Bargain With The Devil Part 3

"A cup of coffee?" she retaliated, refusing to back down. "You call that an important issue?"

"Small skirmishes add up to battles, and battles add up to wars," he noted. "I do not intend to make with my wife the mistakes your brother is making with his!"

"What are you talking about?" Stacy blazed furiously, wondering why he should be talking about Eric like that. It wasn't the first time this evening he had implied that her brother was failing to handle Leana properly.

Hunter lifted one shoulder offhandedly. "I've known your brother several weeks, and while it's obvious he has a head for business, he displays no sense at all in handling his wife. It was one of the things that made them both such a vulnerable target for me. I, however, do not intend to have the same sort of relationship with my wife," he remarked with such supreme male decisiveness that Stacy wanted to kick him. "My wife will know exactly where the lines are drawn and she will " His words were cut off with appalling abruptness as Stacy, her temper surfacing with a vengeance, slapped him boldly across the face for the second time that evening. The blow was not a light one; she put her wiry strength into it.

"I don't want to hear any more of your Western macho theories on handling women," she stormed, dancing prudently out of reach as his grip on her wrist momentarily weakened. "As long as you're in my house, you will show some respect for your 'hostess,' and per-haps then she'll think about offering you a hot drink!"

She had stuck on the last sentence as it became clear Hunter was going to retaliate. She should never have resorted to striking him, Stacy realized nervously as she backed a little further out of reach. The promise of impending disaster in those storm-cloud eyes was unmistakable. The imprint of her hand darkened his cheek, and Stacy knew he was going to exact payment for the rash action. She pre-pared to run, perhaps into the bedroom or the kitchen, even though common sense told her it would be a totally useless effort. He would have her in less than a minute.

But in spite of the very plain warning in his eyes and the grim set of his mouth, Hunter made no move to come after her. For a long moment they simply stared at one another, he standing exactly where he had been, she clinging uncomfortably to the back of a chair as if to use the furniture as a shield.

"Come here, Stacy," he said at last, all soft menace and male purpose. His eyes held her in an inescapable mesh.

"What what are you going to do?" she hazarded, feeling her fingers beginning to tremble on the back of the chair.

"Probably turn you over my knee and pound you so hard, you won't sit down for a week," he replied readily enough, still not mov-ing.

"Hunter, no!" she squeaked involuntarily, some inner sense of justice telling her he had every right to do exactly as he said. Hadn't she slapped him twice tonight? Was it fair to operate under a code that said it was all right for a woman to hit a man and not expect retaliation in kind?

"Come here," he repeated in an even softer, infinitely more dan-gerous tone. "We might as well get this over with, don't you agree?" His hands rested on his hips, his feet slightly apart. The open neck-line of his shirt and the slightly disordered dark hair combined with his stance to give him a thoroughly intimidating air. The streak of silver-white hair had fallen slightly forward, and Stacy's eyes went to it involuntarily for an instant before returning to the trap of his gaze.

"Hunter, you had that coming," she argued, refusing to obey him, although she could feel the bonds of his will reaching out to tug insistently. "You... you were manhandling me...."

"I didn't slap you or hit you," he pointed out almost gently.

"Are you trying to tell me I actually succeeded in hurting you with that... that little slap?" she scoffed, raising her chin bravely.

"Yes," he said simply, lifting his fingers to the still-dark mark on his cheek. "It stings," he observed. "Badly."

Stacy bit her lip, feeling suddenly contrite in spite of the circ.u.m-stances. "Does it?" she whispered in a small voice.

"I'm afraid so," he nodded. "Just because the Western macho type isn't supposed to show pain doesn't mean he doesn't feel it, you know."

Stacy swallowed, not seeing any convenient way out of the di-lemma. "I'm I'm sorry, Hunter," she tried uncertainly. "But you did provoke me."

"How much longer are you going to stall?" he asked mildly.

"I'm not stalling!" she gritted furiously.

"Yes, you are," he contradicted flatly. "It doesn't really matter, I suppose. I'm prepared to stand here all night, and we both know how it's going to end. Still, it is a definite waste of time to drag out the inevitable like this."

"Oh, go to h.e.l.l!" Stacy blazed, frustrated anger lending her the courage she required to loosen her death grip on the chair and stride bravely across the room to come to a halt in front of him.

"I had the impression," he drawled, not touching her, although she stood only inches away, "that you think that's my native habitat, anyway!"

"Isn't it?" she challenged, using one hand to tuck a handful of un-ruly hair back behind her ear. She was shaking, but nothing on earth could have made her give him the satisfaction of her turning and trying to run. Her glittering green eyes met his unwaveringly as she waited for him to mete out the punishment.

