The weather was hot this late spring day, and Gray was dressed in a loose, white cotton shirt that was open at the throat, and khaki linen trousers. Curly black chest hair was visible in the open vee of the shirt, and Faith forced herself to look away, conscious of a sudden difficulty in breathing. He brought with him the fresh, earthy scent of clean sweat and the animal muskiness of man. She never had been able to decide what color his scent was, she thought dazedly, inhaling his rich, subtle odor. His physical impact made her senses reel, just as it always had. Nothing had changed. It hadn't been the unexpectedness of seeing him the last time that had so shaken her; the old reactions were still there, still potent, undimmed by time and maturity. She looked at him with hidden, helpless rage. God, this man had all but ground her into the dirt, and wouldn't hesitate to do it again; what was wrong with her that she couldn't see him without feeling that hot, automatic tingle of excitement?
He stood too close to her, just inside the door, staring down at her with narrowed dark eyes. She moved away to give herself breathing space. He was physically too imposing, ten inches taller and with that lean, hard athlete's body.
She would have to go on tiptoe to kiss even the hollow of his tanned, muscular throat. The aberrant thought shocked her, shook her, and instinctively she guarded her expression. She could never let him know that she was even remotely attracted to him; it would give him a weapon of devastating power to use against her.
"This is a surprise," she said lightly, though it wasn't. "Have a seat. Would you like a cup of coflee, or maybe iced tea?"
"Skip the pleasantries," he said, moving toward her, and she heard the cold anger in his smoky voice. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here," she replied, arching her brows in mock surprise. She hadn't expected the confrontation to come quite so soon; he was more efficient than she had expected. She moved away from him again, desperate to keep a safe distance between them. His gaze sharpened, then gleamed with satisfaction, and with a chill she knew he had realized that his closeness made her nervous. She halted, determined not to let him know that he could intimidate her that way, and turned to squarely face him. She lifted her chin, the expression in her green eyes cool and unruffled. It took a lot of effort, but she managed it.
"You won't for long. You've wasted your time and effort in coming back."
With gentle amusement she said, "Even you could have problems throwing me out of my own house."
His gaze sharpened as he glanced around the neat, cozy living room. "I bought it," she enlarged. "It isn't financed, it's mine free and clear."
He gave a harsh crack of laughter, startling her. "You must have divorced Mr. Hardy and taken him to the cleaners. Did you get everything he had?"
Faith stiffened. "As a matter of fact, I did. But I didn't divorce him."
"What did you do, snare yourself an old geezer who kicked off after a year or two? Did he have heirs you gypped out of their inheritance?"
Color fled her cheeks, leaving her as pale as a statue. "No, I snared myself a healthy young man of twenty-three, who died in a car accident before we'd been married a year."
His mouth tightened. "I'm sorry," he said gruffly. "I shouldn't have said that."
"No, you shouldn't have, but I've never noticed that concern for other's feelings has ever worried a Rouillard."
He gave a snort of derision. "A Devlin should be careful about throwing rocks in that particular glass house."
"I've never harmed anyone," she said with a bitter little smile. "I just got caught between the lines when the battle started."
"All innocence, hmmm? You were pretty young when all that happened, but I have a real good memory, and you were sashaying around in front of me and all those deputies, wearing your little thin nightgown that we could see through. Like mother, like daughter, I'd say."
Faith's eyes widened, full of outrage and horrified embarrassment, and color flooded back into her face. She took two quick steps forward and jabbed him in the chest with her forefinger. "Don't you dare throw that in my face!" she said, choking with rage. "I was dragged out of my bed in the middle of the night, and tossed into the yard like a piece of trash. Don't say it," she warned sharply, when he opened his mouth to retort that trash was exactly what she'd been, and jabbed him in the chest again. "Everything we owned was dumped out, my little brother was hysterical and wouldn't turn loose of me. What was I supposed to do, take time out to find some of my own clothes and retire into the woods to change? Why didn't you so-called decent men turn your backs, if you were seeing a little too much?"
He looked down into her furious face, his expression strangely arrested, then his eyes became more heavy-lidded and intent. He took hold of her hand, moving it away from his chest. He didn't release her, but kept her fingers folded against his hard, calloused palm. "You've got a little redheaded temper there, haven't you?" he asked with amusement.
His touch shocked her with a hot twinge of electricity. She tried to jerk her hand free, but he merely tightened his grip, effortlessly restraining her. "Now, don't get all in a pucker," he said lazily. "Maybe you thought I'd stand here and let you poke holes in me with your fingernail, but I have to be in a different mood to enjoy that."
