Wild About A Texan

A slow grin lifted one corner of his sensual mouth, a mouth that had haunted her for months after their encounter. She still remembered the taste of it, the feel of it on—

“Not likely, darlin’,” he said in a slow drawl as he ran a knuckle along her jawline.

Her spine started to soften, then Olivia caught herself and stiffened her resolve. She wasn’t going to fall into his trap again. There wasn’t room for a man in her plans. Certainly not a man like Jackson.

“Forget it,” she snapped. There will never be a repeat performance. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She tried to push past him, but he blocked her way.

“Not so fast,” he said, pinning her between his arms and the wall. “Now that I’ve found you, I’m not about to let you get away….”

Dear Reader,

Celebrate the rites of spring with six new passionate, powerful and provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!

Reader favorite Anne Marie Winston’s Billionaire Bachelors: Stone, our March MAN OF THE MONTH, is a classic marriage-of-convenience story, in which an overpowering attraction threatens a platonic arrangement. And don’t miss the third title in Desire’s glamorous in-line continuity DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS, The Sheikh Takes a Bride by Caroline Cross, as sparks fly between a sexy-as-sin sheikh and a feisty princess.

In Wild About a Texan by Jan Hudson, the heroine falls for a playboy millionaire with a dark secret. Her Lone Star Protector by Peggy Moreland continues the TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE LAST BACHELOR series, as an unlikely love blossoms between a florist and a jaded private eye.

A night of passion produces major complications for a doctor and the social worker now carrying his child in Dr. Destiny, the final title in Kristi Gold’s miniseries MARRYING AN M.D. And an ex-marine who discovers he’s heir to a royal throne must choose between his kingdom and the woman he loves in Kathryn Jensen’s The Secret Prince.

Kick back, relax and treat yourself to all six of these sexy new Desire romances!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Wild About a Texan

Jan Hudson

MILLS & BOON

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JAN HUDSON,

a winner of the Romance Writers of America RITA Award, is a native Texan who lives with her husband in historically rich Nacogdoches, the oldest town in Texas. Formerly a licensed psychologist, she taught college psychology for over a decade before becoming a full-time author. Jan loves to write fast-paced stories laced with humor, fantasy and adventure, and with bold characters who reach beyond the mundane and celebrate life.

This one is for all the loyal readers who have been asking for and eagerly awaiting Jackson and Olivia’s story.

Also, special thanks go to Carolyn Lampman for SSS/IS and to Buddy Temple, former Texas Railroad Commissioner.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Prologue

He woke suddenly, his heart hammering against his chest. He rolled over and reached for her, but the place where she had lain was empty. Something told him that she was long gone, but Jackson strode through the suite shouting her name. The only sign that she had been there was the second champagne glass beside his on the nightstand.

Cursing, he grabbed the phone and called her room.

“Miss Emory has checked out, sir,” the operator told him.

“Checked out? When?”

“I don’t know. Would you like the desk?”

“Yeah.”

He cursed some more while he waited, turned the air even bluer when he found out that it was ten o’clock in the morning and she had a three-hour head start on him.

Ten o’clock? He never slept that late. Then he remembered that they hadn’t done much sleeping the night before. God, he hadn’t been able to get enough of her. He’d never met anyone quite like Olivia, never experienced such a powerful connection with any woman. He’d known from the minute he saw her at the first prewedding shindig that she was a special lady. And he’d known that he wasn’t the only one aware of the chemistry between Irish Ellison’s bridesmaid and Kyle Rutledge’s groomsman. Everybody had seemed to notice.

Trouble was, he hadn’t been able to get Olivia alone; they had always been surrounded by people—and she had seemed to prefer it that way. In fact, she’d been feisty as a fractious filly when he’d tried to move in on her and cut her from the herd, telling him in no uncertain terms to get lost. But Jackson hadn’t let that stop him. God may have shorted him a bit on brains, but he’d made up for it with luck and determination. And Jackson was determined to have Olivia Emory, sass and all.

