services as a model.
"No you don't; you just hate sex," he replied. "And that's my fault. But one of these days, I may change your mind about that."
"Hold your breath," she challenged.
"Daring me, Erin?" he asked, and his smile held shades of meaning as his silver eyes glittered over her body.
Watching those eyes, she began to tingle from head to toe. Her hip
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