"So you think of me as a devil, hmmm?" he mused, putting out a hand to catch her chin and hold her still while he studied her face. "Don't you know better, Stacy Rylan, than to make deals with the devil? He won't settle for less than your soul in exchange!"

"Why don't you just get it over with?" she rasped, feeling the tension between them as if it were an electrically charged force. Never had she been so acutely aware of a man or raw masculine power. This man and his power seemed to flow around her, envelop-ing her. Unwillingly she remembered his kiss on her brother's patio. He was a devil. He could make love to a woman or beat her without particularly caring which action he was involved in at any given time. She was a fool to have struck him.

"Surely," he began in a deep, silky voice, "after all that lecturing about right and wrong, which I was obliged to listen to at your brother's house, you're not going to pretend it's all right for you to hit me and get off scott free?"

"I I really didn't mean to hurt you," she mumbled unevenly, knowing he was perfectly right. "I lost my temper. It happens some-times," she concluded with a small gesture of resignation, her hand lifting in a short, flat arc and falling back to her side.

"Often?" he asked in such a strange tone that Stacy's eyes nar-rowed in sudden suspicion. Was he laughing at her?

"Not often." Not any more, she added mentally.

"That's fortunate for both of us, isn't it?" he remarked dryly.

"Hunter, if you're going to retaliate, I wish you'd go ahead and get it over with," Stacy muttered irritably, the dreadful antic.i.p.ation worse, she knew, than the actual punishment. "Just remember I only hit you once!" she pointed out wryly.

There was an instant's pause and then, incredibly, Hunter was laughing. A deep, rich sound that, for the first time thatevening, carried none of the deeply rooted anger she had been hearing in his voice. His hand fell away from her chin as he replanted it on his hip. The gray eyes were lit with a reluctant warmth that was totally unex-pected.

"Going to try bargaining right down to the wire, aren't you?" He grinned appreciatively. "You know you're probably not going to get out of this unscathed, but you figure it's worth trying to temper the outcome a bit!" He shook his head ruefully. "You're a bold little thing, aren't you? Bold enough to deal with the devil. All right, Stacy Rylan, you've won yourself a reprieve. Consider it a wedding gift! Now, at>out my hot drink...."

"I'll fix something for you," she agreed, drawing herself up proudly and turning on her heel to head for the kitchen. Not for the world would she let him see how terribly relieved she was. For a moment there she had been convinced he would carry out his threat. The humiliation of being hauled across his knee and spanked would have been unbearable, even if she had deserved it! She must be very careful around this man, she warned herself.

"What?" he demanded lazily, following her into the kitchen. "I'm going to get it without any more fuss?"

"If giving you something to drink will get you out of my house any more quickly, then far be it from me to hold up progress," Stacy grumbled, busying herself with the teapot and some cups and sau-cers. Her loosened hair fell slightly forward around her face as she worked, acting as a soft shield for her features.

"In a rush to get rid of your fiance?" he inquired, lounging behind her in the open doorway and watching with sardonic interest as she went about the small task.

"We're not engaged," Stacy managed evenly.

"We have what I believe is known as an understanding," he con-tradicted firmly. "If you want an engagement ring to make it official, I imagine that could be arranged."

"I don't want your ring, thank you." Stacy eyed the teapot mo-rosely, waiting impatiently for the first sign of boiling. Her tone was clipped and final.

"As you'll be wearing my wedding ring in a week, I don't see that it makes a h.e.l.l of a lot of difference one way or the other." Stacy could sense the casual disinterest in him and wanted to scream. Didn't he have any compunction at all about what he was doing to her whole life? She had to take some evasive action, do something that would give her time to think of a solution to the mess. Her fin-gers closed tightly around the handle of the teapot as the water inside finally began to boil.

"Why must the wedding be so soon?" she asked, making every effort to sound remote and cool about it. She reached for the box of tea and measured it into the pot. "It seems to me that if you want the full effect on my father, you'd be inclined to invite him to the cere-mony." If she could postpone the whole thing until next month when her father returned, there might be some hope. At least there would be time to do something; anything!

She turned around, the cups balanced on a tray, to find him smil-ing at her across the kitchen. It was his twisted, taunting smile, and her heart sank.

"Trying to buy yourself some time, Stacy?" he asked too gently, reaching out to take the tray from her numb fingers.

