Rivals (50 page)

“But why should I back you, Flame? Aside from the money that could be made, what do I get out of it?”

“Me,” she replied evenly.

His smile was faintly sardonic. “I knew that's what you were going to say.” Flame experienced her first moment of unease. “However tempting the proposition is—and it is very tempting—I'm not sure I like the idea of being used by you to get back at Stuart.”

“We have always been honest with each other, Malcom,” she said, choosing her words. “I'm not sure you realize how rare that is. I know I didn't. Never once have you implied to me that you desired anything more than an affair. In fact you openly admitted that you had no intention of ever leaving your wife. I've learned to appreciate that honesty—and many other things as well. I have always respected and admired you, Malcom, both as a businessman and a man. And we enjoy each other's company, too. As you once pointed out to me, we get along well together. What better basis for a relationship is there than a mutual admiration and respect?”

He breathed in deeply, a trace of wariness in his expression. “I want you, Flame—more than I've ever wanted any other woman. I want you so much that I almost believe what you say. You're very convincing.”

“And I want you. Revenge is part of it, Malcom. I'm not denying that.” Moving slowly, she closed the space between them until she stood mere inches from him. Still, she made no move to touch him. “But it isn't all of it. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of being lonely. I want someone I can share things with, whether it's work or play. Is that really so difficult for you to believe?” she argued quietly.

“No.”

“Then…can we be partners?”

In answer, his hands closed on her arms and drew her the last few inches to meet his descending mouth. She responded to his kiss, although admittedly without the passion and intensity of feeling that she once had given Chance. But she'd learned the painful way that it was better to love wisely, safely, than to be swept away by emotion. She swayed against him and wound her arms around him, answering the forceful pressure of his kiss.

When he led her into the bedroom, another quiet composition in gray, a part of her regretted that, in the order of things, they next had to make love. As she undressed beneath his heated glance, she reminded herself there would be time enough later to discuss strategy and options. Now there was this. It was not a passive lover he wanted, and she knew that. She sincerely tried to give what he did want. She met his force with her own and urged him to drive away her memories. After all, it was part of the bargain.

If his hands and lips were not as quick to seek out and find her pleasure points—if he relied more on strength than finesse to show his desire—if the satisfaction from their coupling was less than what she'd known before—she blocked it out. Afterward, lying in his arms, her head resting on his powerfully built chest, she felt a measure of contentment and ease. That was enough for her.

35

S
am
walked out of his office and threw a quick glance at the closed doors to Chance's suite, then hesitated and went over to Molly's desk. “Is Chance busy?”

“Busy?” She sighed and glanced at the lighted button on the telephone indicating one of the lines was in use. “He's in there trying to get hold of Flame again.”

“And all he's getting is the usual runaround, right?” Sam guessed and shook his head, joining Molly in her troubled sigh. “In the last two months, he's spoken to her exactly once, and I'd be willing to bet that was an accident. If she'd known he was calling, she would never have picked up the phone.”

“He worries me, Sam,” Molly declared. “Have you noticed the weight he's lost? And he isn't sleeping nights, either. It's no wonder he's so irritable and—”

“—impossible to talk to.” He finished the sentence for her.

“Why is she treating him like this? Doesn't she know what she's doing to him?”

“You're as bad as Chance,” Sam murmured, looking at her with a mixture of sadness and disgust. “It doesn't seem to occur to either one of you that she just might not give a damn.”

“Maybe I was wrong about her.” Such a concession coming from Molly bordered on the monumental, and Sam knew it. “She seemed to be genuinely in love with him. Maybe it was an act. That's the only explanation that makes sense.”

“There might be one or two others.” But Sam didn't go into them. Molly would never admit that part of the blame for Flame's present attitude might belong to Chance for the way he'd deceived her about Morgan's Walk. As far as Molly was concerned, she should have forgiven him for that.