Faith glared up at him. She could humiliate herself by giving in to the useless urge to struggle, or she could wait until he decided to release her. Her instincts were to struggle away from the disturbing heat of his touch, the surprising roughness of his palm, but she forced herself to stand still, sensing that he would enjoy watching her try to free herself. Then the sensual undertone of his comment registered, and her eyes widened as shock rippled through her. There was no mistaking his meaning this time.
"Smart girl," he said, his gaze sliding down to her breasts. He took his time, examining the shape of them beneath her silk, mint green shirt. She caught her breath, his gaze like an actual touch that made her breasts tingle. "You don't want to start a tussle with me that you can't win or do you? Your mama probably taught you that a man gets hard real quick when a woman starts wiggling against him. Did you come back thinking you might step into your mother's shoes? Do you want to be my whore, the way she was my dad's?"
Swift fury glittered in her eyes, and she swung her free hand with all her strength. Quick as a rattlesnake his other hand lashed out, blocking the blow and capturing that hand, too. He gave a low whistle at the force she had put into the swing. "Temper, temper," he chided, looking as if he were enjoying her anger. "Were you trying to knock my teeth out?"
"Yes!" she flared, gritting her teeth together and forgetting her determination to deny him the pleasure of a struggle. She jerked her hands, trying to twist free, and succeeded only in bruising her wrists. "Get out! Get out of my house."
He laughed down at her, easily reducing her to a standstill as he brought her hard against him. "What are you going to do, throw me out?"
She froze, alarmed to find that his reaction to a struggle was exactly what he'd said it would be. There was no mistaking the ridge pressed against her belly. She struck out with the only weapon left to her, her tongue. "If you'll let go of me, you Neanderthal, what I'll do is put ice on my wrists to stop them from turning black and blue!" she hotly retorted.
He looked down at his long fingers encircling her slender wrists, loosening his grip and scowling at the dark red marks that quickly formed. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, surprising her. He immediately released her. "You have skin like a baby."
She drew back, massaging her wrists and steadfastly refusing to look at the front of his trousers. That, too, could be ignored. "My guess is you didn't care if you hurt me. Now, get out."
"In a minute. I have a few things to say." * She gave him a cold look. "Then for God's sake, say them and leave."
Danger glittered in those dark eyes, and before she knew it, he was right in front of her again, almost playfully pinching her chin. "You're a ballsy little babe, aren't you? Maybe too ballsy for your own good. Don't take me on in a fight, sweet thing, because you'll get hurt. The best thing you can do is pack up your stuff and get out of here, just as fast as you moved in; I'll buy the house from you, for what you gave for it, so you won't be out anything. You aren't welcome here, and I don't want my mother and sister hurt by seeing you parading around as if nothing ever happened, bringing up that old scandal again and getting everybody upset. If you stay, if you force my hand, I can make things rough for you here, and you'll wind up getting hurt. You won't be able to get a job, and you'll find out damn fast that you don't have any friends here."
She jerked her chin away from him. "What will you do, burn me out?" she goaded. "I'm not a helpless fourteen-year-old anymore, and you'll find that it isn't as easy to bully me now. I'm here, and I'm staying."
"We'll see about that, won't we?" His hooded gaze dropped to her breasts again, and suddenly he grinned. "You're right about one thing: You're not fourteen anymore."
He walked out then, leaving Faith staring after him, her fists clenched with impotent anger, and panic clenching her stomach. She didn't want him to notice her as a woman, didn't want him to turn that hot, hooded gaze on her, because she wasn't certain of her ability to resist him. She felt sick at the thought of being like her mother, of being what he had taunted her with being, a whore for a Rouillard.
"Was it Renee?" Monica asked quietly, though she was drawn so tight that the tension was almost visible. She had called Gray from Morgan's grocery store, more upset than he had heard her in years, since the day he'd had to tell her that their father had left them for Renee Devlin, in fact. Monica had come a long way since then, but the haunted look in her eyes told Gray that the pain was still too close to the surface for her to be objective about it.
"No, but it was definitely a Devlin." He poured himself a finger of Scotch and tossed it back, then poured another finger, feeling that he needed it after another encounter with Faith Devlin. Faith Devlin Hardy, that is. A widow. A young, lovely, red-haired widow with so much fire in her that he'd wanted to check his hands for singe marks after touching her. He had disconcerted her a couple of times, but for the most part she exhibited a maddeningly cool confidence. She hadn't been the least bit worried by his threats, though she had to know he wasn't bluffing.
