CHAPTER ONE

      THE San Antonio nightspot was crowded and loud. The dance floor was a veritable sea of bodies. Colored lights flickered and flashed and bounced rapidly over the dancers.

      Tracy LeDeux watched it all through jaded eyes. Somehow everyone seemed to be trying too hard to have a good time. Their movements were too enthusiastic, their laughter too loud, their high spirits too forced.

      Just like hers.

      She glanced across the table at her date and saw the predatory gleam in his eyes. Gregory Parker III was movie star handsome. Unfortunately, he knew it. His fine Southern manners had turned out to be a thin veneer. No wasn’t a word he’d heard often in his life of privilege and he was unhappy about her refusal to go home with him. He’d spent a small fortune on her that evening and it was clear that he expected a return on his investment.

      Whether she felt like giving it to him or not. Why hadn’t she seen what he was like before she’d agreed to go out with him?

      Because she hadn’t wanted to see it. She knew almost no one in San Antonio, and she’d been bored and lonely. One more solitary night in her penthouse might have sent her over the edge. Gregory III had provided a welcome distraction. But five minutes after they’d sat down to a fine dinner she’d realized she might have done better to go over the edge.

      She had to resist the urge to lean away when Greg surged close to her, his whiskey breath strong in her face.

      “It’s late, Tracy. Let’s go to my place, have a drink.” Greg smiled at her the way vain, handsome men smiled when they were determined to get something. This was a man who’d got by on his looks and his family’s money, a man too spoiled to be truly interested in pleasing anyone but himself. Which was why he’d ignored both of her earlier refusals to the same suggestion.

      Tracy made herself smile at him, a playful, chiding smile she hoped would appease him. “It’s not that late, Greg. I need to go to the ladies’ room.”

      Just that quickly, she escaped him. She managed it so swiftly that she’d caught only the start of another of his spoiled little boy frowns. There was a telephone in the ladies’ lounge. She would call a cab and go home. Later she could claim sudden illness. It was the coward’s way out, but she’d seen the hint of anger in Greg’s gaze, and he’d been drinking heavily. Some scrap of self-preservation warned her that the moment they were away from other people he would drop any pretense of gentlemanly behavior.

      The tall cowboy who collided with her in the crowd was dressed no differently than half the men in the nightclub. But he was tall—huge—his six foot plus height making her feel as small as a child. Her impact against his hard body sent a flash of heat through her and she glanced up in surprise. But the moment she saw who it was beneath that white dress Stetson, her heart shriveled.

      Ty Cameron was one of the most ruggedly handsome millionaire oilman/ranchers in Texas. His blond hair was a bright mix of bronze and wheat and white from the sun, and when combined with his sun-darkened skin and the deep vivid blue of his eyes, he was striking.

      Tracy had never felt so petite and feminine as in that unexpected moment of impact. But the instant she saw the cold light of recognition in his gaze, she felt sick. The world took a sudden dip. If he hadn’t taken hold of her arms to steady her, the shock of seeing him—of him seeing her— might have made her faint. She was so profoundly ashamed of what he knew about her—of what he must think—that she wanted to disappear.

      Her ever-present guilt spiked high on a fresh tide of regret. She’d hoped to never see him again. She should have known she’d have to leave Texas to ensure that.

      Her shaky, “Pardon me,” acknowledged nothing more than their accidental collision. She pulled away from him, relieved beyond words when his hands fell away and the low-voltage current of his touch was no longer sending tiny shocks over her skin.

      She would have run from him if she could, but the crowd was too dense for her to accomplish more than a slow retreat as she wove