“I thought that Hattie woman was cruel and heartless,” Molly said, an anger showing in the tight working of her jaw. “Now I'm beginning to think it runs in the family. The amount of suffering those two women have brought into his life…” She sighed again and looked at Sam. “What are we going to do?”

“I don't know about you, but I have to go in there and tell him that I finally heard from J.T. If he's in a bad mood now, it's only going to get worse.”

“What happened?” she asked, then immediately guessed. “She refused to sell.”

“Something like that.” He walked over to the doors and knocked once.

But Chance didn't hear it as he slammed the receiver down, cutting off the voice on the other end of the line as she started to explain that Ms. Bennett was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed, an excuse he'd heard too many times to believe anymore. No woman had ever rocked and torn at him like this, until he could think of nothing else but having her back. She was like a hammer beating at his strength. Cursing under his breath, he ran a hand through his close-cropped hair as he leaned on his desk, his shoulders hunched against the ache that wouldn't go away.

“Chance?” Sam's voice intruded, bringing his head up sharply.

“What is it?” he snapped, turning his chair away while he fought to regain his composure.”

“I just finished talking to J.T. in Dallas.”

He spun the chair back around. “Has he met with Flame?” He checked the impulse to ask how she was and demanded instead, “What did she say? Has she agreed to sell Morgan's Walk?”

“No.” Sam paused briefly. “Her exact words to him were—and I quote—‘Tell Chance Stuart that Morgan's Walk isn't for sale at any price.' Naturally J.T. denied that you were in any way involved in the offer. But I guess she just smiled and showed him the door.”

“Damn.” The curse was barely more than a whisper.

“Don't you think it's time we took the gloves off, Chance?”

He leaned back in his chair and reached in his jacket pocket, taking out the set of wedding rings he'd carried with him every single day since Flame had dropped them at his feet. He closed his fingers around them, feeling the edges of the diamond cut into his palm.

“Call the mortgage due,” he said, then slowly pulled open the center drawer of his desk and dropped the rings inside. He pushed the drawer shut, and wished he could be as successful in shutting Flame from his mind. “Cut off all credit to Morgan's Walk. Call in every favor and apply whatever pressure you have to, but get it done. I want to drain her cash, and leave her nothing to operate on. While you're at it, hire away all the ranch help you can.”

36

H
earing
the turn of a key in the lock, Malcom lowered the newspaper and took off his reading glasses, his glance turning to the entrance hall in his apartment. The closing of the door was followed by the firm tap of high heels on the marble floor as Flame strode into view, still dressed in the brown-and-white wool Adolfo suit she'd worn earlier in the day, a combination made all the more striking by the red of her hair.

“I expected you an hour ago.”

“I know, darling.” She gave her wool and alpaca coat a toss, flinging it onto one of the chairs, then crossed to the back of the sofa and bent down to give him a quick kiss. “I'm sorry. My meeting with Ellery took longer than I thought. There were simply too many things to go over. Would you like me to freshen your drink?” she asked, reaching for his glass.

“Please,” he said as she crossed to the liquor cart, his glass in hand.

“I have to spend most of tomorrow at the agency.” Using the tongs, she plucked cubes from the ice bucket, dropped some in his glass and the rest in hers. “I'm not going to have any choice, unfortunately. I have too much work backed up.”

“You're spreading yourself too thin. It's time you gave the agency notice.”

Watching as she splashed more whiskey into his glass, Malcom could see she didn't look the least bit tired, mentally or physically. On the contrary, he'd never seen her look so vibrantly alive, driven by a restless energy. The impression was reinforced when she turned back to him, giving him the direct effect of her green eyes. In that moment, he saw her then as she was to him, the shape and dream of beauty, the image of a still fire burning in the night, perfect and pure-centered with a white heat. He wanted to believe he was responsible for that bright glitter in her eyes. But he knew better, and her next words confirmed it.

