Jan Hudson – In Roared Flint (страница 4)

Flint grabbed her in the middle of a loud “look away” and plunked her into a large leather recliner. “Lord, woman, you don’t make this easy. Would you stay put for five minutes. I have something to show you.”

“I don’t want to see it.”

She scrambled up from the deep chair, and he shoved her back down. She popped up; he shoved down.

“Dammit, Julie! Can’t you just give me thirty seconds?” He pushed her into the recliner, then quickly lifted one heavy chair leg, crammed the tail of her dress under it and dropped the weight of the chair down on the yards of peach silk.

When she tried to get up, her caught dress held her down. She yanked and yanked, but she was pulling against her own weight, and she couldn’t get enough leverage to move and lift the chair. Struggling, she got halfway up into an awkward, twisted position, then lost her balance and fell sprawling into the chair. Somehow, in the bucking and wiggling and tugging, the recliner popped open into its most extreme position. A loud ripppp. Her head jerked back; her feet flew up; her arms and elbows went every which way.

She batted the tattered gown from her face and fought with the recliner—which had transformed into an undulating octopus—to get to her feet. One ragged part of the hem still held her prisoner. Feeling as helpless as a staked goat, she kept struggling until she saw Flint enter with a black designer suitcase. She lay back, exhausted.

“I brought something for you.” He opened the suitcase and dumped its contents into her lap.

She stilled. Her eyes widened.

Money. Banded stacks of bills. Dozens of stacks. Scores of stacks.

When she saw that most of the packets were in denominations of fifty and one hundred dollars, her eyes widened even further and she sucked in a deep gasp. “What is this?”

“A million dollars. It’s yours.”

“Mine?”

“Yep. I told you when I left that I would bring you back a million dollars.”

“But you were teasing and that was six years ago.”

“It took me a little longer than I expected.”

“It’s been six years, Flint. Six years without a word from you. Was I supposed to sit around and wait after you jilted me on our wedding day?”

“I didn’t jilt you, sweetheart. I explained that I had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one that might let me offer you a decent living instead of one with a river rat. I couldn’t marry you and take you home to that shack my mother died in. I only asked you to wait, to give me a little time.”

“A little time?” she shrieked, bounding to her feet amid ripping and rending noises. Fists on her hips, she glared up at him. “You expected me to wait for six years without a word from you? Without a phone call? Without a letter? Without a simple postcard?”

“I did try to call you, and I did write to you. And I damned well expected you to wait more than six weeks to marry another man! Was he rich?”

“No, Charles wasn’t rich, but he…he was there when I needed him. He wasn’t off gallivanting all over the country chasing a dream and trying to make his fortune. Why didn’t you take me with you, Flint? Why didn’t you take me with you?”

She watched pain and regret fill his black eyes. He reached to coil a lock of her hair around his finger. “I wish I had,” he murmured. “I wish to hell I had.”

The wrenching tone of his voice almost melted the steel armor protecting her heart, but she stiffened her resolve. “But you didn’t. You made your choice and left me behind. Now it’s too late.”

“Is it, Julie? Is it too late for us?” He scooped up several stacks of bills, held them out to her and smiled that smile that had always turned her into mush. “You can have anything your heart desires. I’ve brought you a treasure.”

Fury flew over her. She slapped the cash from his hand. “Keep your money! I never wanted money. I only wanted you.” Despite her best efforts, tears ran down her cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, gathering her into his arms, “I’m yours.”

Before she could wiggle free, his mouth slanted over hers. Sensual, warm, familiar.

She melted under his sensuous spell. His lips evoked an avalanche of delicious memories that smothered her protests and plunged her into a sea of pure sensualism. His tongue branded her as his, only his.

Holding her close, he dropped kisses over her face, trailed his tongue along her jaw, nibbled on her earlobe. He cupped her buttocks, drew her against his hardness and groaned. “God, how I want you, darlin’. I’ve ached for you for six long years.” His mouth devoured hers.

