Diana Palmer Collected 1-6: Soldier of Fortune / Tender Stranger / Enamored / Mystery Man / Rawhide and Lace / Unlikely Lover

He stopped beside the car and turned her to him, looking down into her troubled face. “I’ll be honest with you, because anything less would cheat us both. I did feel a sense of loss when the others left without me, because in Guatemala I had a taste of the old, wild life and it brought back memories of days when I had more freedom than I have now. But I’m a realist, Gabby. Matthew said he told you, before we left Guatemala, that I’d gone too far to come back to them, to their way of life.” She nodded and he touched her mouth softly with his fingers. “He was right. I’ve built a future for myself, for you. I’ve invested too much of my life in building it to throw it away for a little excitement. Besides,” he murmured, lifting her slender hand to his chest and pressing it hard, “there are different levels of excitement.”

His eyes studied hers with an intensity that made her knees go weak. He slid her fingers inside his vest, against his white shirt, letting her feel the warmth of his skin and the thunder of his pulse.

“You have the same effect on me that being caught under fire does,” he whispered huskily, moving her fingers across one hard male nipple. “Except that you’re a little less dangerous than a bullet.”

“Only a little?” she whispered back, moving close, so that she could feel the length of his body touching hers.

His dark head bent and his mouth hovered just above hers. His hand moved between them to stroke one soft, high breast. It immediately went taut; his nostrils flared and his eyes burned with undisguised hunger.

“Are you afraid to have sex with me?” he whispered.

Her face flushed, but she didn’t drop her eyes. “No. I love you,” she whispered. “And it won’t be sex. It will be…loving.”

His mouth parted hers softly, sensuously. “In broad daylight, Gabby,” he breathed.

“Yes, I know,” she murmured, meeting his lips hungrily. “We can watch each other.”

He looked into her eyes and saw the wildest kind of jungle there. He bent and caught her against him, kissing her hungrily and hard, feeling her response. He could hardly catch his breath when he finally lifted his head. “I don’t need to go looking for adventure anymore. Not while I have you,” he said gruffly. “A woman with an adventurous heart is excitement enough for me.”

“Take me home, Jacob,” she whispered. “Teach me.”

He looked into her misty eyes and reluctantly let her go. “What an utterly delicious thought.” He laughed unsteadily, and the lessons were already in his eyes.

She looked at him and saw them as they would be, mouth to mouth, his body over hers, hard and warm and ardent, her eyes looking into his as they came together on crisp, cool sheets with his dark body overwhelming her soft, pink one with the same pleasure she felt when he stroked her bare flesh, only much more intimate, more intense….

She trembled softly in anticipation, wanting to be alone with him, wanting his hands, his mouth, his absolute possession. “I can hardly wait,” she said, her voice trembling.

He put her into the car and paused for an instant, glancing toward the sky where a military plane was passing over. His face hardened for an instant as he stood quietly watching it until it was out of sight. But when he climbed in beside Gabby and looked at her glowing face, her bright, loving eyes, the hardness drained away. His dark eyes narrowed with the first stirrings of possession. And he smiled.

* * * * *

The Tender Stranger (#ulink_4985f748-91a4-521e-97e6-cca01cbe3d99)

Diana Palmer

To J.A. with thanks.

Dear Reader (#ulink_db92c391-3a60-5349-bec6-e20791bd7a7e),

I really can’t express how flattered I am and also how grateful I am to Mills & Boon Books for releasing this collection of my published works. It came as a great surprise. I never think of myself as writing books that are collectible. In fact, there are days when I forget that writing is work at all. What I do for a living is so much fun that it never seems like a job. And since I reside in a small community, and my daily life is confined to such mundane things as feeding the wild birds and looking after my herb patch in the backyard, I feel rather unconnected from what many would think of as a glamorous profession.

But when I read my email, or when I get letters from readers, or when I go on signing trips to bookstores to meet all of you, I feel truly blessed. Over the past thirty years, I have made lasting friendships with many of you. And quite frankly, most of you are like part of my family. You can’t imagine how much you enrich my life. Thank you so much.

I also need to extend thanks to my family (my husband, James, son, Blayne, daughter-in-law, Christina, and granddaughter, Selena Marie), to my best friend, Ann, to my readers, booksellers and the wonderful people at Mills & Boon Books—from my editor of many years, Tara, to all the other fine and talented people who make up our publishing house. Thanks to all of you for making this job and my private life so worth living.

Thank you for this tribute, Mills & Boon, and for putting up with me for thirty long years! Love to all of you.