He had already been making plans to take her back to Texas with him, and damned if she hadn’t run off. Well, she wasn’t going to get away from him that easy. She couldn’t run far enough or fast enough.

Snatching his tuxedo pants from the bedpost, he yanked them on and pulled on his dress boots. He let loose another string of oaths when he couldn’t find the studs to his shirt. He grabbed a Dallas Cowboy jersey from a drawer and dragged it over his head as he made for the elevator.

Outside, when Jackson flagged a taxi, he saw that snow was really coming down hard. The cab driver earned his extra twenty bucks, but the few minutes he shaved off the ride to the Akron airport didn’t help. Jackson discovered that Olivia’s plane had left two hours before he had arrived, and now the runways were shut down. A mean snowstorm was moving in, and all the major airports in the area were closing. He tried to charter a plane or a chopper, but everything was grounded until the storm passed.

The ride back to the hotel was slower, and Jackson felt as if somebody had broken both his ankles and thrown him in a hole. He was miserable. Truth was, he had fallen for Olivia Emory—fallen hard.

Strange that he’d zeroed in on her. Even though she was a beautiful woman, she wasn’t the type he usually chose. Olivia was a bright lady with a string of letters after her name, and he was dumber than a barrel of horseshoes—coming from a family of smart go-getters, he’d figured that out when he was just a kid. And he’d never cared much for women who played hard to get; there were too many willing ones to put out the effort to chase one.

She was rare. He’d known it instantly.

He had watched her relentlessly the entire weekend of his cousin Kyle’s wedding, for, despite her words, he’d known sure as the dickens that she felt the same sparks sizzling between them that he did. Still, she wouldn’t even let him hold her close when they danced at the wedding reception. She acted prissier than Miss Culbertson, his third-grade teacher.

They were waltzing with a yard of daylight between them when everything suddenly changed. She started to shake, then plastered herself against him. “Dance me over to the side door,” she’d said. “And let’s get out of here.”

“Are you sick or something?”

She shook her head.

He didn’t question the shift in her attitude again. He chalked it up to his famous good luck—or maybe his charm had finally worn her down. He had danced her to the exit; they left. They found a quiet supper club a few blocks away where they ate and drank champagne and talked.

And laughed. God, how they had laughed. He’d loved the way she laughed, deep and throaty. Sexy as hell. He told every funny story he could think of just to hear the sound of it. Then the banter changed to plain conversation. He couldn’t remember when he’d enjoyed just talking to a woman so much.

Back at the hotel, he’d kissed her in the elevator. When the door opened at his floor, they had gone to his suite together as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Making love with her had been unbelievable. Beyond his wildest dreams.

Now she was gone. He was heartsick.

And colder than a well-digger’s butt.

It was freezing outside, and it finally dawned on him that he wasn’t wearing a coat. Damn, if that woman hadn’t turned him inside out!

He hadn’t even taken his room key with him. When he stopped by his desk for another, the clerk handed him an envelope.

“What’s this?” Jackson asked, frowning.

“A message for you, sir.”

Jackson ripped open the envelope and squinted at the contents. The words danced and blurred; he cursed, crushed the paper in his fist and strode to the elevator.

He was going to D.C. even if he had to hire a bulldozer to get there.

One

This is a mistake, Olivia thought as she sat on the back pew of the Dallas church filled with white flowers and wedding guests.

She should never have let her friend Irish talk her into coming to her sister’s wedding. Weddings were a jinx. If she had simply driven straight to Austin and not stopped by Irish’s house, she wouldn’t have been in this predicament. But she had, and she was.

The moment she saw him waiting at the altar with his brother and the others, she’d known that she’d been lying to herself for the past year and a half. Her insides twisted and her throat tightened. The feelings were still there. Just the sight of him churned bittersweet longings deep within her.

Suddenly, the floral fragrance turned cloying, the crowd oppressive. Her survival instincts, honed from years of experience, screamed at her to flee.

