Bargain With The Devil Part 8

"Hi, Leana. I wasn't expecting to hear from you."

"I know, darling. But I really did want to do something for you and Hunter. He absolutely refused to let Eric and me do anything except stand up with you at the wedding, and then he whisked you away so quickly...." There was a question in her voice that Stacy chose to ignore. "At any rate," Leana went on immediately, "I want to have the two of you over for dinner this week. Is Hunter there? I expect he'll be the one I'll have to convince. Let me talk to him, darling."

Stacy hesitated, not liking the barely restrained eagerness in Leana's request. But she couldn't very well say Hunter wasn't there, could she?

Putting a hand over the mouthpiece, Stacy turned toward the kitchen and saw her husband lounging in the doorway, watching her as he dried his hands on a towel. His brow kicked upward in mute question as he caught her look.

"It's it's Leana," Stacy whispered quietly. "She wants to talk to you. Something about having us over for dinner." She held out the phone, not knowing what else to do.

"Tell her I'm busy. If you really want to accept the invitation, go ahead," he told her laconically and turned back to the kitchen.

Stacy blinked, surprised. "Leana?" she spoke quickly. "Hunter's too busy to come to the phone right now, but he says we'll be able to make it for dinner...." Lord knew that was the last thing Stacy wanted in that moment, but she couldn't think of any genuine excuse for turning down the offer. And she didn't want to hurt her brother's feelings.

"I see." There was a definite measure of disappointment in Leana's voice. "Well, in that case, why don't we make it for Monday night. Will that be all right with you?"

"Yes, that will be fine. Do you do you want me to bring the main course or something?"

"What? Oh, you mean because of your weird diet? No, don't worry about that. I'll just turn the whole thing over to Maria. She'll think of something. She always does. We'll probably have Mexican food, of course. I think she mentioned once that there are a lot of meatless Mexican dishes," Leana noted vaguely, sounding anxious to get off the phone now. "See you Monday night around six."

Stacy slowly replaced the phone and walked toward the kitchen, where she found Hunter peering interestedly into the refrigerator.

"Anything fit for lunch among all these roots and berries?" he demanded, sensing her quiet presence behind him.

"I think I can put something together. I don't exactly starve to death on a daily basis," Stacy observed, coming forward to edge him aside and take command at the refrigerator.

"You know," Hunter noted almost absently, watching as she put together some huge cheese and sprout sandwiches, "that brother of yours had better make a serious move to bring his wife to heel, or he's going to be in real trouble."

Stacy looked up from her work, startled. She had been thinking about Leana's eagerness to talk to Hunter and wondering if the younger woman was still harboriilg fantasies. "I'm sure shewas just... just being friendly," she said flatly, feeling some vague need to defend her sister-in-law.

"She's a born flirt," Hunter corrected bluntly. "And Eric had bet-ter do something about it before it gets out of hand."

"I'm I'm sure you're exaggerating...."

"Like h.e.l.l I am." There was a sardonic twist to the words.

Stacy felt her temper flicker alive. "You would know, I suppose. After all, it wasn't too long ago that you could have cared less about my brother's marriage!"

"Things have changed," he retorted coolly and then grinned abruptly at the gathering frown on her face. "Don't look at me like that when you're holding a knife in one hand!"

"Hunter," Stacy said carefully, "sometimes you make me very annoyed."

"I've noticed," he drawled, reaching out to pick up the plate of sandwiches and carry them over to the breakfast nook. "But I gather from what your father said on the phone last night that I'm not unique!"

"My father is referring to my past," Stacy declared firmly, fol-lowing him with a tray of sliced fruit.

"Your recent past, I expect?"

"No! I've been doing very well handling my temper these past few years," she told him forcefully.

"Until you met me?" he prodded interestedly as they sat down.

"Stop laughing at me!"

"It's okay, honey, your temper doesn't frighten me," he a.s.sured her, helping himself to a fat sandwich. "I've got one of my own."

Stacy stared at him, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. "Do you..." she began delicately, wondering how to ask, "I mean, have you ever lost it? Really lost it? I know you've threatened to a couple of times, but somehow, in the end, you always seem to be able to control it.

..." She broke off a little wistfully, wishing she had the same ability. She thought she'd learned to master herself, but there had been times lately...