They were in the study, enjoying a before-dinner drink, at least Gray was. Alex was coming to dinner, and Noelle would be down soon, so Gray and Monica had gone into the study to have a few minutes of privacy for their discussion.
Monica looked blank. "It wasn't Renee? It looked just like her, as if she hadn't aged at all. She even looked younger. Oh I see." Comprehension dawned. "It was one of the girls, wasn't it?"
"The youngest one. Faith. She always looked more like Renee than any of the others."
"What's she doing here?"
"She says she's come back to stay."
Horror filled Monica's dark eyes. "She can't! Mother couldn't bear it! Alex has gotten her to come out of her shell a little, but if she hears any of the Devlins are back in town, there's no telling how far it will set her back. You'll have to get rid of her again, Gray."
Wryly he considered his Scotch, and finished it with one gulp. The whole town knew the story about him running the Devlin family out of the parish. It wasn't something he was particularly proud of, but neither did he regret it, and the incident had become enshrined as a sort of local legend. Monica hadn't been there, hadn't seen the ugliness; she knew only the results, not the process. She didn't have the memory seared into her brain. It was always with him: Faith's terror, the little boy's hysterical shrieks and pitiful attempts to cling to her, her desperate struggle to gather up their belongings... and the potent, uncomfortable lust with which the men had watched her, the night shadows Concealing her youth and revealing only her resemblance to her mother.
With a sharp little pang he realized that that night was a link between them, him and Faith, a bond forged by a common memory that couldn't be broken short of death. He had never really known her, and twelve years lay between then and now, and yet... he hadn't thought of her or treated her as a stranger. It was as if they had resumed an acquaintance of long standing. They weren't strangers; there was that night between them.
"Getting rid of her may be harder this time," he said abruptly. "She's bought the Cleburne place, and as she pointed out to me, I can't kick her off her own property."
"If she's buying it, there has to be some way to interfere with the mortgage "
"I didn't say she's buying it, I said she's bought it. There's a difference."
Monica frowned. "Where would a Devlin get that kind of money?"
"Probably life insurance. She's a widow. Her last name is Hardy now."
"How convenient for her," Monica said sarcastically.
"No, from what I gather, it wasn't," Gray said, seeing in his mind how pale Faith had gone when he had said much the same thing. He heard the doorbell ring, and Alex's voice as Oriane opened the door to him. Discussion time was over. He patted Monica's shoulder as they moved to the door. "I'll do what I can to make her leave, but it isn't a foregone conclusion. She isn't a typical Devlin."
No, not typical in any way. Even when she'd been a teenager, looking at her had been enough to get him hard. That hadn't changed. But she was also a more capable opponent than any of the rest of her family ever could have been. She was poised and intelligent, and seemed to have pulled herself, by whatever means, out of the gutters where her family had always lived. He respected her for that, but it didn't make any difference; she had to go. Monica was worried about what her presence would do to Noelle, but he was worried about what it would do to Monica as well.
They went out into the foyer as Noelle came gracefully down the stairs to greet Alex, offering her cheek for his kiss, allowing him to tuck her hand into the crook of his arm, small touches that she had seldom allowed her husband. Alex's devotion had been good for Noelle, soothing a bit the pain of her shattered self-confidence, but Gray wasn't so sure it had been good for Alex. His wife had died fifteen years before and he should have remarried; he'd been only forty-one at the time of her death. Perhaps he would have, in time, but then Guy had left, and Alex, good friend that he was, had devoted himself to helping the Rouillards through the crisis. Even after receiving the letter of proxy, it had taken Gray a good two years to consolidate his position, and Alex had been right there, sitting up through all-night strategy sessions, becoming a sort of surrogate father to Monica, gradually cajoling Noelle out of her total depression. He had fallen painfully in love with Noelle, a fact to which she seemed oblivious.
He should have seen it coming, Gray thought, watching his mother. She was still incredibly lovely, in a cool, classic way that would appeal to Alex's romanticism. Her dark hair was only lightly grayed, and it was remarkably becoming. Her skin was still smooth and unwrinkled, though somehow there was no mistaking her age. There was no youth in her, no lightness of spirit, and sadness always lurked in the depths of her blue eyes. Looking at his mother, at Monica, at Alex, Gray savagely damned his father for what he had done.
