Tears of the Renegade Read online

  She thundered across the old bridge over Jubilee Creek, and the car fishtailed when she slung it around the long, sweeping curve of the incline going up to the gentle rise where the cabin sat. A bright red Blazer with enormous tires was parked at the front steps, and she pulled up behind it, scattering rocks and dust. Before the wheels had stopped rolling, she had the door open and was out of the car, bounding up the steps in a very unladylike manner. She had pounded on the door twice with her fist when a piercing whistle reached her ears, and she spun around. Cord was standing down at the creek, about a hundred yards away. He lifted his arm, beckoning her to come to him, and she was in too much of a hurry to use the steps; she jumped off the end of the porch and headed down the slope at a fast walk.

  He went back to work, his powerful arms swinging a sling-blade with easy rhythm, sending showers of rioting greenery flying into the air as he sliced through a section of heavy over-growth. Her pace slowed as she approached, and when she reached him she stood to one side, well out of the way of the slicing blade. He stopped after a moment, leaning on the handle and giving her an unreadable glance, a little smile pulling at his lips. “The honeysuckle is out of hand,” he drawled, wiping his forearm across his sweaty face. “If we ever decide to conquer the world, all we have to do is ship out some cuttings of honeysuckle and kudzu, then wait a year. Everyone else would be so worn out from fighting the vines that we could just waltz in.”

  She smiled at the whimsy, but to Southern farmers, it wasn’t that much of an exaggeration. Now that she was standing before him, she couldn’t think of anything to say; for the moment, it was enough to simply be there, staring at him, drinking in the sight of his magnificent masculinity. He was glistening with sweat, his dark hair wet and stuck to his skull, and he’d twisted a white handkerchief into a band that he’d tied around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes. His shirt had been discarded and was lying on the ground; his jeans were dirty. None of that mattered. He could have been wearing a tuxedo, and he wouldn’t have looked any better to her.

  When she didn’t say anything, he tilted his head in question, a devilish gleam entering his eyes. “Did you come here for a reason?”

  She swallowed, trying to conquer her voice. “Yes. I came to make you listen to me.”

  “I’m listening, honey, but you’re not saying much.”

  She searched for the perfect words to use, the ones that would make him believe her, but with a sinking heart she knew that there weren’t any. He was still watching her in amusement, lettering her squirm, and suddenly it was unbearable. She blurted out, “When Imogene asked me to spy on you, I refused, and she’s not used to anyone telling her no. Someone must have told her what happened last night, and she assumed that I’d changed my mind. I haven’t.”

  He laughed aloud and shook his head in amazement. “So what were you doing on that bed with me? My ego isn’t so big that I’ll fall for the line that you just have the hots for me. I know your reputation, lady, and it’s the straight and narrow all the way, as far as anyone knows. I have my doubts about Preston—”

  “Shut up!” she cried, knotting her hands into fists. “I’ve told you and told you—”

  “I know,” he interrupted wearily. “You haven’t slept with Preston.”

  “It’s the truth!”

  “He’s in love with you.”

  Startled by his perception, she admitted, “Yes. But I didn’t know until a few days ago. That doesn’t change anything. I’m very fond of Preston, but I’m not in love with him; there’s never been anything sexual between us.”

  “Okay, say there’s nothing between you,” he attacked sharply, changing positions. “That means there’s been no one in your life, romantically speaking, since Vance died, which makes it just that much more unlikely for you to suddenly take up with me. There has to be a reason.”

  Susan turned pale. “There is. When I met you, I realized that I’m not dead. I’ve mourned Vance for five years, but he’s never coming back, and I’m very much alive. You make me feel things again. I’m not like you; I’ve never been brave or adventurous, or taken a gamble on anything, but when I’m with you I feel just a little braver, a little more free. I want to be with you for me, not for Imogene or Preston or any amount of money.”

  His eyes had darkened as he listened to her, and now he stared at her for a long, taut moment, taking in the tension of her slim figure, the almost desperate earnestness in her eyes, eyes of such a dark blue that they looked like the deep Pacific. Finally he untied the handkerchief from his forehead and began using the square of cloth to wipe the rivulets of sweat from his face and arms, then rubbing it across his chest. He was silent for so long that Susan could bear it no longer, and she grabbed his arm. “It’s very simple,” she said desperately. “All you have to do is not tell me anything! Since you’re forewarned, how can I possibly find out anything? How can I possibly be using you?”

  He sighed, shaking his head. “Susan,” he finally said, his voice so gentle that she shivered at the sound of it, “you said it yourself: We’re nothing alike. I’ve lived a hard life, and it hasn’t always been on the right side of the law. You look as if you’ve been carried around all of your life on a satin pillow. If you think you want pretty words and pretty flowers and hand-holding in the moonlight, you’d better find some other man. I’m not satisfied with hand-holding.”

  She shivered again, and her lashes drooped to veil her eyes in a sultry, passion-laden manner. “I know,” she whispered.

  “Do you?” He moved closer to her, so close that the heady scent of his hot, sweaty body enveloped her, tantalizing her senses. “Do you really know what you’re asking for?” His hands closed on her waist, his fingers biting into her soft flesh. “I’m not much on genteel gropings in the dark, on schedule every Saturday night. I’m a lot rawer than that, and a lot hungrier. I want to take your clothes off and taste you all over,” he rasped, hauling her close to him so that their bodies touched. A fire alarm of pleasure began clanging inside her, and she let herself flow up against him like a tide rushing to shore. “I want to take your nipples in my mouth and suck them until they’re hard and aching for more. I want to feel your legs wrapped around my back, and I want to go so deeply into you that I can’t tell where I stop and you begin. That’s what I want right now, and what I’ve wanted every time I’ve seen you. And if that’s not what you want, too, you’d better run, because you’re about to get it.”

  Susan sighed in delirium. Her body was alive, aching, throbbing, wanting to do those things he’d described, and more. She wanted to give her heart to him, and with it, the soft, burning ardor of her body. She couldn’t give him the words; she sensed that he didn’t want love, that he’d feel burdened if she admitted that she loved him, so she would bite the words back and instead content herself with the offering of her body.

  “I’m not running,” she said into the damp refuge of his neck.

  “Maybe you should,” he said roughly, releasing her. “But it’s too late for that. You had your chance, honey. My sense of honor doesn’t go that deep!” He leaned down and lifted her into his arms, his brawny back and shoulders taking her slight weight easily. He began walking up the slope with a determined stride, and when Susan dared to slant a quick look up at his face, she quivered at the fierceness of his expression. The thought of the risk she was about to take in giving herself to him made her feel faint with apprehension, and she turned her face into his warm shoulder. Only one man had made love to her in her life, and that with love, with deep tenderness. Cord didn’t trust her; he would take her in lust but not in love, and she didn’t know if she was strong enough to handle that. On the other hand, she knew beyond doubt that she had to try to reach him, that she had to try to show him with the gentle offering of herself that she wasn’t a treacherous or mercenary person. She had to show him what love was, because he’d never known it.

  Her sheltered life had not prepared her for this, but neither had it prepared her for