A Lasting Love (7 page)

"I know, but we're still the same people," he
insisted.

Loren shook her head stubbornly. "I—I'm not the same
innocent young girl I was six years ago. This year I'll be thirty.
And I won't let you manipulate me as you did then."

His voice was rough. "I thought you wanted our
relationship. Was it so bad, Loren? "

"The leaving was."

"That was a mistake. I sensed it then; I know it now.
I was wrong to leave you, but my life just seemed to cave in around
me after that and . . ."

"Your father? How is he? We heard about his
stroke."

Reid grimaced. "It's been very difficult for a man
who was once so active. Now he's confined to a wheelchair, and
that's tough. But he's doing fairly well, considering."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I can't imagine him
inactive."

Reid shook his head. "You probably wouldn't recognize
him. He's lost weight and is very bitter. Dealing with him can be
difficult."

"How do you handle him?"

"Oh, I have help at the ranch," Reid admitted
gratefully. "I could never get along without
Lupe
and Manuel and Raul,
plus we've hired a therapist who comes weekly. They help me run the
ranch and take care of my father."

"Do you mean you're not a senator from Arizona yet?"
she teased.

He chuckled; embarrassed that she should touch on the
very timely subject. "No, not yet. That's a few years down the
road, I suppose. Right now I just manage the ranch's business."

"A gentleman rancher? How nice." Somehow that
didn't sound like work to Loren. Certainly it wasn't nine
to five, dress for success, and meeting the daily
pressures
of her job.

Reid's hands became expressive. "It's the
lifestyle I
really love, Loren. I have freedom, open
spaces, and
enough to keep me busy and in tune to
people and what's
going on in my state."

"Your state? How quaint." She chuckled.

Reid laughed with her. "I guess that does sound
posses
sive, doesn't it? I see you're still spirited,
Loren. I like that. And you haven't lost the ability to excite me
like no other
woman."

"Like no other?" There was acid in her tone.
"What
kind of fool do you think I am, Reid? You were
married.
Someone excited you then."

His answer to her was low-toned. "I was married
for
two miserable years. It was sort of a land
acquisition
marriage, with two powerful ranch families
joining. It had
been arranged for years. And I thought
it might work.
After all, she was a native Arizonan
and could understand
the lifestyle. Believe me, Loren,
there was never any love
—never anything like what you
and I shared here in
Washington that year."

She gave him a doubtful look. "Please—don't."

"It's true, Loren. What we shared was very
special—
always will be. What about you? Are you—" The
obvious
question was avoided as he lifted her left
hand, cradling
it, running his fingers around the
sparkling, sizable rock
that graced her third finger.
"What's this?"

"I'm engaged," she answered quietly.

"To the man I saw you with tonight?"

She nodded silently.

His voice was tight. "Do you love him?" Then,
after a
heavy silence, "Do you sleep with
him?"

She sat the cup and saucer on the table with a
clatter,
and stood. Anger shook her voice as she
walked around the room, away from him. "I don't think it's any of
your business."

He was instantly beside her, his hand on her wrist,
as if feeling her wildly racing pulse. "I have to know. Is it any
good with him? As good as we had it?"

"Damn you, Reid Mecina. What the hell are you trying
to do to me? Did you sleep with your wife? Was it 'good'?" Loren
was dangerously close to tears. "Have you slept with a hundred
women since me? Would you tell me the truth?"

His voice was low and strained and she could hear his
ragged breathing close to her. "I'll tell you the truth. It was
never as good as with you, Loren." He came to her. His hands
grasped her forearms, and he shook her slightly. "Never, do you
understand? I could never get you out of my mind. I tried. Oh, God,
did I try." His mouth was set in a thin line as he pulled her
closer. "Tell me, Loren, was it as good? Was it ever as good?"

Loren's blue eyes filled with tears as she looked up
at him, knowing she was once again opening her heart, her life, for
love's pain. Her voice was low and hoarse. "No, Reid. It was never
as good as what we had. Never."

"Oh, Loren, how I've longed to hear you say that.
Please, don't marry him. Let’s see if we can . . ." His voice was
lost in the muffled groan that escaped his throat as their lips
met.

His kiss was fierce as he pulled her powerfully to
him, his actions vowing never to let her go. And she submitted to
his strength, his clamoring for her. At that moment Loren never
wanted to be out of his arms and free again. Being free would mean
being without Reid. And, dear God, she couldn't stand that
again.

Finally, breathlessly, he raised his head,
raining kisses over her eyelids, and cheeks, and earlobes, and
neck. Her
arms clung to his shoulders as if she would
never let him
go, and, indeed this night, she didn't
intend to.

"Oh, Loren, I want you so." He buried his face
against her neck as his hands searched her back and
shoulders,
slipping under the tailored
jacket.

Painfully she tore away. "Please, Reid, give me
time."

"Time for what?"

"I
...
I don't know,"
she gasped. "This has all hap
pened so fast. I just
..."

Resigned, he dropped his hands to his sides.
"All right. Let's give ourselves time. But, Loren, what was once
be
tween us, what we once shared is still here. You
know it
as well as I do. Don't fight it." He ambled
into the kitchen
and picked up his jacket, hooking it
over his shoulder.

Loren stared, the events of the evening
flashing before
her like a fast-paced movie, ending
with Reid walking out
her door. Again.

Oh, no!

She was beside him, her fingers digging acutely
into his
arm. "Don't go, Reid," Loren begged, knowing
this was
against all she stood for. "Please, don't
go."

Chapter Four

The piercing, insistent jangling of the phone
roused Loren,
and she reached for it in a half
stupor.