As Alex seated Noelle, he said to Gray, "I heard a curious rumor today, about one of the Devlins." Monica froze, her anxious gaze darting to Noelle, who had gone still and pale. Alex didn't see Gray's sharp, warning motion. "I ran into Ed Morgan, and it seems one of the girls has moved back to town."
Alex straightened, his eyes levelly meeting Gray's, and Gray realized that Alex had chosen not to see his warning. He had deliberately brought up the subject, forcing Noelle to confront it. He had done that a few times before, talking about Guy when Noelle recoiled from any mention of her husband. Perhaps it was the right thing to do; God knows, Alex had been able to get more response from Noelle than either Gray or Monica had ever managed.
Noelle's hand fluttered toward her throat. "Moved... back?"
"It's the youngest daughter, Faith," Gray said, keeping his voice calm. "She's bought the old Cleburne place and moved into it."
"No." Noelle turned her agonized gaze on her son. "I can't I can't bear it."
"Of course you can," Alex said comfortably, taking his seat. "You don't go out or talk to any of the townspeople, so you'll never see her or know anything about her. There's no reason for you to be upset."
Gray leaned back in his chair, controlling a slight smile. He and Monica tended to handle Noelle with kid gloves; he couldn't help it, even when she frustrated the hell out of him. Alex had no such compunction. He was relentless in his efforts to completely pry her out of her shell and back into society. Probably he was right to bring the subject into the open, and Gray's and Monica's inclinations were too protective.
Noelle shook her head, still looking at Gray. "I don't want her here," she said, openly pleading. "People will talk... it will all be rehashed again, and I can't bear it."
"You won't know anything about it," Alex said.
She shuddered. "I don't have to hear it to know it's going on."
No, she probably didn't. Anyone who had ever lived in a small town would know all too well how gossip was recycled, and nothing was ever forgotten.
"Please," she said to Gray, blue eyes haunted. "Make her leave."
Gray sipped his wine, carefully expressionless. He was getting damn tired of the way people thought he could wave a magic wand and make people disappear. Short of kidnapping or murder, all he could do was make things as uncomfortable for Faith as possible. He had no legal ground this time, no charge of trespass, no family of drunks and thieves the sheriff had been glad to escort out of his parish. What he had was one young woman, stubbornly determined to stand her ground.
"It won't be easy," he said.
"But you have so much influence... with the sheriff, the bank "
"She hasn't opened an account at the bank, and the sheriff can't do anything unless she breaks a law. So far, she hasn't." She wouldn't be opening an account at his bank, either, he realized. She was too smart. She had known exactly what she would be facing when she moved back to Prescott, otherwise she wouldn't have bought the Cleburne place outright. She had taken steps to limit what moves he could make against her. He had to respect her as an opponent, for her foresight. She had definitely made things more difficult for him. He would check around, use his sources to try to verify that she had indeed paid for the house rather than financing it, but he suspected she had been telling the truth.
"There must be something," Noelle said desperately.
Gray arched his brows. "I draw the line at murder," he drawled.
"Gray!" Shocked, she stared at him. "I wasn't suggesting anything of the sort!"
"Then we may have to get used to the idea of her living here. I can make things damned inconvenient for her, but that's about it. And I don't want anyone getting any bright ideas about having her physically harassed," he said, giving both Monica and Noelle a hard look, just in case the thought had occurred to either of them. It wasn't likely, but he didn't intend to take the chance. "If we can get rid of her my way, fine, but I won't have her hurt." He didn't question this odd protectiveness on behalf of a Devlin. Faith had had enough pain and fear in her life, he thought, remembering the terrified girl caught in the glare of a semicircle of headlights.
"As if we'd do anything like that," Monica said, insulted.
"I didn't think you would, but I didn't want to leave the matter open to question."
Delfina brought in the first course, a creamy cucumber soup, and by mutual consent the subject was dropped, to Gray's amusement. There wasn't anything going on in the house that Oriane and Delfina didn't know almost as soon as it happened, but Noelle and Monica both adhered to the old stricture against personal conversation in front of the servants. He doubted that anyone who worked for them considered him or herself a "servant," especially Delfina. She had worked there for as long as he could remember, and had whacked his hands with a wooden spoon whenever she'd caught him trying to sneak one of the petit fours she baked for Noelle's luncheons.
Monica began telling Alex about an interesting documentary she'd seen on television. Gray glanced at Noelle to make a comment, and stilled when he saw the tears gliding silently down her cheeks. She was calmly eating her soup, the spoon dipping and lifting in graceful rhythm, and all the while she was crying.
