Against The Rules. Linda Howard
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recognized the place.”
“Oh, yesss,” Ricky drawled, letting the “yes” linger on a sibilant whisper. “Rule’s the boss, didn’t you know? He has everything going his way; everybody jumps when he says jump. He’s not the outcast anymore, sister dear. He’s an upstanding—and outstanding—member of our little community, and he runs this place with an iron fist. Or he almost does.” She winked at Cathryn. “He doesn’t have me under his thumb yet. I know what he’s up to.”
Determined not to react or ask Ricky what she meant, knowing that in her half-drunken state any sensible conversation was impossible, Cathryn took Ricky’s arm and gently but firmly steered her to the stairs. “Lorna should have dinner on the table by now. I’m starving!”
As they left the room, Rule approached them and his hard mouth tightened when he saw the glass in Ricky’s hand. Without a word he reached out and relieved her of it. For a moment Ricky looked up at him with a kind of tense, pleading fear; then she visibly mastered herself and trailed a fingertip down his shirtfront, tracing a path from button to button. “You’re so masterful,” she purred. “No wonder you can have your pick of women. I was just telling Cathryn about them...your women, I mean.” She gave him a sweetly poisonous smile and continued down the stairs, satisfaction evident in the sway of her slim, graceful body.
Rule swore softly under his breath while Cathryn stood there trying to understand what Ricky was getting at and why it was making Rule angry. There was the possibility that Ricky was getting at nothing. She loved to say upsetting things just for the joy of watching the stir. But just worrying about it wouldn’t give her any answers. She turned to Rule and asked him directly, “What’s she getting at?”
He didn’t answer for a moment. Instead he sniffed suspiciously at the contents of the glass he held, then tossed the remainder of the drink back in one swallow. A terrible grimace twisted his features. “God,” he choked, his voice strained. “How did I ever drink this stuff?”
Cathryn almost laughed aloud. From the day her father had carried him home, Rule had refused to drink liquor, even beer. His surprised reaction now was somehow endearing, as if he had revealed a hidden part of himself to her. He looked up and caught her grin, and she was startled when his hard fingers slid under her hair and clasped the back of her neck. “Are you laughing at me?” he demanded, his voice soft. “Don’t you know that can be dangerous?”
She knew better than most just how dangerous Rule could be, but she wasn’t frightened now. An odd exhilaration made her blood tumble through her veins and she tilted her head back to look at him. “I’m not afraid of you, big man,” she said in both taunt and invitation—an invitation she hadn’t meant to issue, but one that came so naturally that she had voiced it almost before the thought was completed. A second too late, she tried to cover her mistake by throwing in hastily, “Tell me what Ricky meant—”
“Damn Ricky,” he growled as his fingers tightened on her neck a split second before his mouth closed on hers. Cathryn was surprised by the gentle quality of the kiss. Her lips softened and parted easily under the persuasive pressure and movements of his. He made a rough sound in his throat and turned her more fully into his arms, pressing her to him, his hand sliding down her back to her hips and arching her into the power of his loins and thighs. Her fingers clenched on his shirt sleeves in response to the heated pleasure that flared deeply within her. She was vividly aware of his male attraction, and everything that was female within her strained to answer the primitive call of his nature. It had never been like this with any other man; she had begun to realize that it never would be, that this was something unique for her. David hadn’t stood a chance against the dark magic that Rule practiced so effortlessly.
The thought of David was a lifeline to grasp, something to pull her mind away from the sensual whirlpool he was drawing her into. She tore her lips away from his with a gasp but was unable to move from his arms. It wasn’t that he held her captive, but that she lacked the strength to push him away. Instead she let her body lie against him while she rested her head on his shoulder, inhaling the aphrodisiac of his warm male scent.
“It’s good,” he muttered huskily, bending his head to bite at the delicate earlobe bared by the tilt of her head. “You’re not a kid now, Cat.”
What did that mean? she wondered with a flash of panic. That he no longer saw any need to keep away from her? Was he warning her that he wouldn’t try to keep their relationship platonic? And who was she trying to kid? Their relationship hadn’t been platonic in years, even though they had never made love since that day by the river.
From somewhere she dredged up enough strength to pull away from him and lift her head proudly. “No, I’m not a kid. I’ve learned how to say no to unwanted advances.”
“Then mine must be wanted, because you sure as hell didn’t say no,” he taunted softly, moving his body in such a way that she was eased to the head of the stairs. So that was how a cow felt when being gently but inexorably herded to wherever a cowboy wanted, she thought on a slightly hysterical note. She took a deep breath and briskly composed herself, which was just as well, because suddenly Monica appeared at the foot of the stairs.
“Cathryn, Rule, whatever is keeping you?”
That was Monica—not even a greeting, though it had been almost three years since she’d last seen her stepdaughter. Cathryn didn’t object to Monica’s remoteness. At least it was honest. She went down the stairs with Rule close behind her, his hand resting casually on the small of her back.
The table wasn’t formal. After a long, hot day on the ranch a man wanted a meal, not a social occasion. Cathryn’s decision to wear a dress had been an unusual one, but now she noticed that Ricky had also elected to leave off her jeans and instead wore a white gauze dress that wouldn’t have been out of place at a party. She knew instinctively that Ricky didn’t have a date that night, so she had to be dressing up for Rule’s benefit.
Cathryn’s eyes strayed to Rule as he sat in the chair where Ward Donahue had always sat. For the first time she noticed that he had changed into dark brown cords and a crisp white shirt, with the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled back to reveal brawny tanned forearms. Her breath caught as she watched him, examined the features that had so often occupied her dreams. His hair was thick and as silky as a child’s, with only a hint of curl; both his hair and eyes were that precise, peculiar shade that was neither black nor brown, but a color that she could define only as dark. His forehead was broad, his brows straight and heavy over a thin, high-bridged nose that flared into spirited nostrils. His lips were chiseled, sensual, but capable of compressing into a grim line or twisting into an enraged snarl. His broad shoulders strained at the white cloth that covered them, while in the open neck of the shirt she could see the beginnings of the virile curls that decorated his chest and arrowed down his abdomen. She knew all of that about him, knew exactly the texture of that hair beneath her fingers....
Slowly she became aware of the amusement in his eyes and she realized that she had been staring openly, practically eating him with her eyes. She flushed and fidgeted nervously with her fork, not daring to look at either Monica or Ricky for fear they had also noticed.
“How was the flight?” Monica asked trivially, but Cathryn was grateful to her and latched onto the gambit eagerly.
“Crowded, but on time, for once. I didn’t ask if you had to wait,” she said to Rule, deliberately making the effort to converse with him and demonstrate that she wasn’t disturbed at having been caught staring at him.
He shrugged and started to say something, but Ricky broke in with a harsh, bitter laugh. “It didn’t bother him any,” she sniped. “He left yesterday afternoon and spent the night in Houston to make certain he didn’t miss you. Nothing’s too good for the little queen of the Bar D, is it, Rule?”
His dark face had that closed, stony look that Cathryn always associated with the painful days when he had first come to the ranch, and she had to clench her fists to quell the sudden, powerful urge to protect him. If any man was less in need of protection than Rule Jackson, he was one tough customer indeed. Rule proved that by giving Ricky a smile that was nothing more than