Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(91)

She refused to be intimidated by his belligerence because she understood its source. She had seen too deeply into his private emotional landscape, and he wanted to make her pay. She patted his arm. “This hasn’t been a conversation, Bobby Tom. You haven’t said one single thing that matters.”

She slipped past him to go into the bedroom and gather up her clothes, but she’d no sooner tucked the videotape in her purse before he appeared in the doorway. “Maybe that’s because I haven’t been talking dirty.”

His mouth was cocked at the corner in a lazy, calculated grin that didn’t make it anywhere near his eyes. She recognized the effort he was making to pretend that she hadn’t touched a nerve and knew he intended to put an end to her probing of his psyche by using his favorite weapon, premeditated charm.

For a moment she hesitated, undecided about the course she should take. Did the fact that she loved him give her the right to chip away at the barriers of privacy he was so determined to keep in place? She wanted to, but common sense told her he’d erected those walls a long time ago, and she wasn’t going to tear them down in one night.

“No more talk, Gracie.” He stripped off her robe, and then his own. She expected him to take her to the bed, but, instead, he guided her back into his study, where he sank down in the big easy chair and pulled her on top of him. Within minutes, he was teaching her still another way to make love. But she didn’t enjoy it as much as she normally would have. There was too much unspoken between them.



Their flight the next morning to San Antonio was uneventful, and with Bobby Tom as tour guide, their first stop was quite naturally the Alamo. Texas’s most important shrine sat amidst hamburger and ice cream shops in the middle of San Antonio’s bustling downtown area. As they crossed the plaza toward the stone mission, a street corner evangelist warned of the second coming while clusters of tourists clutching camcorders recorded the central building’s familiar facade.

“You look as pretty as a picture,” Bobby Tom whispered. “I mean it, Gracie. I’m gonna have to lock you up if you get any prettier.”

Warmth spread through her as he leaned down and brushed a light kiss over her lips. Their early-morning lovemaking had been earthy and sweaty and not at all polite. He hadn’t let her have an orgasm until she’d whispered a whole stream of dirty words in his ears. She’d retaliated by waiting until he had showered and dressed, then made him perform the world’s slowest strip tease. After all, what was the sense of being Bobby Tom Denton’s lover if she couldn’t enjoy looking at that wonderful body?

Ahead of them, Natalie held hands with her husband Anton. The first time Gracie had met Anton Guyard, she’d been surprised by the contrast in appearance between the round-faced, balding Los Angeles businessman and his beautiful movie star wife. But Anton was charming and intelligent, in addition to being deeply in love with Natalie, and she obviously adored him.

Bobby Tom squeezed Gracie’s hand and looked away from the gaggle of tourists who’d begun to stare at him. He was highly recognizable in a pink Western-cut shirt with pearl studs and his ever-present Stetson. Gracie's wore a mushroom-colored knit top with a matching short skirt, sandals, and chunky, brushed gold earrings.

Ahead of them, Natalie turned, her expression worried. “You’re certain the pager you gave me works, Bobby Tom?”

Gracie knew Natalie was nervous about her first separation from Elvis, even though she trusted Terry Jo, who had become her semi-regular baby-sitter. All week she had been expressing breast milk into bottles and freezing it to get ready for this day.

“I tested it myself,” Bobby Tom said. “If Terry Jo’s having any problems at all with Elvis, she’ll get hold of you right away.”

Anton thanked him for the third time.

As of this morning, Bobby Tom had still been complaining about how hard it was for him to face Natalie’s husband after everything he and Natalie had been doing behind his back. Natalie might not have any difficulty approaching their on-camera love scenes as a professional, but Bobby Tom felt as if he was somehow violating his personal code of honor.

Despite the incongruity of its urban setting, Gracie loved her tour of the Alamo. Along with dozens of other tourists, she listened to the guide’s dramatic recounting of the thirteen fateful days that led to Texas independence and found her eyes misting at the end.

Bobby Tom gazed at her with amusement as she dabbed at them with a tissue. “For a Yankee gal who doesn’t know George Strait from Waylon Jennings, you’ve got a proper attitude.”

“Oh, Anton, look! Davy Crockett’s rifle!”

Gracie felt a pang of envy as she watched Natalie draw her husband’s attention to the contents of a large glass case. Their intimacy was evident in every touch they exchanged, every glance that passed between them. Natalie had been able to see past her husband’s homely exterior to the man beneath. Was it possible that Bobby Tom might someday do the same with her?

She backed away from that particular fantasy. There was no need to torture herself with the impossible.

After their tour of the Alamo, they ended up at the Riverwalk a few blocks away. There, they took a ride on one of the tourist barges that cruised beneath the stone bridges of the waterway, then they wandered along the winding flagstone pathways. They ended up at a collection of shops known as La Villita, where Bobby Tom bought Gracie sunglasses with lavender lenses shaped like the state of Texas and Gracie reciprocated by buying him a T-shirt that read, I’M NOT TOO SMART, BUT I CAN LIFT HEAVY THINGS. Natalie and Gracie giggled over the T-shirt until their eyes teared, while Bobby Tom pretended great indignation. At the same time, he kept holding it up to the mirror and admiring himself.