firm-looking, her minuscule waist flared into nicely rounded hips, and she had long, nicely shaped legs. Her face was lovely. And that teasing, provocative air of hers, he realized, was pretty false at times. Remembering that he’d seen her actually back away when men came too close physically, he regarded her thoughtfully.
“No wonder,” he mumbled.
“No wonder what?” she echoed.
“Well, I’d always thought of you as sophisticated,” he mused, thinking of her occasional flirtatiousness. “You certainly don’t act like a virgin. And yet—”
“How does a virgin act, for heaven’s sake?” she broke in. “Stand on the edge of a volcano and jump in?”
Despite the seriousness of his current predicament, King found himself laughing, and it dawned on him that he laughed more with Elissa than he ever had in his life. But then, his path hadn’t been an easy one. Part Native American, he’d grown up fighting two worlds. Most people didn’t even know that he and Bobby had different fathers. Bobby’s was a Texas oilman who’d left his business equally to both boys. King’s father was a full-blooded Apache whose ill-fated attempt to fit into his wife’s social set had been a disaster. A marriage of rich and poor might make good novels, but it was hard work in real life. Eventually, King’s father had walked out the door in the middle of one too many cocktail parties and vanished. King had never seen him again. His mother had remarried, and when Bobby came along, there seemed to be little affection left for the elder son. He learned to fight his own battles, because he got no coddling. He’d spent his whole life fighting. He guessed that in many ways he was still fighting.
“You almost never laugh,” Elissa pointed out, holding her jumpsuit against her breasts.
“Oh, now and again I do. With you.” He smiled. “Go get dressed, walking sacrifice. I’ll wait out here.”
She studied him quietly, curious about the worn expression on his face. More than Bess was troubling him, she sensed. She wondered briefly if being the product of two worlds ever bothered him. She knew about his Native American ancestry; in her typical outspoken fashion she’d once asked him why he was so dark. He’d given her the answer abruptly and changed the subject, clearly unwilling to discuss it. She sighed. What an enigma. She smiled back at him and went into the bathroom to change.
She put on one of her own creations, a slinky black jumpsuit with a red bodice and single strappy sleeve, and ran a brush through her long hair. She probably wouldn’t wear the outfit around anybody except King. Another part of her fantasy life, she thought, and grinned at her reflection. She realized then that her lipstick was in her purse, so she went back into the bedroom to get it.
“Oh, fudge,” she muttered, fumbling through the contents. “I don’t even have a lipstick.” She lifted her eyebrows in a speaking look, expecting him to read her mind, as usual. And he did.
“Sorry, I never use the stuff myself,” he said drily. “Do you really need one?” he asked, shouldering himself away from the door, a cigarette in his hand. He didn’t often smoke, but tonight was unsettling him.
“Your sexy sister-in-law will be sure to notice if I don’t make myself as beautiful as possible,” she teased.
He came close to her, towering over her and letting his eyes wander with uncharacteristic boldness down her slender body. “If you’d put lipstick on,” he murmured, “probably I’d have kissed it off by now, don’t you think?”
Her heart jumped up into her throat at the unfamiliar look in those dark eyes. They searched her face, only to drop and linger on her full breasts, and suddenly she wished her neckline were a bit higher. He hadn’t seemed to notice her body in the very revealing nightgown, but he was unusually attentive now.
“We shouldn’t keep your sister-in-law waiting,” she said. For the first time, he was making her nervous. Eyeing him warily, she walked around him, her composure starting to shatter. As usual, when a man came on too strong, she began to draw into her shell.
His lean hand shot out unexpectedly, and he drew her toward him, clamping her waist so that she couldn’t move away.
That proximity was new and a little frightening, and she looked up into his dark eyes uncomprehendingly. “What are you doing?” she asked nervously.
“Trying to ruffle you a little,” he murmured darkly. “You’re too neat and pretty to go out