Nelson's Brand. Diana Palmer
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He was a little disappointed at her easy flirting. He’d rather expected her to be shy and maidenly. But it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d been mistaken about a woman. He lifted a thick eyebrow. “Give me time. I’ll think up something.”
“A reason to stay alive,” she sighed, touching a hand to her chest. “I do hope you aren’t married with six children, Mr. Nelson. I would hate to spoil the barbecue by throwing myself off the roof.”
His eyes registered mild humor. “I’m not married.”
“You must wear a disguise in public,” she mused.
He studied her with pursed lips for a minute before he picked up his plate and glass and came around the table. Her heart skipped when he sat down beside her—very close. He smelled of soap and cologne, potent to a woman who wasn’t used to men in any form.
“You didn’t come alone, I suppose,” he mused, watching her closely. “Let me get a few bites of this under my belt so that I’ll have enough strength to beat your escort to his knees.”
“Oh, I don’t have one of those,” she assured him, hiding her nervousness in humor, as she always had. “I came with Winnie.”
“That spares my knuckles.” He was flirting, too, but she appealed to him.
“Have you known Winnie a long time?” he asked pleasantly.
“Yes,” she said. “We’ve been friends since we were kids, back in Arizona.”
Winnie had never mentioned her, but then, he hadn’t been around Winnie that much since she’d become engaged to Dwight. And these days, he had very little to say to Dwight.
“You said at the bar that you’d only be here a couple of weeks. How long have you been in Pryor?”
She smiled faintly. “Just a few days. I’m looking forward to a nice visit with Winnie. It’s been years since we spent any time together.” She couldn’t very well tell him that the length of her stay depended on whether or not she could keep anybody in Pryor from knowing who she was and why she was here. She’d successfully ducked the media since her arrival. She didn’t want them after her again.
“Have you done much sightseeing?” he asked, letting his eyes fall to her bare shoulders with bold interest.
“Not yet. But I’m enjoying myself. It’s nice to have a vacation from work.”
That sounded odd, as if she’d forced the words out and didn’t mean them. One pale eye narrowed even more. His gaze slid over her curiously, lingering on the thrust of her breasts under the low neckline. “What do you normally do—when you aren’t visiting old friends?” he asked.
“I’m a vamp,” she murmured dryly, enjoying herself as she registered his mild surprise. It was like being an actress, playing a part. It took her mind off the horror of the past months.
“No, I won’t buy that,” he said after a minute. “What do you really do?” he persisted, fingering his glass.
She lifted her own glass to her lips, to give her time to think. He didn’t look stupid. She couldn’t say anything that might give her away to Winnie’s neighbors, especially her future brother-in-law.
“I’m in the salvage business,” she said finally.
He stared at her.
She laughed. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean used cars and scrap metal and such. I’m in the human salvage business. I’m…” she hesitated, searching for something that wouldn’t be a total lie.
“You’re what?” he asked.
He was dangerously inquisitive, and almost too quick for her. She had to throw him off the track before he tripped her up and got at the truth. She lifted her eyebrows. “Are you by any chance the reincarnation of the Spanish Inquisition?”
“I don’t even speak Spanish,” he said. He smiled slowly, interested despite his suspicions. “How old are you?”
“Sir, you take my breath away!” she exclaimed.
His eyes fell to her mouth. “Is that a request?” he murmured, and there was suddenly a world of experience in the pale eyes that skimmed her mouth, in the deepness of his soft voice.
Her hand trembled as she put down the glass. He was out of her league and she was getting nervous. It didn’t take a college degree to understand what he meant. “You’re going too fast,” she blurted out.
He leaned back, studying her through narrow eyes. She was a puzzle, a little mass of contradictions. But in spite of that, she appealed to him as no one else had in recent years.
“Okay, honey,” he said after a minute, and smiled faintly. “I’ll put on the brakes.” He took another bite of barbecue and washed it down with what looked and smelled like beer.
“How old are you?” she asked without meaning to, her eyes on the hard lines of his face. She imagined that he had a poker face when he wanted to, that he could hide what he was feeling with ease. She knew his age, because Dwight had told her, but it wouldn’t do to let him know that she’d been asking questions about him from the very first time she saw him.
He glanced at her, searching her wide, curious eyes. “I’m thirty-four.”
She dropped her eyes to his chin and farther down, to his broad chest.
“Too old for you, cupcake?” he asked carelessly.
“I’m twenty-five,” she said.
His dark brows drew together. He’d thought she was younger than that. Yes, she had a few lines in her face, and even a thread or two of gray in her dark hair. Nine years his junior. Not much difference in years, and at her age, she couldn’t possibly be innocent. His heart accelerated as he studied what he could see of her body in the revealing dress and wondered what she’d look like without it. She was nicely shaped, and if that beautiful bow of a mouth was anything to go by, she was probably going to be a delicious little morsel. If only she wasn’t best friends with Winnie.
He studied her again. She really was a puzzle. Young, and then, suddenly, not young. There had been a fleeting expression in her eyes when he’d asked her about her profession—an expression that confused him. He had a feeling that she wasn’t at all what she seemed. But, like him, she seemed to hide her emotions.
“Twenty-five. You’re no baby, are you?” he murmured.
Her eyes came up and that expression was in them again, before she erased it and smiled. Fascinating, he thought, like watching an actress put on her stage makeup.
“No. I’m no baby,” she agreed softly, her mind on the ordeal she’d been through and not really on the question. She didn’t realize what she was saying to him with her words, that she was admitting to experience that she didn’t have.
He felt his body reacting to the look in her eyes and he stiffened with surprise. It usually took longer for a woman to affect him so physically. He wouldn’t let her look away. The electricity began to flow between them and his eyes narrowed as he saw her mouth part helplessly. She was close, and she smelled of floral cologne that drifted up, mingling with the spicy scent of barbecue and the malt smell of his beer.
His gaze dropped to the cleft between her breasts and lingered there, on skin as smooth and pink as a sun-ripened peach. His chest rose and fell roughly as he tried to imagine how her breasts would feel under his open mouth…
The sudden shock of voices made the glass of beer jerk in his lean hand.
“Did you think we’d deserted you?” Dwight asked Allison, echoing Winnie’s greeting. “I see you’ve found Gene,” he added, patting the older man on the shoulder as he paused beside him. “Be careful that he doesn’t try to drag you under the table.”
“Watch it,” the older man returned humorously. But his eyes