Just as she started to rise, the music swelled and every eye turned toward the aisle. Too late. The first bridesmaid appeared in the archway.

Olivia felt her skin prickle, and she knew that he’d spotted her. She tried not to look at him, but her gaze lifted as if responding to a command, and their eyes met. For a moment they stared at each other. Her defenses crumbled; music and people disappeared; time was suspended.

Then he grinned and winked one wicked dark eye. Who else but Jackson Crow would flirt with a woman in the middle of a wedding? He would probably still be flirting with women at his own wedding.

Damn him. Damn his strength, and damn her weakness. And her stupidity for coming today. Another person might offer all sorts of excuses, but Olivia couldn’t hide behind the comfort of denial. She was a psychologist—or soon would be. Like the proverbial moth to a flame, she’d come to the wedding because she wanted to see Jackson again.

With tremendous effort, she forced herself to pay attention to the bride’s entrance, to the wedding ceremony. Eve Ellison, Irish’s younger sister, was exquisite in her simple satin and lace gown. Matt Crow, Jackson’s younger brother, looked at his bride with such tenderness that Olivia felt her eyes sting. Irish, radiant with the recent news of her pregnancy, was matron-of-honor, and Dr. Kyle Rutledge, her plastic surgeon husband, was a groomsman.

Despite her best efforts, Olivia heard little of the vows. Her attention vacillated between watching Jackson and glancing anxiously toward the exit. She didn’t want to disturb the ceremony by leaving, but she didn’t want to face Jackson either. As soon as the church cleared, she would sneak out a side door, take a taxi back to Irish and Kyle’s house, and—

Rats! She didn’t have a key to the house.

“You may kiss the bride.”

She glanced up from the tissue she had shredded in her lap to find the couple in an embrace and Jackson staring at her. She stuffed the shredded scraps into her purse and clutched the small bag with both hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Crow.”

The couple beamed; the crowd stood; laughter and applause broke out. The organ began to play, and the wedding party started down the aisle. As Jackson and Irish approached, Olivia studied one of the stained-glass windows and tried not to hyperventilate.

She waited until every single guest had cleared the pews, then hurried to a side door and flung it open.

There, leaning casually against a wall, stood Jackson Crow.

“Going somewhere, darlin’?”

“I—I’m looking for the ladies’ room.”

Looking amused, he stepped to one side, revealing the sign on the door behind him. “There it is. I’ll wait for you.”

“No need,” she said with forced gaiety. “I know that you have best-man duties, photographs and such.”

“I’ll wait.”

Once inside, she delayed as long as she could, using cold compresses on her face, then reapplying the lipstick she’d nibbled away during the service. Finally, with no other reasonable options, she straightened her shoulders and opened the door.

A lazy smile broke over his face as his gaze scanned her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Do you know how long and hard I looked for you after you left Akron in such an all-fired hurry? Where’d you get off to?”

“I went home to Washington.”

“I mean after that. I was in D.C. by midnight, and you’d already hightailed it for parts unknown. I did everything but call out the hounds to find you.”

“I went to visit a friend in Colorado—not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Damn right it’s my concern. After that night—”

“I’d rather forget that weekend, Jackson. I…I don’t know what possessed me to— Well, I’m ordinarily much more sensible. It must have been the champagne. I’m not much of a drinker, and—” Realizing that she was blathering and that he was amused at her discomfort, she stopped and drew a deep breath. “I would appreciate it if you would be a gentleman and forget that night ever happened.”

A slow grin lifted one corner of his sensual mouth, a mouth that had haunted her for months after their encounter. She still remembered the taste of it, the feel of it on—

“Not likely, darlin’,” he said in a slow drawl as he ran a knuckle along her jawline. “Even though my mama did her best to raise a gentleman, nothing’s wrong with my memory.”

