Broddock-Black 05 - Force of Nature (5 page)

T
he first week in May, Flynn Ito rode into town with a dozen of his men. Stewart Warner was being honored for his work on behalf of the Indian schools and Flynn was not only a friend but an important benefactor.

News of the attack on the Empire Cattle Company had preceded him and while everyone understood the Empire’s infringement on Flynn’s land required retribution, two men were dead—one of them the Earl of Elmhurst’s son. There would be an inquiry of course. But the results were inevitable. Not a judge in the territory would rule against a large landowner. The encounter would be ruled self-defense and in a way it was. If you didn’t defend what was yours, you wouldn’t have it long.

As Flynn entered Stewart Warner’s home that evening, he took note of the servants’ diffidence with an inward wince. He disliked seeing that look of fear, as though he were going to call them out for not greeting him with enough deference. Although he should be used to apprehensive looks by now. A man his size and heritage was bound to be viewed with alarm regardless of his reputation.

Running a finger under the starched collar of his shirt as he moved toward the drawing room, he cursed the necessity to dress in evening rig. He was uncomfortable out of range clothes. He was also mildly uneasy being here tonight so soon after his assault on Empire land. Everyone would want to question him; the boldest actually would. And he’d have to field those queries with as much politeness as he could manage, because tonight of all nights, he didn’t want to embarrass Stewart. The man deserved every honor he was being accorded.

Ignoring the sudden hush that descended when he entered the drawing room, Flynn made straight for Stewart. He walked slowly, familiar with being scrutinized—for his long hair, the oblique tilt to his eyes, the fact that he could outdraw anyone in Montana. He discounted his handsome face, although the ladies who watched him with such longing did not, and they were all hopeful because Flynn was staying in town tonight. Louise Butler had seen him arrive at his town house and the titillating news had spread like wildfire. Which no doubt accounted for the great number of women who went out of their way to smile and bid him “Good evening” as he moved across the room.

“You should come into town more often,” Stewart said with a grin when Flynn reached him. “I can practically hear the female hearts beating from here.”

Flynn didn’t pretend not to understand and his smile held a distinct touch of Irish charm. “If every bloody cattle baron didn’t want my land, maybe I could. Congratulations, Stewart. You deserve this celebration.”

“Glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it. Thanks to you, there’s hundreds of kids going to school who otherwise wouldn’t.”

“Couldn’t have built those schools without generous donors like you, my boy. You deserve a medal too,” the heavy-set, older man replied, tapping the gold medallion pinned to his lapel. “Right purty, ain’t it? Lillibet designed it,” he added, proudly. “And if’n you should ever get it in your head to take the plunge and get hitched, I might be willing to cede over a couple of copper mines for the right son-in-law.” He guffawed at Flynn’s sudden discomposure. “Jest a thought, my boy. It ain’t as if I haven’t offered you her hand afore.”

Stewart’s daughter Elizabeth was sweet and pretty and so utterly innocent she’d make a perfect wife for any man looking for pure unadulterated wholesomeness. A shame he didn’t have an eye for innocence. “If I ever decide to marry, Stewart, you’ll be the first to know.”

Stewart winked. “I jus’ want last bid, Flynn. That’s all I ask.” Since Lillibet adored Flynn with a schoolgirl’s crush, her father wasn’t offering his daughter without her consent. “Think about it. You wouldn’t have to fend off those Empire renegades everyday. You and Lillibet could retire to Europe for all

I care.”

“You’re tempting me, Stewart,” Flynn said with a grin. “You mean I could sleep again at night?”

“Since when do you want to waste your time sleeping,” Trey interposed, coming up on the men. “There’s better things to do at night. Not that I have to tell you that, Flynn.” The two men were not only good friends, but also the most eligible bachelors in Montana. Their good looks and wealth, along with their reputed stamina in bed, occasioned a steady supply of women in hot pursuit.

“I don’t know about you, Trey, but on a working ranch we go to bed early.”