Reality crept through the cracks of her consciousness and dashed her with cold water. She tensed and tore her lips away. “What are you doing?”

“Gettin’ me some sweet, sweet sugar,” he murmured, reaching for her lips again.

“No!”

“No?”

“You heard me. I can’t believe you’re doing this. I’m engaged to another man. I should be married and at my wedding reception right this minute. You cannot kiss me. No.”

“Babe, I wasn’t the only one doing the kissing. You were going after it pretty good yourself.”

“Don’t call me babe. You know very well I’ve always hated being called babe.”

“Sorry, darlin’.”

“And don’t call me darlin’, either. I’m not your darlin’. I’m not your anything. I am about to become Mrs. Robert Allen Newly.”

“Newly? Julie Newly?” A snort of laughter exploded from him.

She bopped him on the shoulder with her fist. “Don’t you dare laugh. Yes, I’ll be Julie Newly, and it’s not funny. It has a lovely lilt. And if you know what’s good for you, Flint Durham, you’ll take me back to Travis Creek right this minute.”

“Not until we talk.”

“Why have you suddenly become so enamored with talking? Before you left here, all you did was grunt occasionally. You were certainly never a verbal communicator.”

He shot her a salacious grin. “I was always better at the nonverbal stuff. You never complained about that.”

Julie felt her cheeks heat. “I’ve matured.”

“So have I. That’s why I want to talk. We have a lot of things to straighten out.”

Julie couldn’t miss the stubborn set of his jaw. She knew from past experience that trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to argue with a fence post. She would give him ten minutes, listen to what he had to say, then demand to be returned to her parents’ house.

Still in a huff, she strode to a straight chair, plopped down and said, “Start talking.”

Three

Flint dragged another straight chair to face Julie and straddled it backward. He crossed his arms over the top slat, rested his chin against them and stared at her, absorbing her image. How often he’d dreamed of seeing her again, ached for her. Now he felt like a desert-parched man at a crystal-clear oasis. He slaked his thirst on the loveliness of her face, a face that had first captivated him fifteen years before and had profoundly altered his life. Time had been gracious to her, drawn her beauty more keenly, transformed her from a lovely girl to an exquisite woman.

“You’re more beautiful than ever,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud.

“Thank you,” she said, her nose going up and her blue eyes turning frosty, “but you have exactly ten minutes to have your say. I would suggest that you use your time on topics more important than my looks.”

He grinned at her imperious tone. “Right. Where shall I begin?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know. You’re the one who skipped town on our wedding day.”

“Darlin’, I didn’t skip town. I explained that I wasn’t ready to get married. All I had to my name was two hundred dollars in the bank, a shack on the water and a used Harley. I was earning barely enough as a fishing guide to support myself. I couldn’t give you the things I wanted you to have or provide a decent place for you to live.”

“You’d been telling me the same tale for two years. I was sick of waiting. I told you dozens of times that money wasn’t that important to me. Besides, I had my teaching job. We could have gotten by just fine.”

“But I didn’t want to just get by. I wanted—” He scraped the red kerchief from his head, tossed it aside and raked his fingers through his hair. God, how to say this? “I wanted to give you fine things and a big beautiful house. But more than that, I wanted to be somebody, somebody that your family wouldn’t look down their noses at. Somebody you could be proud to marry in front of the whole damned town instead of having to sneak off and find a justice of the peace. That’s why, even though it took me eight years to do it, I got my college degree. I had a burning desire and a crazy idea that I could be a writer.”

Her brows went up and her eyes grew wide. “A writer? You?”

“Yep.” He rested his chin on his arms again. “I’ve always had a powerful urge to write. In fact, I used to stay up half the night, pounding away on an old typewriter I scrounged up. I fancied myself as the next Ernest Hemingway.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it. Why in the world didn’t you tell me?”

“Pride, I guess. Nobody knew except Miss Fuller, my English teacher in high school, and Dr. Stephenson, my creative writing teacher at Lamar.”

Her eyes turned sad. “I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me something so important to you.”