"I just don't see why we have to rush into this," she argued, trail-ing behind him as he carried the tray into the living room and set it down on the gla.s.s table. "I mean, I realize this is nothing more than a method of reaching your crazy goal, but you might take into consid-eration the fact that this wedding is going to turn my whole life up-side down! Doesn't that bother you at all?" She dropped resentfully into her chair and automatically poured the tea.

"The notion of turning your life upside down pales into insignifi-cance beside the impact I expect the wedding to have On my life," he told her dryly, picking up his cup.

"You expect your satisfaction at having had your revenge to compensate for any guilt you might feel about how you achieved your goal, is that it?" she snapped.

But he wasn't paying any attention to her. The fog gaze was fo-cused on the contents of his cup. "What is this stuff?" he demanded, not bothering to respond to her accusation. He tentatively stirred the pale liquid, sniffing suspiciously.

"It's tea," Stacy muttered, sipping her own delicately.

"It's not like any tea I've ever seen!" he shot back, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "What are you trying to do? Poison me?" he de-manded.

"It's not a bad idea," she admitted. "I'll keep it in mind for the next time you bully me into fixing you something to drink! Unfortu-nately I didn't think of it this time around. What you've got there is an herb tea."

"Herb tea!" he growled. "What do I want with something made out of dried flowers? I asked for coffee," he reminded her bluntly. "I was willing to settle for real tea, but not this stuff!"

"It's too late at night for a caffeine drink," she said, sighing.

"If you're worried about how I'm going to sleep with all I've got on my conscience..." he began grimly.

"I'm not in the least concerned with your sleeping habits!" she retorted, irritated. "It seems fairly obvious that nothing's going to weigh on your conscience, since you haven't got one to begin with! I do not serve caffejpe-based drinks in the evening to anyone, not even my worst enemy a role for which you're well qualified! If you don't want that herb tea, go and find something else to drink. I think there's some fruit juice in the refrigerator!"

"Oh, my G.o.d," he groaned with a thoroughly disgusted look. "I'm marrying a health-food fanatic. I should have guessed when I saw you eating that apple instead of munching on some swiped po-tato chips at the party. A green-thumbed health-food fanatic!" He cast a baleful eye on the greenery surrounding him.

"It's not too late to change your mind about the wedding," Stacy reminded him with acid sweetness.

"Oh, no, you don't," he told her, the hard mouth quirking up-ward. "You're not getting out of this that easily. Tell me, though, how badly are you afflicted? Do you eat meat?" There was a pur-poseful gleam in the gray eyes as he sipped cautiously at his tea.

"I haven't touched meat for years," she told him with a sense of hauteur.

"I happen to love a good, rare steak," he said smoothly, watching her face.

"Then I trust you'll not expect me to cook it for you," she re-turned, just as smoothly.

"I do not intend to subsist on a diet of nuts and berries," he warned.

"It would probably be best if we each do our own cooking. You can hire someone to do yours if you don't like to do it yourself," Stacy suggested with a great show of unconcern.

"If you think I'm going to have a wife living under my roof and not avail myself of a few of the benefits of married life, you're crazy," he said purposefully.

"The easiest way for both of us to handle this disaster you choose to call a marriage would be to maintain a roommate relationship," Stacy pointed out, seeing a tiny opening. G.o.d! They were going to be totally incompatible. Couldn't he see that?

"Not a chance," he chuckled with a deliberately wicked look. "I'm going to make a wife out of you, Stacy Rylan. A Manning wife!" He took another sip from his tea, made a face, and set down the cup and saucer with an air of determination. "And since we're on the subject, we might as well clear up some of the details. I'll handle the wedding arrangements. As soon as I get a time and place I'll let you know so you can do whatever it is women have to do before weddings...." He waved a vague hand to indicate the mysteries of trousseaux, dresses, and all the rest.

Stacy said nothing, privately thinking she wasn't about to invest time or money in preparing for this d.a.m.n wed ding. She might have committed herself to being the devil's bride, but that didn't mean she had to a.s.sist in the preparations. Her brows drew together in a resent-ful frown as she silently sipped her tea.

"I think it would be best to keep the details of our 'great ro-mance' somewhat fuzzy as far as your brother is concerned. We'll just stick to the line that we met shortly after I arrived in Tucson and hadn't realized the connection with your brother. You'll want him and Leana at the wedding, I suppose?" Hunter broke off to confirm, black brow lifting questioningly.

"Not particularly."

He looked as if he were about to say something and then shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Thank you," Stacy said caustically.

"I'll have a moving company handle the transfer of your things to my house this week. You're renting?"

"Yes."

"Then it should be simple enough," he nodded, as if planning a business arrangement. "Let me know if there's any money involved in breaking your lease. The furniture can go into storage until you get a chance to sell it."