“You may go to bed early. As for sleeping”—Trey’s brows rose—“that I doubt.”

“Well, boys will be boys; that’s the way of the world,” Stewart noted with a grin. “But you’all are going to have to settle down someday. And I’m a patient man. Now how about some bourbon and branch water. We’re all too sober.”

Even in the hard-drinking frontier society, Flynn drank more than usual that evening—always out of his element in tie and tails, not in the mood for all the ladies looking for an invitation to join him in bed later, not sure himself why none of the women appealed. Perhaps he’d been up country too long and was out of touch with city flirtations, perhaps there was a sameness about the pretty faces that elicited ennui rather than interest. Whatever the reason, he found himself watching the slow-moving hands of the clock, hoping the after-dinner speeches wouldn’t be too lengthy, and planning to leave as soon as courtesy allowed.

He barely touched his food, his conversation was minimal, his constantly refilled glass systematically emptied as though it was his mission to outdrink everyone in the room. With luck, Lillibet wouldn’t corner him before he could escape. Although, he could already hear the orchestra warming up in the ballroom and she always insisted on the first dance with him. She was so clearly adoring, he was running out of polite excuses to her invitations; church socials, Grange picnics and the like weren’t high on his list of priorities. In the meantime . . . oh, God, Clara Moore was getting up to sing.

He waved a waiter over to refill his glass.

J
o arrived as dessert was being served.

She stood in the doorway for a moment scanning the room and catching sight of Trey, smiled.

As Flynn followed Trey’s gaze and saw the glorious, darkhaired woman, even Clara’s strident voice faded into oblivion. That’s why Trey had been saving the chair on his other side— for her. Struck with an inexplicable surge of jealousy, Flynn begrudged him her beauty, her lush smile, the sensual pleasure such a woman would accord.

She was resplendently female, strikingly voluptuous, moving toward them with a long-legged, almost mannish stride. But no one would mistake her for a man in that pale ivory gown that bared her shoulders and the half-swell of her breasts visible above the low decolletage; her tightly corseted waist was so narrow, he found himself unconsciously flexing his fingers in anticipation. An obvious half blood, her skin tones lured the touch; her exotic dark eyes held a hint of sexual promise; and her full mouth, half curved in a tantalizing smile, was definitely made to be kissed.

She arrived at the table in a wafting drift of violet scent. It suited her rare beauty. And her smile at close range held a delectable warmth. Trey introduced her to those she didn’t know; Flynn and a woman from Chicago were new to her. After she was seated, Trey leaned in close, one arm around the back of her chair and murmured something in her ear that made her laugh. He saw that her champagne glass was filled, that she had a dessert of her choice. And then he sat back and smiled at her like a connoisseur admiring his newest purchase. “Is there anything else your little heart desires, darling?”

She struck his arm playfully with her closed fan, said, “Behave,” and then turned to speak to the woman on her left.

More resentful than he would have thought possible, Flynn shot Trey a gimlet-eyed look. “She must be yours.”

Trey’s brows flew up and then he grinned. “Hell, no, she’s my sister.”

Flynn tried not to smile at the gratifying possibilities. “Is she available?”

“Depends what you mean.”

“She’s very beautiful.”

“You’re not her type,” Trey said.

“Are you her chaperon?” Flynn’s voice was mild.

Trey scowled. “What if I said I was?”

“Maybe I’d have to ask her whether you were?”

“Ask me what?” Jo inquired, leaning forward enough to see around her brother.

Flynn’s dark gaze held hers for a small heated moment. “Whether you liked Clara’s singing,” he said, husky and low.

“I do—very much.” Jo smiled at the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, patently aware that he wasn’t talking about singing.

“Just a minute here,” Trey muttered under his breath, sandwiched between a scandal in the making. “Just a damned minute.”

“How old are you?” Flynn’s voice was hushed.

“Old enough,” Jo replied, equally softly.

“Do you want to dance?”