“I can't, not for a while yet. I don't know how closely Chance is watching me. If I quit the agency, he'll start wondering what I'm going to do.” She walked over and handed him his drink. “And we can't risk arousing his suspicion too soon.” She kicked off her alligator pumps and sat down on the sofa cushion beside him, curling her silk-clad feet under her and angling sideways to face him. “Besides, my work load with the agency isn't that heavy now that I've managed to turn most of my clients over to other account execs in the firm—with the exception of Powell's, of course.” She reached out to touch him, her fingers tracing the lobe of his ear then trailing over the square line of his jaw.

“Of course.” He smiled automatically while silently wondering if he'd ever cease resenting the way every third sentence of hers contained some reference to Stuart. The man was an invisible presence constantly with them. The bed was the only place he didn't appear—and Malcom wasn't entirely certain about that. Endless times he'd found himself wondering if he pleased her in bed as fully as Stuart once had. His virility had been something he'd never doubted…until now. Over and over he reminded himself that Flame was with him—not with Stuart. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that she would never have come to him if it wasn't for her desperate thirst for revenge. He probably should be grateful to Stuart, but he was beginning to despise the man as much as Flame said she did. In truth, he was eager to tangle openly with Stuart and prove who was the better man.

“Speaking of Chance—” The ice cubes in her drink clinked against the sides of the glass as she idly swirled the gin and tonic. “—the notice came last week calling the mortgage due. I have sixty days to come up with seven hundred-odd thousand dollars.”

“Last week.” Malcom frowned. “You never said anything about it.”

“I forgot what with all the meetings we had with the engineers and the land planners. We have plenty of time to come up with it so it really doesn't matter. And I have no intention of paying it until the very last minute. I'm sure he believes he's created a problem for me and I want him to go on thinking that.”

“You're a cunning woman, Flame.” At the same time that he realized that, he also recognized that her every thought, her every move were dictated by what she expected Stuart's response or reaction to be.

“It's going to take cunning—and an element of surprise—to beat him.” Again her restlessness surfaced as she uncurled her legs and rolled gracefully to her feet, avoiding his gaze. “Which reminds me—did Karl drop the new site plan by your office? He said he'd have it ready today.”

“It's on the table.”

“Are there many changes?” She walked over to study it for herself.

“A handful, but they're all minor ones.” Malcom hesitated, then set his glass down on the coffee table and joined her in the dining area. “He has the plans for the dam finished as well. I gave Karl the name of my contact in Washington and told him to fly there next week so he can look them over.”

“Aren't you being premature—”

“No.” Malcom overruled her. “If we're going to run into any major snags, it will be with the dam. And I want to know about them as soon as possible.”

She shrugged her acceptance of his decision, but he could tell she didn't completely agree with it. “Has your attorney heard anything further from any of the real estate agents in Tulsa?”

Malcom had instructed his attorney to utilize the services of seven different real estate agencies to buy the seven parcels where the resort hotel and marina were to be built. “Not as of yesterday.”

“I wonder what the problem is. It bothers me that we've been able to acquire options on only three of them. They've been working on it almost a month now.”

“Has it ever occurred to you they might not be anxious to sell?” he chided.

“But I'm anxious to buy,” she stated, then glanced at him. “Malcom, do you realize that you have never seen Morgan's Walk? These site plans and drawings are all you've ever seen of the property. Why don't we arrange to fly out there for a couple of days?”

“I suppose I could rework my schedule.” It was the idea of having Flame to himself for two or three days that appealed to him more than looking at the development site itself.

“We could meet with the real estate agents while we're there and find out what the holdup is. If it's a matter of price, we can authorize them to increase the offer. If it's something else, we can figure out a way to deal with it,” she said, thinking out loud. “I think the trip is definitely a good idea. The last time I talked to Charlie he mentioned he was having some problems. He's lost most of his help on the ranch,” she added in a quick aside. “And there was some difficulty with the feed store. Maybe I can get that ironed out, too, while we're there.”