"Um-hum," she mumbled. The bed was cozy and
so
very comfortable that she hated to move. But the
phone
wouldn't hush.

The voice was clear and strong. "Loren,
darling, how
are you this morning?"

"Hum?" With a start Loren recognized Mark's
eager
voice. She stole a guilty glance at the
tousle-haired form
of the man in bed beside her.
"I—I'm still in bed, Mark."
At least it was the
truth.

"Sorry I woke you, darling. But I wanted to see
how
you're feeling. I'm heading out to the regatta
today and
wondered if you wanted to go."

The bronze-toned man beside her began to stir,
sliding
one wiry-haired masculine leg over
hers.

Loren's mind wandered, then she remembered she
was
supposed to be sick. Well, she'd better sound like
it. Her
voice was somewhat shrill at first. "Oh, no. I
mean
. . . Mark, I couldn't possibly go sailing today.
My stomach
is still too squeamish."

A large, firm hand snaked across her stomach,
then
spread lower on her anatomy, curiously probing
her navel.
The distracting touch sent shivers down
both of her legs.

Mark's voice came anxiously over the phone.
"You're
still sick? Loren, darling, do you need to
call a doctor?"

The warm hand cupped her breast, teasing the
soft,
relaxed tip.

Breathless, she urged, "No doctor needed. I, uh
. . . probably a
touch of the flu. I just need some
rest."

"Can I bring you something, darling? Chicken
soup?
Seven-Up?"

"Ohhh . . ." That naughty nipple puckered
tightly, and
Loren found concentration difficult.
"Please . . . don't."
Marvelous pressure was applied
equally to each soft
mound, and Loren's voice came out
in spurts. "Mark,
don't come over here. You . . .
might catch it! Whatever
I've got . . ."

A low, masculine voice rumbled in her ear,
"He'll catch
it, all right. Guaranteed."

Mark sounded reluctant. "Well, if you're sure . .
."

Relief—or insane passion—swelled her voice.
"Oh, I'm
sure, Mark. I just need time to recuperate.
All I want to
do today is rest." She smothered a
giggle as the dark
mustache tickled her
ear.

The masculine voice rasped again in her ear and
she squirmed. "We’ll rest up for the next
round.
"

"Well, darling, sorry you're feeling so bad and
can't go with me today. I'll call tonight and see you tomorrow
for
sure," Mark finished confidently.

The phone clicked before Loren had a chance to
say she
might be "sick" tomorrow too. Deception was
not her
style, and she found that she wasn't
comfortable with it
...
for a moment. She
turned,
smiling, to the captivating man who lay beside
her. Mark
was immediately forgotten.

Reid's features in repose were so familiar, yet
strange;
so customary, yet rare. The jet-black hair
fell casually over
his forehead, excessive lashes hid
those devilish eyes, the mustache framed his marvelous lips so that
only the bottom of his top lip was visible. And where was that
elusive dimple? Her finger explored the tanned cheek, then edged
his lower lip. White teeth nibbled at the soft pads on the tips of
her fingers. Warm lips encased them completely with a sensuous
sucking motion. His hand riveted possessively around her bare
waist, pulling her half under his aroused, male contour.

"Was that your lover on the phone?" he growled.

Instantly Loren stiffened. "He's not my lover. We . .
. we're engaged. Mark is—"

Reid interrupted. "—a fool for believing you.
And for
leaving you alone with me for even a minute. I
should have
followed my baser instincts and punched
him in the nose last night. How rude of him to disturb us this
morning." His ebony eyes opened, and Loren felt herself sinking
helplessly into their enchanting depths . . . into Reid's
spell.

She struggled for some degree of decorum, wrestling
with her own conscience. Mention of Mark reminded her sharply of
what she had done. "Oh, Reid. I shouldn't have. I lied to Mark. I
told him I was sick."

His heavy leg hooked over both of hers while
his skillful hand traveled impartially to each ivory breast. "And
you did that very well,
mi amor.
I say he deserves it for disturbing us." He nuzzled her ear,
his sharp tongue tantalizing the sensitive shell.

"Reid—"

"What's wrong,
querida?
Got the guilts?"

"Reid, you don't understand . . ." she implored as
her arms clasped automatically around his neck. "We can't continue
this . . . this way." Her taut breasts arched achingly against his
hairy chest, and she moaned slightly as outrageous sensations
coursed through her body.

"Dios
mío,
you're so right!" he groaned. His enthusiastic
smile revealed the roguish dimple somewhere beyond the dark
mustache. "And I have the only solution to our particular problem."
He caressed her rib cage, slender waist, flat belly, all the way to
the soft, downy tuft. His knee insinuated itself between her
thighs, and her femininity was unequivocally responding to his
mastery once again.

"Reid ... oh, oh, Reid . . ." Loren buried her face
against his corded neck, kissing and nicking at the skin.

"Ohhh,” he groaned with pleasure in his voice. You're
enough to drive a man crazy."

Her hands dug into his shoulders fiercely. "Look .. .
who's talking . .. about crazy . .." she gasped. "Reid,
please."

"Oh, no, you don't. I want to enjoy you to the
fullest, my beautiful blue eyes." He flipped the cover off them,
and with one hand at her waist and the other snugly driving her
crazy, pulled Loren atop his nude length. "I want to see all of
you, Loren. To know if my memory serves me right. Damn, I've missed
you! Missed this."

She laughed giddily at his boldness, and her own wild
abandon. She had missed him too. Missed his brazen admissions, his
ardent lovemaking. Loren wriggled erotically over him, struggling
to balance herself aboard his muscular form.