Diana Palmer - Diana Palmer Texan Lovers

“How interesting,” Calhoun said, choosing his words, “that such an experienced woman of the world could be afraid of sex. Isn’t it?”

Justin frowned. “What do you mean?”

Calhoun didn’t answer him. He was smiling a little when he started out the door, but Justin couldn’t see the smile. “I’ve got to get home. See you, big brother.” And before Justin could reply, he was gone.

Justin took a minute to get his temper under control. He went out the door behind Calhoun without a word to his secretary, his eyes narrow with concern. Calhoun had delayed him too long. Suppose Shelby wrecked that little car?

He went up and down the road, but he didn’t see any sign of the sports car. Later, he went to the house, and almost went down on his knees with relief when he found it parked at the steps.

He had to force himself to behave normally when his hands were almost shaking from fear that he might find her in a ditch somewhere. He walked into the house, tossing his hat onto the hat rack, and went into the dining room, where Shelby was sitting in a chair halfway down the long cherry-wood table, talking to Maria about some new recipe.

She looked toward the doorway, but when she saw him, all the laughter and animation went out of her like a light that was suddenly turned off. She was wearing a red and white dress and her hair was down around her shoulders in a pretty, dark, waving tangle. The wind, he thought absently, tearing through her hair in the convertible.

“I’ve traded cars,” she said defiantly. “How do you like it? It was Abby’s. You don’t even have to cosign with me, I can make the payments from my salary.”

Justin glanced at Maria, who knew the look and made herself scarce. He sat down at the head of the table, lit a cigarette and leaned back in the chair to stare intently at Shelby. “The last thing in the world you need is a sports car. You already drive too damned fast.”

She searched his dark eyes, reading the thinly veiled concern. “Somebody saw me in the car this afternoon,” she guessed.

He nodded. “Calhoun.”

“I thought it was him.” She studied her hands in her lap, turning the thin gold band on her wedding finger. “I like speed,” she said hotly.

“I don’t like funerals,” he shot back. “I don’t intend having to go to yours. You’ll take that sports car back tomorrow or I’ll take it back for you.”

“It’s mine!” she cried. Her green eyes flashed angrily. “And I won’t take it back!”

He took a long draw from his cigarette. In his reclining position, his white silk shirt was drawn taut over tanned muscles. His chest was thick with hair that peeked out through the unfastened top buttons of his shirt. His jacket was off, his sleeves rolled up. He looked devastatingly masculine, from his disheveled black hair to his sensuous mouth.

“I’m not going to argue about it, honey,” he replied. Through a veil of smoke, his black eyes searched hers. “Calhoun told me you wrecked a car overseas.”

She flushed. “That was an accident.”

“You aren’t going to have any accidents here,” he said. “I won’t let you kill yourself.”

“For heaven’s sake, Justin, I’m not suicidal!” she protested. She lifted her coffee cup to her lips and took a fortifying sip of the black liquid.

“I didn’t say you were,” he agreed. He moved his ashtray on the tablecloth, watching it spin around. “But you need a firmer hand than you’ve been getting.”

“I’m not Abby,” she said. Her finely etched features grew hard as she looked at him. “I don’t need a guardian.”

He looked back, black eyes searching, quiet. “And while we’re on the subject, I don’t like you working for Barry Holman.”

She blinked. She felt suddenly as if control of her own life was being taken away from her. “Justin, I didn’t ask how you liked it,” she reminded him. “I told you before we married that I wanted to keep on working.”

“There’s more than enough to do around here,” he said. He tapped an ash into the ashtray. “You can manage the house.”

“Maria and Lopez do that very nicely, thank you,” she replied. She stiffened. “I don’t want to stay home and swirl around the house in silk lounge pajamas and throw parties, Justin, in case you wondered. I’ve had my fill of charity work and flower arranging and social warfare.”

He was looking at the cigarette, not at her. “I thought you might miss those things. In the old days, you never had to lift a finger.”

She studied her neat hands in her lap, pleating the thin silky fabric of the red and white dress. “My father saw me as a parlor decoration,” she said tautly. “He would have been outraged if I’d tried to change my image.”

He frowned slightly. “Were you afraid of him?”

“I was owned by him,” she replied. She sighed, raising her eyes to Justin’s. The curiosity there puzzled her, but at least they were talking for a change instead of arguing. “He wasn’t the easiest man to live with, and he had terrible ways of getting even when Ty and I disobeyed.”

“He kept you pretty close to home,” he recalled. “Although he trusted you with me.”

“Did he really?” she laughed hollowly. “Justin, you were the second man I ever dated and the first I ever went out with alone. You look shocked. Did you think my father let me live the life of a playgirl? He was terrified that some fortune hunter might seduce me. I lived like a recluse while he was alive.”

Justin wasn’t sure he understood what he was hearing. His head tilted a little and his eyes narrowed. “Would you like to run that by me again?” he asked. “You hadn’t been out with a man alone until you went with me?”

“That’s it,” she agreed. “I didn’t get out of my father’s sight until after I broke the engagement and went to Switzerland.” She smiled sadly. “I guess the freedom was too much, because I ran wild. The sports car was just an outlet, a way of celebrating. I never meant to wreck it.”

“How badly were you hurt?” he asked.

“I broke my leg and cracked two ribs,” she said. “They said I was lucky.”

He finished his cigarette and crushed it out. “I didn’t realize you were that sheltered,” he said quietly. He was only beginning to understand how innocent she’d been in those days. If she’d only dated one other man, then very likely her first taste of intimacy had been with him. He thought about that, and felt himself go taut. He’d expected her to have a little experience, even though he’d known she was virginal. But if she’d had none, it was easy to understand why his ardor would have frightened her so.

“I couldn’t talk about things like that with you,” she confessed. “I was young and hopelessly naive.”

He stared at her narrowly, his black eyes glittering. “I frightened you the night we got engaged, didn’t I?” he asked suddenly. “That was why you pulled back—not because I disgusted you.”

She caught her breath audibly. “You never disgusted me!” she burst out, hurting for him. “Oh, Justin, no! You didn’t think that?”

“We didn’t know very much about each other, Shelby,” he said, his voice deep and measured. “I suppose we both had false ideas. I saw you as a sophisticated, elegant society woman. And while I knew you were innocent, I thought you’d had some experience with men. If I’d had any idea of what you’ve just told me, I damned sure wouldn’t have been that demanding with you.”

She went red and averted her eyes. She couldn’t find the right words. Amazing, that they were married and she was twenty-seven years old, and this kind of talk could still embarrass her.

“I was afraid you couldn’t stop,” she murmured evasively.