"What's the matter?" He grinned around a mouthful of sandwich. "Afraid I'll go crazy with rage and beat you?"

She met his eyes across the short distance between them and con-sidered that. "No," she announced finally with great certainty, al-though she could not have said why she was so sure of her answer. "I'm not afraid you'll go into a wild rage and really hurt me." Then she chuckled ruefully. "But I can see you threatening to beat me again like you did that first night."

"Oh, I can see myself doing more than just threatening," he as-sured her with a gleaming look. "Given the right set ot circ.u.m-stances, I expect I could quite cheerfully make certain you'd be un-able to sit down for a week!"

"But you wouldn't do it while foaming at the mouth with anger, is that it?" She smiled, beginning to enjoy the banter.

"Not at all. I'd do it with considered deliberation and out of a sense of responsibility toward the stability of our marriage! The same way," Hunter abruptly added, "that your brother should beat his wife!"

"Hunter!" Stacy's humor was wiped out in an instant. "Is that your solution to my brother and Leana's problems?"

"Yes," he stated emphatically and then waved a hand dismiss-ingly. "But I don't feel like talking about them right now. What would you like to do after lunch?"

Stacy frowned, on the one hand wanting to argue him out of his conviction about how Eric ought to solve his marital problems, and on the other wanting to do something besides wrangle with her new husband on this the first full day of their marriage. The desire to spend a peaceful afternoon with him won out. She was sure there would be battles enough in the future.

"Have you seen much of Tucson since you moved back?" she asked hesitantly. "I know you've been here almost two months, but you've probably been quite busy. What with all your scheming and everything," she couldn't resist adding.

His eyes narrowed for a split second, and she thought he would make a somewhat nasty retort. But he didn't. Instead he smiled. "Thinking of giving me a tour of the town?"

"Well, perhaps a few of the fun things. That is, if you'd like to...."

"Sounds great."

With a peculiar sense of unreality Stacy watched the warm after-noon slip by as she took him first to the Arizo-na-Sonora Desert Museum, a unique living museum where a tremendous variety of desert animals were featured in a natural habitat. Mountain lions, snakes, bighorn sheep, prairie dogs, and a fascinating collection of desert cats prowled and ate and worked in front of entranced visitors.

"It seems more like a zoo to me than a museum." Stacy smiled, leaning over a fence to watch some otters frolicking in a canyon-type stream. "I always think of museums as places for nonliving things."

"And you're very much into living creatures, aren't you?" Hunter noted, his eyes on her enthusiastic face as she watched the animals below. "I'm probably lucky you're not bringing a collection of cats and dogs and hamsters into the house along with all those plants!"

Stacy laughed. "At one time I was torn between critters and plants. My room was a combination zoo and conservatory when I was growing up. But finally the plants won out, at least as far as making career plans went.:." Her voice trailed off as she remembered the endless scenes that decision had entailed.

"Parents didn't approve?" Hunter asked softly, standing with his arm draped in careless possession around her waist, one foot resting on the bottom rail of a fence.

Stacy shook her head ruefully. "They had... other plans for me."

"Such as?" he pressed.

"Such as a proper school where I would learn the social graces Mom had despaired of being able to teach me herself, and then a proper marriage with the son of one of my father's friends." Stacy sighed softly. "I'm afraid I was a constant disappointment to my family," she admitted wryly.

"If it's any consolation, I didn't do much better," he remarked quietly.

Stacy looked up in surprise. "I thought you said your father was grooming you to take over his business until my father bought him out."

"He was. But I had other plans. I'd always had other plans," he muttered. "And I didn't care much for having my life preordained, I'm afraid."

"Did you... did you fight a lot with your father?" Stacy couldn't resist asking gently, turning to watch his hard profile.

"Constantly. I left home to make my own way when I was barely seventeen."

"I moved out when I was eighteen. I think by then Mom and Dad had pretty much given up on me. When I refused to even consider dating the man they had selected, they just threw up their hands and said the h.e.l.l with it. They'd done their best."

"But we both were there when the chips were down,"

Hunter mused grimly. "When I found out what was happening to my father's business, I forgot all about my pride and came pleading to your father. And when you thought I would hurt your family, you made deals with the devil! The funny part is, I don't think either of our fathers would have appreciated our efforts!" he concluded rue-fully. "In his own way, my parent was at least as arrogant as yours."