Diana Palmer

Chapter One (#ulink_d6321ea6-2b5d-5a66-8406-8f8d3d25b7d7)

The seat was much too low for his tall frame; he had barely enough room without the paraphernalia his companion was shifting in her own seat. He gave her a short glare through deep brown eyes. She flushed, her gaze dropping to her lap as she tucked her huge purse on the other side of her and struggled with her seat belt.

He sighed, watching her. A spinster, he thought unkindly. From her flyaway brown hair to the eyes under those wire-rimmed glasses, from her bulky white sweater down to her long gray skirt and sensible gray shoes, she was definitely someone’s unclaimed treasure. He turned his eyes back to the too-narrow aisle. Damn budget airlines, he thought furiously. If he hadn’t missed the flight he’d booked, he wouldn’t be trying to fit into this sardine can of a seat. Next to Miss Frump here.

He didn’t like women. Never less than now, when he was forced to endure this particular woman’s company for several hundred miles from San Antonio down to Veracruz, Mexico. He glanced sideways again irritably. She was shifting books now. Books, for God’s sake! Didn’t she know what the baggage hold was for?

“You should have reserved a seat for them,” he muttered, glaring at a stack of what was obviously romance novels.

She swallowed, a little intimidated as her eyes swept over a muscular physique, blond hair and a face that looked positively hostile. He had nice hands, though. Very lean and tanned and strong-looking. Scars on the back of one of them…

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve just come from a romance writer’s autographing in San Antonio. These—these are autographed copies I’m taking back for friends after my Mexican holiday, and I was afraid to trust them to the luggage compartment.”

“Priceless gems?” he asked humorlessly, giving them a speaking glare as she tucked the sackful under her seat.

“To some people, yes,” she acknowledged. Her face tautened and she didn’t look at him again. She cast nervous glances out the window while the airplane began to hum and the flight crew began once more the tedious demonstration of the safety equipment. He sighed impatiently and folded his arms across his broad chest, over the rumpled khaki shirt he wore. He leaned his head back, staring blankly at the stewardess. She was a beauty, but he wasn’t interested. He hadn’t been interested in women for quite a few years, except to satisfy an infrequent need. He laughed shortly, glancing at the prim little woman next to him. He wondered if she knew anything about those infrequent needs, and decided that she didn’t. She looked as chaste as a nun, with her nervous eyes and hands. She had nice hands, though, he thought, pursing his lips as he studied them. Long fingers, very graceful, and no polish. They were the hands of a lady.

It irritated him that he’d noticed that. He glared harder at her.

That caught her attention. It was one thing to be impatiently tolerated, but she didn’t like that superior glare. She turned and glared back at him. Something danced briefly in his dark eyes before he turned them back to the stewardess.

So she had fire, he thought. That was unexpected in a prim little nun. He wondered if she was a librarian. Yes, that would explain her fascination with books. And love stories…probably she was starving for a little love of her own. His eyes darkened. Stupid men, he thought, to overlook a feisty little thing like that just because of the glitter and paint that drew them to her more liberated counterparts.

There was murmuring coming from beside him. His sensitive ears caught a few feverish words: “Hail Mary, full of grace…”

It couldn’t be! He turned, his eyes wide and stunned. Was she a nun?

She caught him looking at her and bit her lip self-consciously. “Habit,” she breathed. “My best friend was Catholic. She taught me the rosary and we always recited it together when we flew. Personally,” she whispered, wide-eyed, “I don’t think there’s anyone up there in the cockpit flying this thing!”

His eyebrows levered up. “You don’t?”

She leaned toward him. “Do you ever see anybody in there?” She nodded toward the cockpit. “The door’s always closed. If there isn’t anything to hide, why do they close the door?”

He began to smile reluctantly. “Perhaps they’re concealing a robot pilot?”

“More likely, they’ve got the pilot roped into his seat and they don’t want us knowing it.” She laughed softly, and it changed her face. With the right cosmetics and a haircut that didn’t leave her soft hair unruly and half wild, she might not be bad-looking.

“You’ve been reading too many of those,” he observed, gesturing toward the sack of books.

“Guilty.” She sighed. “I suppose we need dreams sometimes. They keep reality at bay.”

“Reality is better,” he replied. “It has no illusions to spoil.”

“I’d rather have my illusions.”

He studied her openly. Wide, bow-shaped mouth, straight nose, wide-spaced pale gray eyes, heart-shaped face. She had a stubborn chin, too, and he smiled slowly. “You’re a strange little creature,” he said.

“I’m not little,” she returned. “I’m five feet six.”