She glanced around; everyone was still seated, Clara was singing. “Now?”

“Not here.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?”

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Trey growled. “Jesus, Jo, behave for Christ’s sake.”

She smiled. “I’m sorry. Am I embarrassing you? I didn’t know it was possible.”

“Very funny—and yes, you are. Stewart is about to speak. Calm down, Flynn, or Lillibet will complain to her father.” By this time, everyone at their table was staring at them. Regardless of the fact that their exchange was inaudible, clearly an argument was taking place. And neither Trey nor Flynn were known for their mild manners.

“I would appreciate it if you would both conduct yourself like adults,” Jo murmured, silkily, as though she’d not been the cause of their grim expressions. “Have some respect for Stewart.”

“Bitch,” Trey muttered, but he was smiling.

A luscious, teasing little bitch, Flynn thought, wanting to pick her up and carry her off without a damn for appearances. But he knew better; his mother wouldn’t approve, he facetiously thought. She’d drilled good manners into his head with the same kindly tyranny that she’d controlled an eight-mule team. And while Stewart thanked everyone for helping him celebrate, offering kudos to all who had contributed to his cause, Flynn tried to make sense of his outrageous reaction to Jo Attenborough.

By the time Stewart concluded his remarks and Clara ruined another good song, he’d talked himself out of any rash behavior. He wasn’t in the habit of acting like an adolescent in heat; he definitely wasn’t in the market for more than the most casual of amours. Which meant Trey’s sister was a highly inappropriate object of his lust.

Pleased that he’d sensibly curbed his ill-advised urges, he took note of the nearest exit with an eye to flight. The minute he could politely leave, he would. As Clara’s last note died away, and the other guests began rising from their seats to move into the ballroom, he came to his feet, bowed to the table at large, and strode away.

Exiting through the terrace door, he felt an immediate sense of relief. Moving away from the lighted windows, he stood on the flags imported from a quarry near Turin to match the elaborate fountain in the garden and marveled at Stewart’s tolerance for his wife’s expensive and flamboyant decorating taste.

“Pink marble isn’t my favorite.”

He spun around and the scent of violet enveloped him. “Mine either. Go back in.”

She didn’t move. “I’m of age. I don’t take orders.”

All he heard was, “I’m of age,” the simple phrase shocking license for his unbridled lust. “You really should go back in.” He spoke more kindly this time.

“I don’t want to. You interest me.”

“Why haven’t I met you before?” He didn’t dare consider the provocation of the words you interest me. Not yet. Not until he knew who she was and what she was and whether the Braddock-Blacks would skin him alive for what he wanted to do to her.

“I just arrived from Florence last month.” Her gaze was unutterably direct. “Why haven’t I met you?”

“I live up north.”

“How far up north?”

He smiled; you couldn’t say she wasn’t direct. “Not too far. A day away.”

“Are you staying long?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. “Maybe.”

“You must not be familiar with women who ask questions.” His mouth twitched into a half smile. “You look like you’re more in the habit of giving orders.”

“And you don’t like women giving orders?”

He shrugged. “It depends.”

“Why don’t we talk about it?”

“Mostly because I don’t feel like talking.”

“What do you feel like doing?”

His smile flashed in the moonlight. “You already know.” “So?”

“I’m trying to decide if your father will cut out my heart in the morning and eat it for breakfast.”

“I can guarantee he won’t.”

“You’ve done this before then?”

“Not exactly.”

“Meaning what?”

“Have you done this before?”

“Yes”—he hesitated—“and no. Not like this.”

His answer pleased her, perhaps he was feeling the same ungovernable desire. “I haven’t slept with anyone since I’ve come to Helena if that’s what you wanted to know. Apparently you do quite often according to Trey. He warned me off.”

“You should listen to him.”

“I don’t want to. Will you require written permission from my father? It might embarrass him, but I’m more than willing to get it if need be.”