Her spine started to unravel, then Olivia caught herself and stiffened her resolve. She wasn’t going to fall into his trap again. There wasn’t room for a man in her plans. Certainly not a man like Jackson. If she hadn’t been so terrified when she’d spied her ex-husband across the dance floor, she would never have left with Jackson that night. But she’d been so shocked to realize that Thomas had found her that she’d acted impulsively, thinking only of escape and of Jackson as a heaven-sent protector.

“You might as well forget it,” she snapped. “There will never be a repeat performance. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She tried to push past him, but he blocked her way.

“Not so fast,” he said, pinning her between his arms and the wall. “Now that I’ve found you again, darlin’, I’m not about to let you get away this time.”

A door opened down the hall, and Jackson’s grandfather stuck his head out. “Jackson—” He gave a little hoot. “Might have known you’d have a pretty woman cornered somewhere. ’Scuse me, ma’am, but, Jackson, you’d better get in there or your mama’s gonna skin you alive.”

“I’ll be there in a minute, Grandpa Pete.”

“Please go ahead,” Olivia said.

“I’m afraid if I leave you might cut and run.”

Jackson’s grandfather, known to everyone as Cherokee Pete, ambled toward them. Well into his eighties, he was still ramrod straight, and merriment danced in his dark eyes. With his long gray braids, he reminded Olivia of Willie Nelson in a tuxedo.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” Pete said, “if it isn’t Olivia Emory. How are you, young lady?”

She smiled and held out her hand. “It’s Olivia Moore now, and I’m fine, Mr. Beamon.”

“Moore?” Jackson said sharply. “Are you married?”

“None of that Mr. Beamon stuff,” Pete said, both he and Olivia ignoring Jackson’s question. “Despite this monkey suit, I’m still just plain Cherokee Pete. Get along, Jackson. I’ll take care of Olivia until you’re through with the picture taking.”

Jackson didn’t budge. “Are you married?”

She started to lie. Lying would have solved a multitude of problems, but something in his tone wrung the truth from her. She sighed and shook her head.

“Then why the name change?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“No, you ain’t,” Pete said. “Jackson, get going. You can jaw about this later.” After Pete shooed his grandson away, he tucked Olivia’s arm through his. “Little lady, how about you and me mosey on over to the reception? There’s plenty of room in that fancy limousine out front, and I’ll be the envy of every man in the room if I show up with such a beautiful woman on my arm. You wouldn’t deprive me of that pleasure, now would you?” He patted her hand and smiled in a manner so charming and infectious that she couldn’t help but return it.

“You’re a shameless flirt, Pete Beamon. Now I know where your grandsons get their charm.”

His grin widened and he winked. “Taught ’em everything they know. Come along, Miss Olivia. On the way to that highfalutin restaurant they reserved, you can tell me why your name is Moore now. I’m a mite curious myself. So you didn’t get remarried?”

“Not likely. Even though I’ve been divorced for three years, I just decided to take back my maiden name.” That wasn’t precisely the truth, but she’d decided that it was the simplest explanation. Actually, Moore was a name she’d picked from a phone book in Durango.

Pete nodded. “Decided to scrap the name of the sorry scoundrel you got shed of.”

“How did you know my ex-husband was a sorry scoundrel?”

“Just stands to reason. If he amounted to anything, you’d still be married to him. If you ask me, he was a blamed fool to let go of a woman like you.”

If he only would let go, Olivia thought as they neared one of the limousines waiting at the curb.

“Glad to know you’re single,” Pete said as he helped her into the car. “Seems Jackson’s taken quite a shine to you, and I’ve got a proposition to make.”

“A proposition?”

“Yep. Nothing I ever wanted more than for my four grandsons to find a good wife and settle down to raising a family. I was mighty tickled when Kyle hooked up with Irish and when Matt and Eve got together, though both of those pairs had some rough spots, let me tell you. That makes two down and two to go. Now it’s about time that Jackson, being the oldest, got himself hitched to that very particular woman he finally found. I can tell he’s ready.”

“Ready?” Olivia felt her chest clutch and her face go warm. “Who’s the very particular woman?”