They stood together in a close silence, not speaking and not feel-ing the need to do so. A delicate, sensitive communion hovered in the air for a moment, and then Stacy shook herself free of it and turned away.

"On to Old Tucson," she ordered with brisk, determined cheer-fulness. "I want to show you how you would have looked and where you would have lived if you'd been born in the proper century!"

"A hundred years ago?" he chuckled.

"At least!"

CHAPTER SEVEN.

The tour of Old Tucson, a recreation of the rip-roaring town as it was in the middle of the eighteen hundreds, used up most of what was left of the afternoon. Stacy privately decided her husband looked quite at home against the rough Western backdrop.

"They use this place for filming Westerns," Stacy explained as a stagecoach loaded with delighted youngsters rolled past. Then she halted her explanation as she spied activity up ahead. "Hurry," she ordered, grabbing his hand. "We don't want to miss the big gun-fight!"

"s.a.d.i.s.tic little thing, aren't you?" Hunter observed, increasing his stride but refusing to run as she wanted him to do.

"I'm just displaying an interest in our heritage," Stacy told him haughtily.

He laughed and allowed himself to be pulled along the movie-set street to where two grim-faced men in Western garb were facing off in the cla.s.sic, violent fashion. Stacy almost forgot herself and booed when the good guy won.

The unexpected magic of the day seemed to linger on through dinner, a spicy vegetable curry, which Hunter' attacked at first with wariness and then enthusiasm. Later he produced a clear, potent liqueur with a small flourish, put a set of Vivaldi concertos on the intimidatingly sophisticated stereo, and pulled Stacy lightly down beside him on the leather couch.

"I'm in a mood to seduce a witch tonight," he warned in a deep, delicious voice that sent pleasant shivers along her nerve endings. He pulled her close against his side and put the small liqueur gla.s.s in her fingers. As their hands made contact, Stacy's eyes collided and were caught in the treacherous mists of his gaze, and she found herself suddenly and horribly shy.

"Do you like Vivaldi?" he murmured as she curled her denim-covered legs under her. His fingers toyed with the familiar loose knot of her hair.

"Oh, yes," she a.s.sured him. "But I don't have anything that elaborate to play my records on, I'm afraid." She indicated the beau-tiful stereo in the corner with all its s.p.a.ce-age sleekness and gadg-etry. "I've left my machine packed. There's no sense pulling it out and embarra.s.sing it by putting it next to yours!"

"I like good, sophisticated machines." He half-smiled, sipping from his gla.s.s as he watched her face.

"I've noticed," she said wryly. "All the appliances in the house* your stereo equipment, your car. They're all first-cla.s.s. It must be the design instinct in you." Stacy knew she was becoming chatty and didn't fully understand why. Good heavens! She had already shared this man's bed once, why was she nervous?

"And I have married-a first-cla.s.s witch," he whispered, removing the gla.s.s from her hand and bending close as he set it down on the table.

Stacy swallowed, aware of the foretaste of the pa.s.sion he would soon be stirring in her. Her lashes fluttered shut as hi$, mouth de-scended to hers', and she gave a tiny, almost inaudible moan as he used his weight to push her gently against the back of the couch. Her hands went up to settle lightly on his shoulders.

"Are you pleased with your bargain, Stacy Manning?" he ground out against her lips an instant before forcing them apart with the insistent tip of his tongue. She had no chance to answer then as she found herself engaged in a small, intimate duel that fanned the al-ready glowing embers of her desire. Perhaps it was just as well she couldn't respond verbally, a voice in her head observed, because 4jnder the impetus of her growing need she might have whispered the truth: that she wasn't fully satisfied and wouldn't be until he learned he couldn't use people the way he used machines.

Her fingers- twisted in his hair, thrusting through the darkness of it with intense pleasure and feeling him reciprocate by putting one hand to the insecurely pinned red-brown stuff of her curls and yank-ing them gently free. As it tumbled down to Stacy's shoulders Hunter buried his face in it for a long moment.

"You remind me of your own nursery," he growled heavily. "Fresh and green and natural. My own private garden. Will you tease me and mock me again tonight when I try to open the gate?"

"Perhaps," she whispered daringly, shivering with delight as he kissed the exquisitely vulnerable area behind her ear. "Will you mind if I do?"

