Page 11 of Too Hot To Handle

The words stopped abruptly as Tory realized that Reever had decided she was some kind of teenage runaway. She didn’t know whether to laugh or try to drown him in the pan of water. After a few electric seconds she decided to do neither. She reached with a dripping hand into the frayed pocket of her slacks and drew out a cloth wallet that was even more worn than her tennis shoes. The wallet landed on the table with a soft plop and fell open, revealing a California driving license.

„Read it and weep, cowboy. I may have all the sex appeal of an ironing board, but I’ll be twenty-one on my next birthday. I ve been on my own since I was sixteen. I haven’t asked my parents or anyone else for a dime since then.“

Reever’s eyes narrowed as he measured the change in Tory. She looked twenty-one now, and then some. He didn’t need to ask if the years had been easy. The threadbare, empty wallet told its own story. Yet he knew if he offered to buy her a bus ticket home she would refuse with the same determined independence that had sent her on a nineteen-mile walk to town without a whimper.

„An ironing board,“ he repeated neutrally, raising his dark eyebrows as he remembered the soft, firm weight of her breasts nuzzling his forearm. „Honey, they must make some damned unusual ironing boards where you come from.“

Tory looked at Reever’s sexy, off-center smile and wondered if he were remembering the long ride to the ranch or the plunge through Wolf Creek when her nipples had tightened suddenly beneath his hand. He had touched her only for an instant, but even the memory of it sent heat coursing through the pit of her stomach.

Tory’s breath came in with a soft sound as she saw the focus of Reever’s gray eyes shift from her face to her breasts. It was happening again, now, right now. She could feel it, the sudden soft burst of sensation in her nipples as they rose into hard peaks, stretching and teasing nerves that went straight to the wild, secret core of her.

„We’d better get them wrapped up,“ Reever said curtly, turning away before Tory could see his body’s reaction to her taut breasts.

Tory stared after him, wondering if he had meant what she thought he meant. As she watched him walk out of the room, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he had come back and thrown a bra in her lap. She wasn’t wearing one because she didn’t own any. For one thing she didn’t sag. For another, she was usually in a swimming suit. The overriding factor, however, in her decision to go without that particular piece of clothing had been money. She could appear in public without a bra. She couldn’t say the same for a T-shirt or jeans.

When Tory turned and put her hands back into the soothing water, she looked down at her breasts. Instantly she realized Reever must have seen her nipples clearly outlined against the soft T-shirt. She groaned and wondered if she had lost her mind since she had walked out of that doctor’s office three days ago. She had been numb since then, an automaton going through the motions of eating and sleeping, and all during the long bus ride here, she had hung on to Payton’s letter like a lifeline.

Then the letter, too, had toppled at a touch, one more in a long row of falling dominoes.

A sigh compounded of tiredness, hunger and determination shuddered through Tory. She would find a way to take the months off from diving that the doctor had recommended. She didn’t need much in the way of money. There was nothing wrong with her knee that would prevent her from working. If the knee hurt too much, the doctor had told her to take that miracle drug called aspirin.

Strong, gentle fingers lifted one of Tory’s hands from the water. Her eyes opened wide, startled. For a big man wearing cowboy boots Reever moved very softly. Eyes that were as clear as rain studied her. She studied him in return, fascinated by the uncompromisingly masculine lines of his face, the high, blunt cheekbones, rugged nose and heavy, wickedly arched eyebrows. Beneath the slightly shaggy mustache his lips were distinctly curved, a sensual contrast with the strong white teeth that showed in his rare smiles.

„See anything you like?“ asked Reever dryly, not even looking up from his work on her hand.

Tory realized that she had been staring openly at Reever. She didn’t even have the energy to blush or to think of a snappy retort. „You’re very handsome,“ she said simply.

Reever’s head jerked up, surprise clear in his eyes. He looked at Tory’s expression and realized that she meant exactly what she had said. „That’s a first,“ he muttered and returned to dabbing carefully at her hand.

„Surely women have told you that you’re good-looking before,“ said Tory, feeling uncomfortable.

„Yeah, but never out of bed.“

Reever glanced up in time to see the shock on Tory’s face. He laughed softly. „You sure you didn’t forge that driver’s license, honey?“

„You’re a – “

„Devil,“ he finished smoothly. „Yeah, you’ve pointed that out about once a minute since I hoisted you up on Blackjack.“

„I didn’t say a word the whole ride.“

„You didn’t have to. I could feel the anger vibrating through you. Such a passionate little cat. I’m surprised some man hasn’t trimmed your claws and tasted all that wild honey by now.“ Abruptly Reever stopped talking. The direction of his thoughts was having a pronounced effect on the fit of his jeans, not to mention the color of Tory’s face. „Don’t look so hopeful. I’m not volunteering for the job.“

„Listen, you big – “ began Tory in a hot voice.

Reever covered her lips with his long, hard fingers, cutting off her tirade. „No, you listen. I’m a man, honey, and I’m used to having women. Women, not girls. If you keep tempting and teasing me, I’m going to grab you and teach you things that will make you blush all the way down to your toenails.“

Tory’s breath came in and wedged hard in her throat. She wanted to rage against Reever, against what he was saying, to deny every word. But there was truth in what he said, even though she hadn’t realized it until that moment. She had taken one look at him and had wanted to get beneath that hard surface to…what? What did she want from him? Why did he have an uncanny ability to set off her temper? Why did just the simple act of being touched by him as he dried her hands and smoothed ointment into her blistered palms make her feel both safe and threatened?

And why was she so certain that in some deep, unknowable way she had been born for the moment when she had opened the Sundance’s gate and walked into Ethan Reever’s life?

When Tory spoke, her voice was husky, almost ragged. „Normally I’m one of the most even-tempered people you’ll ever meet. Ask any of my coaches. But lately…“ She shrugged and smiled weakly. „Well, last week was one of the worst I’ve ever had and having you treat me like a cross between a pushy tart and a juvenile delinquent was adding insult to injury.“

„And you were depending on this job, weren’t you?“ Reever asked gently. „Let me buy you that bus ticket home, honey.“

Tory shook her head in a curt negative. „Thanks, but I earn my own way. Always.“

„It will be a loan. You can repay it when – “