“Why,” Pete said, “you are.”

“Me?” Her voice went up an octave.

He nodded. “Irish speaks very highly of you, and I can tell Jackson’s taken with you. He was like a bear with a sore paw when he lost track of you. Scoured the woods good for your whereabouts, kept looking for the longest time. Hired a passel of people to help, too. In my book that makes you a special lady. Now, here’s my proposition. If you’ll marry Jackson, I’ll give you two million dollars on your wedding day.”

Dumbstruck, Olivia could only gape at Pete. She knew that the old man, despite his folksy talk and simple ways, was enormously wealthy and could well afford what he was offering. She just couldn’t believe that he was actually making the offer. Finally she managed to stammer, “Two million dollars? Ma—marry Jackson? Me? You’re kidding.”

“Nope, I’m dead serious. I just handed Eve her two for marrying Matt.”

“But, Pete, that’s ludicrous! I certainly wouldn’t marry your grandson for two million dollars.”

The old man sighed. “Well, truth to tell, Jackson would be a handful for any woman to put up with—not that he’s lacking in character, you understand. He’s a fine boy. But he’s the oldest, and I’d like to see him under the steadying hand of somebody who could see through all his hoorah. It’s past time for him to give up his wild ways and settle down. You strike me as the perfect person to tame him, you being a psychologist and all. Irish tells me that you’re a real smart lady.”

“Too smart to want to marry Jackson Crow. I’m not interested in taming him, nor am I in the market for a husband, thank you very much.”

“Now don’t you decide too quick. Take some time and think about it. It would mean a lot to me to see that boy happy. Why, I’ll even up the ante to five million if need be.”

Two

Jackson didn’t wait for any of the family. As soon as the photographer snapped the last picture, he took off like his tail was on fire. He must have broken every speed limit between the church and the restaurant on Turtle Creek, but he didn’t care. He aimed to find Olivia fast. The notion that she might skip out again had him in a cold sweat.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she had affected him so, but something about Olivia had turned him seven ways to sundown. Even after a year and a half, he still thought about her all the time. Maybe he’d built her up into some kind of goddess with no good reason. Maybe if he spent a little time with her he’d find that she was just an ordinary woman, nothing like the person he remembered.

Maybe—

But when he walked into the reception and saw Olivia standing with Grandpa Pete, all the maybes disappeared. Just looking at her made his heart swell in his chest until it hurt, and he felt a big grin spread over his face. Lord, she was beautiful. Long legs, lush body, lips that begged to be kissed and big bedroom eyes that he wanted to dive into.

Beautiful, absolutely. But there was something else about her that grabbed him by the throat, something he couldn’t quite define or understand. It was the kind of thing that some people wrote poems about, except he couldn’t write a poem if his life depended on it. Every time he was around Olivia, an old memory popped up. She reminded him of a bird he’d once encountered. A blue jay.

When he’d been about ten or eleven years old, he’d received an air rifle for Christmas, something he’d been begging for. He’d half listened to the usual lecture about safety, thinking he knew just what to do. After all, he’d been shooting Scooter Franklin’s rifle for nearly a year. Feeling very mature and full of himself, he’d gone into the woods behind Grandpa Pete’s store with the rifle and hung a target on a tree.

When the paper bull’s-eye had been shot to shreds, he looked around for another target. He tried a few pine cones on a fence post. Easy stuff. That’s when he spied the jay. Without half thinking, he took aim and pulled the trigger.

The bird fell to the ground, and Jackson had rushed to view his prey. But the jay wasn’t dead; it was only wounded, and it flapped around the ground with a bum wing. Suddenly feeling like a dirty dog for what he’d done, Jackson had tried to pick it up, thinking to take it somewhere for help. The bird wouldn’t let him near. It pecked and squawked and fought him until Jackson’s hands were bloody and he was in tears. Finally, he’d taken off his shirt and thrown it over the jay to capture it. Held close, it had calmed.