him seriously. She’d thought the things he’d offered her were nothing more than the quaint exaggerations of a Texas rube too inflamed by his libido to be telling the truth about what he could provide for a wife.
She might see him in a different light now. After all, she’d need someplace to go after next week. Texas would be as good a place as any for a woman who’d had her privileged life stolen and was about to suffer the abandonment of peers.
And once he got her to Texas and she learned something about how to live a useful and satisfying life, she might even grow to love him.
She was half finished with her latest glass of wine, and had just located one of the waiters to watch for a chance to give him a subtle signal, when Oren McClain started toward her.
As a farewell party, it was a crashing failure.
Perhaps that was because few suspected it was a farewell party. She might as well have stayed home.
Stacey Amhearst quickly changed her mind about that. It was depressing at home. She couldn’t pretend anymore that it was cook’s night off, or that her butler had gone out to see his ailing mother. She’d come here for comfort and edible food.
There was little comfort to go with the food. What had she expected? That her pedigree-obsessed friends would crowd around sympathetically and offer to help her raise money with a charity auction? She really would throw herself in front of a limousine if anyone but her closest confidants found out about her outrageous misfortune before her lease was up on Thursday.
Was it better to live in an embarrassed state in financial exile somewhere, or let everyone think she’d tragically died rich? The fact that they’d only find out later that she was a pauper had helped her to squelch that fleeting thought of limo-cide.
Actually, she’d been half hoping for some conveniently rich man to sweep her off her feet tonight and fly her to Vegas for a quickie marriage. Her reputation for spending money would have made it easy to conceal a ploy or two that would funnel funds into her accounts. After all, she had plenty of expensive clothes she’d never worn publicly that hung in her closets, and some off-the-rack things still sported tags. With a little imagination, it would be easy enough to pass those off as new purchases. If her conscience allowed her pride that much.
But one of the problems of the sophisticated set was that for the few people in her circle who did marry at her age, an ostentatious ceremony with all the pricey traditions was a requirement for a first marriage.
And there was no unattached single man here tonight whom she hadn’t already mentally crossed off her list of potential husbands, so there could be no quick trip to Vegas.
Bad nerves and depression had left her with little more ambition tonight than to fill her stomach with rich goodies and numb herself with vintage wine.
She didn’t care for alcoholic drinks of any kind, and rarely imbibed. Until tonight. Tonight was her farewell party. The last fling on her social calendar before she ran out of money and lost her place among the only people she’d known.
And then she saw him.
At first, the very tall, brutally masculine rancher from Texas seemed merely a phantom that fear and desperation had conjured up to haunt her.
She deserved to be haunted by her memory of him. She’d not treated him particularly well at the end, but she’d been so disrupted by him, so very threatened by his earthy masculinity and the shock of the things he’d made her feel, that she’d been compelled to protect herself.
She’d regretting rebuffing him almost right away. She’d tried to smother her guilty feelings by telling herself that he was too honest and straightforward—too real—for her. A real man like him would find out soon enough that she was too frivolous and inept for his way of life. How would a man like him react when he found out? She couldn’t bear his bad opinion. She’d rather be thought a snob than a failure.
Even worse, he owned a cattle ranch somewhere in a dusty corner of Texas! She’d be useless and lonely and bored out of her wits. The only thing they’d really had going between them had been the explosive physical attraction that had so frightened her.
None of her friends knew that she wasn’t at all as sexually sophisticated as they were. In fact, she was so sexually unsophisticated that she was still a virgin at twenty-four. She’d been quite happy waiting for the man of her dreams and her wedding night, though most of her friends would have laughed at that old-fashioned notion.
Then she’d met the cowboy, and he’d overwhelmed her so badly she’d been terrified. She’d never told a soul about him, because she’d known she would have been tittered over and teased about it. Either because he was a rancher from Texas or because he was so macho and rabidly masculine and unrefined—or because she’d been so turned on that she’d panicked.
Hadn’t she met him here at another of Buffy’s parties? It had been months ago now, and she’d almost made herself forget. That’s why it was such a surprise to think about him now. He’d been someone’s guest, but she doubted she could remember who because she hadn’t paid attention when the introductions were made. Her brain had short-circuited and she’d had eyes only for the macho beast. Everyone else had vanished from awareness.
As Stacey watched her delusion, appreciating the beautiful cut of his elegant black tuxedo, she felt her pulse begin to accelerate and realized it was the first time in a long time that her heart was beating fast because of excitement rather than fear.
McClain—yes, she still remembered his name—wasn’t handsome, but he was striking, with a charismatic masculinity that a lesser male could only dream of having. It was such a pleasure to watch her delusion walk toward her in the safety of her imagination that she delayed the sip of wine she’d been about to take.
And then her delusion stopped in front of her and neatly plucked the wine flute out of her cold fingers to sit it with absent aplomb on the tray the waiter had just brought. His other hand settled hotly on her waist and she felt the jolt that told her this was real.
The cowboy was here.
He was so tall, built so tough and hard, that his lean frame was solid with muscle. She realized again that he wasn’t at all handsome, and noted afresh that his rugged features had the kind of weathered tan that hinted at Native ancestry as did his overlong black hair. His eyes were a glittering black that went perfectly with his coloring and the costly cloth of his tuxedo.
His low voice was a gravely drawl that called up images of a sexy night in bed.
“I’ve been waiting to dance with you, darlin’.”
Stacey felt the room tilt a little as he expertly eased her into a private corner nearer the door. It didn’t matter a whole lot that they were the only ones dancing to the soft notes of Unchained Melody that the pianist on the other side of the room was playing.
Suddenly, just like before, they were the only two people in the universe, and Stacey felt her head spin with the idea. Was she tipsy or had the pressure and upset finally caused her to snap?
The heat of him was scorching, and the rocky hardness of his big body made her knees tremble. The hand at her waist rested boldly low on her back, and the shivery pleasure of being wedged snugly between that hand and his body was almost erotic.
“H-how did you get here?”
Her brain was so fuzzy that she wasn’t completely certain he was really here, but somehow his first name came out of the fuzziness: Oren. It was a Southern name. A good one for a cowboy, but hopelessly out of fashion.
His stern mouth curved faintly. “The usual way. A pickup, two planes, a taxi and a taxi.”
Her soft, “How did you get in?” sounded dazed. Again, he obliged, and her gaze fixed on his mouth.
“Just like last time. The visiting guest of a guest.”
Stacey’s brain somehow seized on the notion of second chances, and she almost missed what he said next. That was because she was looking