"Not in the least," he a.s.sured her with masterful male disregard for the little games a woman might choose to play. "It will all come to the same thing in the end."

She breathed a small, half-rueful sigh. "Is it me or yourself you're so sure of, Hunter?"

"Will you lose that temper of yours if I tell you the truth?" he teased, his fingers at work on the b.u.t.tons of her begonia-splashed shirt.

"Possibly. But I thought you weren't afraid of my tem- . per," she retorted, her short-nailed fingers kneading the muscles of his shoul-ders.

He chuckled wickedly, finding the softness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with his questing hand. "I'm not afraid of it, but at the moment there are other things I'd rather do than tame it. A man should never turn down a challenge from his woman though, so I'll tell you the truth." His thumb was on the delicate tip of her breast now, enticing the nipple into a growing awareness. Stacy shifted restlessly beneath his weight. "The answer," he told her softly, "is that I'm sure of both of us. Your sweet surrender last night told me all I needed to know about you, and I know what you do to me. I also know I couldn't abide having you do that for another man," he added in a rough, gravelly voice. "A man can very quickly become somewhat posses-sive, it seems!"

"Possessive?" she queried, unfastening the b.u.t.tons of his shirt and sliding her palms inside, relishing the feel of his chest and the hardness of his body. She didn't want to be possessed, she told her-self, she wanted to be loved! "That sounds a little primitive."

"It is," he whispered thickly and uttered a tight, impatient male groan of desire as he felt her fingers exploring the contours of his body down to the waistband of his jeans. "You seem to have a knack," he said, gritting his teeth, "for bringing out the primitive in me!"

Stacy, enjoying her small moment of power, smiled up at him through her lashes when he lifted his head to gaze heatedly down at her. "Nonsense," she teased. "A man like you is always in control of himself!"

He gave a crack of almost savage laughter at that, uncoiling rap-idly to his feet and reaching down to scoop her up from the couch. "You tease the devil at your own peril, witch," he warned, carrying her down the hall with swift, strong strides. "I'll show you what happens to little flower witches who think they can hide behind locked gates and play games!"

Stacy looked up at him with glittering green eyes, responding to the overwhelming masculinity of him and wanting to goad and pro-voke and entice him until he could do nothing but respond to her. He brought out something primitive in her, just as he claimed she did to him. When she met the shifting, stormy gray fog of his gaze and found herself once again lost in that chartless world, nothing seemed to matter but clinging safely to the rocklike strength he represented, clinging until neither of them could escape.

"Hunter, darling Hunter," she breathed as he tossed her lightly down on the bed and followed heavily, his body pinning hers to the sheets. "Do you always take what you want?"

"I've wanted few things as badly as I've wanted this!" he told her in a deep, positive tone, and then his mouth was on hers again, drug-ging her into a state where all that mattered to her senses was the warm, hard feel of the man who seemed to cover every inch of her body with his own.

It was only much later when Stacy lay quietly in his arms, drift-ing toward sleep, that she remembered his words and wondered whether it was herself or the revenge she represented that Hunter claimed to want so badly.

Monday afternoon Stacy grimly and determinedly attacked the last, remaining task that would make the move into Hunter's home complete. Disa.s.sembling and rea.s.sembling the orchid greenhouse was not something she looked forward to at all. She knew it was going to be horribly complicated, and when she finally found the instructions that had originally come with the greenhouse kit she almost threw them away in exasperation. Who could follow all those little lines and diagrams?

Still, with the willing a.s.sistance of two young men who worked part-time at the nursery, the greenhouse finally collapsed and was loaded into the van. The nearly two hundred beautiful orchid plants that had been inside had been carefully transported earlier.

"I have the impression," John, the student from the University who normally helped out on Sat.u.r.day, remarked, "that getting this thing together again is going to be more difficult than taking it apart. You should have hired a mathematics major or somebody studying architecture," he added morosely as the three of them stood amid the piles of rubble that supposedly const.i.tuted a greenhouse. "Not a couple of liberal arts types!" He ran a hand through his s.h.a.ggy sandy-brown hair and looked ruefully at his fellow student.

"I suppose the best approach," Neal, his long brown hair held out of his eyes with a tennis-style sweatband, observed, "is for us to handle the manual labor while Stacy reads off the instructions."