Stacy said nothing, vowing she wouldn't lower herself so far as to ask this man for a dime. She continued to sit without commenting, quietly sipping her tea while he rattled off plans and instructions. He really did have a head for detail and planning, she admitted with an inner sigh. If she hadn't been so personally involved, she might have found it interesting listening to him put everything together in one neat package. As it was, all she could think about was how little she mattered in this event, which was probably going to ruin a big chunk of her life. Just a p.a.w.n.

"I think that about wraps it up," Hunter said finally, draining the last of his tea and forgetting to grimace. "Unless you can think of anything I've overlooked?" he added with mocking politeness.

"I'm sure you'll take care of everything," Stacy said bitterly. "You've been working on the matter for fourteen years! I wonder if you'll get what you want out of this."

"You sound doubtful," he murmured, leaning back in his chair to study her intently.

"I am. I think you're going to wreak havoc with both our lives and discover afterward that it wasn't worth it," Stacy said with great feeling.

"Tell me about what I'm doing to your life, Stacy Ry-lan," he prodded in a low voice. "Is there a man who is about to have his heart broken when you tell him you're marrying me?"

"You mean is there a man who will sink to your level of opera-tion and come looking for revenge? No. I don't know anyone who is that uncivilized," she whispered, thinking sadly of Gary Bowen. Gary, with whom she had so much in common....

"Is that how you think of me?" Hunter half-smiled. "Uncivi-lized?"

"Yes," she hissed a little violently. "An uncivilized avenger who cares nothing about anyone else and whom I dearly hope will one day learn that you reap what you sow."

"Now, that," he said, grinning dangerously, "sounds as if you're hoping for a little revenge yourself!"

Stacy glared defensively, realizing she'd just fallen into a very neat trap. "If you've finished your planning session and your tea, would you please leave?" she invited austerely.

"Hardly a way to treat the man you're about to marry," he chided, not moving. "I think I'd like a clearer notion of what wedded bliss entails," he went on thoughtfully. "After all, this is going to be something new for me."

"Really," Stacy demanded scornfully. "I would have thought you'd found time to sample marriage sometime during the past four-teen years."

"I've never had any desire to try it," he returned silkily. "There's never been any need for it, you see."

"There's no need for it now," Stacy pounced with a touch of hope. "It's still not too late to give up this whole nutty idea and pre-tend it never happened."

"You don't know me very well yet, do you?" he mused, his eyes flicking over her tense figure, taking in the strained features, the dark, red-brown hair falling around her shoulders, and the casual attire. "But you will, Stacy Rylan," he added, his voice full of prom-ise. "You will."

Suddenly he was on his feet, leaning down to lift her lightly to hers, his hands closing firmly on her upper arms. There was a new gleam in the cloud pools of his eyes, a determined set to his mouth. Stacy didn't care for the combination one bit "I think," he said softly, "that the easiest, surest way to convince you there's no going back on our bargain is to seal our pact tonight."

"What are you talking about?" Stacy managed, trying desperately to stay calm beneath the pa.s.sionate threat in him. She knew what he meant, and the prospect was outrageous. She was not his wife yet, and she certainly wasn't in love with him. He had no right to expect her to sleep with him tonight! But what did this man care about rights?

"I'm talking about removing all your false hopes of being able to talk me out of this marriage and all your incipient little schemes to bargain your way out. I want there to be no question in your mind, Stacy Rylan, that by the end of this week you will belong to me. I know of only one way to convince you...." He made to pull her closer.

"No! Let me go!" Stacy snarled. "We're not married, Hunter, and I won't let you have everything your own way!" She began to strug-gle fiercely, planting her palms flat against his broad chest and push-ing with all her might.

"Don't fight me, Stacy," he growled in a thick whisper. "You'll only hurt yourself!" He mastered her writhing efforts to be free, propelling her slender body tightly against his own hard length with an impact that left her breathless.

"I won't have it!" Stacy blazed, her temper blowing once more into full sail. "Do you hear me?"

"You don't have any choice," he told her bluntly, somehow man-aging to hold her forcefully without hurting her. He was right. She was hurting herself by fighting him, bruising herself against his toughness, but he inflicted no real damage on his own. Stacy felt like a small animal in a cage, hurtling painfully against the bars and gain-ing nothing.

"d.a.m.n it, you have no right...!" she panted, and then his mouth was crushing hers, giving no quarter in the battle for her inner warmth. He sought only some sign of surrender, and Stacy's instincts told her everything would go much easier for her if she gave it to him. But still she fought, unwilling to allow him total control of herself and her future.