Fit for a King. Diana Palmer

winced. “A nice girl? Thanks awfully. I like you, too.”

      She turned, picked up her clothes from the chair and headed toward the bathroom.

      “You can’t dress in front of me?” he asked unexpectedly, watching her from his relaxed position against the door.

      She glanced up at him. “No,” she confessed with a somewhat wobbly laugh. “I’m not quite as liberated as I might seem. I—I’ve never undressed in front of a man in my life, except for my family physician.”

      The confession seemed to shock him. “Never?” he asked.

      “Never,” she emphasized, knowing exactly what she was revealing to him.

      He scowled. Because of her physical aloofness, he’d somehow taken it for granted that she’d been hurt in love somehow. To think of her as a virgin was vaguely disturbing.

      “Why?” he asked with charasteristic bluntness. “Did something happen to you?”

      “My father’s a minister, remember? And he and my mother were missionaries to Brazil when I was growing up. Try being Ms. Liberation in that kind of atmosphere. I dare you.”

      He was learning more about her in minutes than he’d learned in two years. He studied her intently, his gaze taking in what he could see of her body in that very revealing gown. Her breasts were full and 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 Indian, 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 jump suit 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 Indian 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 jump suit 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 dryly. “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 there and convince Bess we’re lovers.”

      “All right, then, how’s this?” She ran her hand roughly through her hair.

      He shook his head. “Not good enough.” His eyes dropped to her soft mouth, and for the first time in their relationship he wondered how it would feel to have that soft mouth under his lips.

      She felt his strong fingers bite into her waist, and her eyes widened. “Hold it, now, big fella,” she cautioned gently. “I’m not on the menu, remember?”

      His eyebrows rose curiously. “Are you afraid of me, tidbit?” he asked in a tone he’d never used before. It was deep and slow and sultry, like the look in his dark, faintly amused eyes.

      “That doesn’t enter into it,” she replied. “I won’t let you use me for real. I won’t substitute for your sister-in-law, King.”

      His face hardened. “I don’t recall asking you to,” he returned curtly, releasing her.

      “Good. As long as it’s just an act, we’ll get along fine,” she said sweetly, although her legs were wobbling from his unexpected nearness. She could almost drown in that heady, expensive cologne of his, which clung to her skin from just that brief contact with him. The situation was far too intimate, and she quickly changed the subject to divert them both. “Is Bobby anything like you?” she asked. “I’ve never met him, you know. They were always back in Oklahoma when I was down here.”

      “We don’t look a lot alike,” he mused after a minute, finishing his cigarette. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

      She forced a smile. “Don’t worry so much,” she said, attempting to ease his obvious anxiety. “They’ll leave soon, and you’ll get your life back together.”

      With a rough sigh, he put out the cigarette and stuck his hands into his pockets. “I hate being in this position,” he said unexpectedly, glaring toward the door.

      “Doesn’t your brother pay her any attention at all?” she asked quietly.

      “He’s very competitive,” he replied. “He doesn’t like running a close second to me. He never has. With the oil glut bringing the