Alex joined Gray in the study after dinner, and they discussed business for half an hour before Gray said wryly, "Monica and I had decided not to tell Mother about Faith."
Alex grimaced. "I figured as much. I know it isn't my place to butt in " Gray snorted, bringing a quick grin to Alex's face before he resumed. "But she can't keep hiding from the world forever."
"Can't she? She's been giving it a damn good try for the past twelve years."
"If she won't go to the world, I've decided to bring the world to her. Maybe she'll see that, if she can't escape it, she might as well join it."
"Good luck," Gray said, and meant it.
Alex gave him a curious look. "Are you really going to make Faith leave?"
Gray leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk, lounging like a sleepy panther, relaxed but still dangerous. "I'm damn sure going to try, but I told Mother the truth. Legally, there isn't a lot I can do."
"Why not leave the girl alone?" Alex asked, and sighed. "I'd say she's had a rough enough life as it is, without folks deliberately trying to make trouble for her."
"Have you seen her?"
"No, why?"
"She looks enough like Renee to be her twin," Gray said. "Just being a Devlin is bad enough, but looking the way she does..." He shook his head. "She's going to stir up a lot of memories, and not just in my family. Renee Devlin got around."
"I still say give her a chance," Alex argued. "If she's trying to make something of herself, it would be a shame to stand in her way."
Gray shook his head. "I have to think of Mother and Monica. They're more important to me than a little piece of white trash trying to make good."
Alex regarded him with disappointment. Gray was a hard man and a dangerous enemy, but he'd always been fair. Guy's disappearance had thrust him headlong into a situation wherein responsibility for the family's financial, as well as emotional, well-being had been dumped on his young shoulders. Gray had been a cheerful, happy-go-lucky hell-raiser until then, but overnight he had changed into a much harder, more ruthless man. His sense of humor still bordered on the bawdy and outrageous, when he indulged in humor, but for the most part he was far more serious. Gray was a man who knew the extent of his power, and didn't shrink from using it. If Guy had been respected in the financial community, Gray was regarded with the awe and caution one would afford a marauder.
"You're too protective," Alex finally said. "Noelle and Monica won't collapse if Faith Devlin lives in Prescott. They won't like it, but they'll learn to live with it."
Gray shrugged. Maybe hell, probably he was too protective, but Alex wasn't the one who had watched Monica nearly bleed to death, or seen how total Noelle's emotional collapse had been. By the time Alex had become involved in cajoling Noelle out of her room, at least she'd been talking again, and feeding herself.
"I give up," Alex said, shaking his head. "You'll do whatever you want, anyway. But think about it, and maybe cut the girl some slack."
Later that night, sitting alone in the study with his feet still propped on the desk in his usual position, while he read a financial report on some stocks he'd bought, Gray found it difficult to concentrate. It wasn't the Scotch; he had poured himself a drink when he had begun doing paperwork, over two hours before, and most of the liquor was still in the glass. The fact was, he couldn't get the problem of Faith Devlin out of his mind. Noelle's silent tears had reached him in a way nothing she could have said would have. If Faith didn't deserve to be hurt again, neither did his mother or sister. They had been innocent victims too, and Monica had almost died. He couldn't forget that, and he couldn't see them upset without trying to do something about it.
And it was a fact that if Faith Hardy stayed in Prescott, Noelle and Monica would be even more hurt and upset than they were now.
Gray stared broodingly at the level of Scotch in the glass. Maybe if he drank it, he could forget how warm and vital Faith had felt under his hands, how that sweet, spicy scent of hers had gone straight to his head and made him dizzy with lust. Maybe if he drank the whole goddamn bottle, he could forget about the urge to plunge his hands into the fire of her hair to see if it burned him, or the hunger to taste the wide, full bloom of her lips. He thought of her skin, so fine-grained and translucent that he marked her with the lightest touch; her breasts, high and round, the peaks of her nipples discernible even beneath her bra. She had it, the same indefinable quality Renee had possessed, an effortless sensuality that drew men to her like a lodestone. Faith wasn't as blatant about it as Renee had been; she had toned it down with better clothes, but the quality had merely been refined, not diluted. What Faith Hardy looked like was a classy lady who loved a long, hard ride in bed, and damn if he didn't want to give it to her.
If she didn't leave, it was likely that the residents of Prescott were going to be shocked out of their small-town minds, and Noelle ten times more upset than she was now, by the spectacle of another Rouillard man having a hot and heavy aiFair with a Devlin woman.