Wild About A Texan

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—”