“Jesus,” Flynn breathed, wondering if anyone would notice if he fucked her standing up against the ivy-covered wall.

“I was raised in Florence by a mother who was too busy with her own pleasures to worry about me. I didn’t run wild, but I’m not a virgin. I’m an engineer. I hope you don’t mind either. Some men do.”

“Don’t say, some men, like that. It’s damned irritating.”

“Look, mia cara.” She laughed. “My goodness, I frightened you. Don’t be alarmed, you may be mia cara just for tonight. And there weren’t any men if it makes you feel better. Now, don’t be cruel, Flynn, say yes.” Her smile was delectable. “I won’t make you say sweet things to me in the morning.”

The way he was feeling right now, he might even be willing to say sweet things to her in the morning, provided he had the breath left to speak. “Let me talk to Trey, first.”

“He can’t tell me what to do.”

“I understand. But we’ve been friends for a long time. If you’ll wait, I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll go with you.” At his obvious hesitation, she added, “Do you mind?”

“No.” Clearly he was losing his mind; he blamed it on his whiskey consumption, not wishing to acknowledge the fact that he might be losing his mind over a woman he barely knew.

“Good, because I have this unaccountable need to flaunt you. I want to cling to you and show every woman in the room that you’re mine tonight.” Her grin lit up her eyes. “Obviously, I’m delirious.”

“I wanted to pick you up and carry you away the moment I saw you. This delirium must be contagious.” He touched her for the first time, slipping his finger under her chin, lifting her face, trying to control the tremor in his hand. “I do have to talk to Trey,” he said, gently, his gaze very close. “You’re his sister.”

Her hands came up and she lightly framed his face with her palms. “May I cling to you?”

“You may do anything you want to me,” he whispered. They stood utterly still for a moment, lust electrifying their senses.

More familiar with carnal sensation, Flynn overcame the stupefying shock first. “Let’s get this over with,” he murmured, lifting her hands away from his face. “Come. I’ll tell Trey I want”—he paused, choosing his words carefully—“would like your company tonight.”

“And I, yours,” she murmured.

He smiled. “Yes,” he said, husky and low. “I noticed.”

But they were both more circumspect than to make a spectacle of themselves. Flynn was cautious out of respect for

Trey’s sister, and Jo would never consciously embarrass her new family. But she did smile up at him once as they crossed the dance floor, a needful, perhaps unconscious gesture, quickly overcome. And when he smiled back those who saw the impatience, the striking and amazing longing in his eyes said later, the heat of that moment would have warmed every home in Helena the winter through.

At Jo and Flynn’s approach, Trey excused himself from the group of ladies besieging him and drew them aside. “Thank God, you’ve decided to be sensible.”

Flynn shook his head. “Sorry, I’m here to ask for your permission to—”

“I said he didn’t have to,” Jo interrupted. “And don’t you dare say no,” she added heatedly as Trey’s expression turned forbidding.

“Don’t you think it might be wise to know each other for more than ten minutes?” Trey muttered, his gaze flicking from one to the other.

“Like you do?” Jo had attended a number of soirees with him of late and seen him in action. And even Daisy who didn’t subscribe to her brother’s profligate behavior, believed in equal and impartial freedoms for women.

“This is different.”

“I hope you’re not stupid enough to say because I’m a woman,” she said, coolly.

“I don’t want to argue about this.” Flynn spoke with quiet restraint.

“Then don’t,” Trey growled.

“I’ll have her home in the morning. You know where I live.” And taking Jo’s hand, Flynn walked away.

It turned out to be a minor spectacle no matter how soft-spoken the argument.

Everyone could see that Flynn Ito had come as a supplicant. It was unprecedented.

But that girl of Hazard and Lucy’s was exquisite.

And as independent as the rest of the Braddock-Blacks to walk out of Stewart’s ballroom hand in hand with the dangerous Flynn for all the world to see. She couldn’t have known him for more than an hour.

What was the old saw about an acorn not falling too far from the tree?