Elizabeth Lowell - Too Hot to Handle

There was no one along the shore.

But as he reached the middle of the beach, a pale flash of movement caught Reevers eye. When he realized what he was seeing, he froze in disbelief.

Tory had risen and thrown off her nightshirt. As naked as the moonlight itself she walked with measured steps from the edge of the cliff turned as gracefully as a dancer and walked back toward the brink.

No! Stop!The desperate cry went no farther than Reevers mind. It was too late. Tory had reached the brink and sprung up and outward. Arms spread wide, body perfectly arched, she floated through the air as though she were truly the swan from which her dive had taken its name. She entered the midnight lake, and the water was barely disturbed.

Reever could have called out, could have stopped Tory, but he was frozen in the moment when she had dived into the lake with a grace and beauty that had literally taken his breath and his heart.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

ISBN 1-55.166-267-1

TOO HOT TO HANDLE

Copyright 1986 by Ann Maxwell.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books. 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside die imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

MIRA and the star colophon are trademarks of MIRA Books.

Printed in U.S.A.

For Susan Kyle, whose books are ardent, amusing and addictive

Tory Wells hung on to her battered luggage with both hands. She felt as though the earth had been ripped from beneath her feet It wasnt the earth being ripped, however. It was the letter that she had brought with her from Ethan Reevers cousin, a letter promising her employment on the Sundance Ranch.

But I was told that she began, her voice low, urgent You were told wrong, Ethan Reever interrupted ruthlessly, dropping the shredded, unread letter into an exquisitely woven Pima basket that held other paper debris. He gave the slender young blonde in front of him a hard glance. Theres no swimming pool on the Sundance so theres no need for a swimming counselor.

His lips thinned in disgust over the last two words. And unlike my dear cousin Payton, I have no use for bleached blondes who cant do two licks of work without whining about their nails.

My hair isnt bleached, my nails are short and the day I whine you can fire me, retorted Tory, setting her luggage down with a thump.

Reever laughed. The sound was as hard as the large hands that slapped the desk in an impatient movement as he came to his feet. Honey, I havent hired you, and Im not going to. I need you like a sidewinder needs ice skates.

Tory stared in silence at the man looming behind a desk that was as scarred as her luggage. Reever was nothing like his cousin, Payton Sundance. Pay tons hair was straight and sandy, he was clean shaven, his eyes were a sparkling blue and his body was as thin as it was tall. Reevers hair was thick, blue-black and shaggy. So was his mustache. His blunt, angular face showed a shadow of beard, even though it was barely eleven oclock. His eyes were the color of winter rain and were emphasized by heavy black eyebrows. He had the long, powerful bone structure of a natural athlete and the muscular development to go with it He was at least six foot three a dark, intimidating presence watching her with eyes that gave away nothing.

Reevers intense masculinity would have made Tory nervous if she hadnt been so desperate for the job. She was accustomed to being around men with flawless bodies, swimmers and divers whose lives were dedicated to physical perfection, yet never had she met a man whose very presence could send frissons of heat searching through her. Reever threatened her in ways that she couldnt describe. But even more than he threatened her, he fascinated her. She found herself wondering what it would be like to be held in those powerful arms. Did that beautifully shaped mouth ever smile gently, and were his hands capable of tenderness as well as strength?

Tory shook herself mentally, wondering if she had lost her mind. Reever was very unlike his cousin. She could well believe Paytons warning about Reevers devil temper. Payton was charming, kind and known for his generosity throughout the Southern California amateur athletic community. Tory doubted that anyone would use the adjectives generous, charming or kind to describe Ethan Reever.

The thought didnt make Tory back down. She had spent her life working with male coaches who could most politely be described as difficult. Besides, she had to have the Sundance job whether Reever was devil incarnate or angel in disguise. At the moment she had exactly two dollars and sixty-three cents to her name. She couldnt afford a bus trip back to town, much less a cab not that either bus or cab was available, even if she had money.

The Sundance Ranch was in the wild country of northern Arizona, a place where the roads were empty and the land was full of sunlight and silence.

Mr. Reever, Tory said carefully, trying to show neither her desperation nor her fear, much less the very feminine curiosity that he aroused in her. She had learned early in life than any sign of weakness would be used against her.

Reever, he said, his voice harsh. Just plain Reever. Youre not in the city anymore, Miss Victoria Wells.

No kidding? shot back Tory. Her glance went pointedly around the office, where a collection of spurs was tacked to the wall and a half-braided horsehair rope waited in one corner to be completed. Call me Tory, Reever, she said, smiling. Everybody does.

His eyes narrowed. Tory decided that all the books were wrong. The devils eyes were gray, not black. She took a deep breath and tried again to get past Reevers hard exterior. Somewhere inside that man was something more than harshness and the glacial cold of his eyes. She knew that with an instinct so deep that she didnt question it.

Mr. Sundance assured me that there would be work for me here, Tory said honestly. I came a long way at my own expense on that assurance. If the Sundance Retreat isnt open yet, there must be something else I could do on the ranch until the retreat opens.

Reever stood silently for a moment, giving Tory the same kind of thorough, cataloging glance that she had given to him a moment earlier. Tory knew exactly what he would see. She had short blond hair streaked by the Southern California sun, green eyes that were too light to be called emerald and five feet seven inches of tan body conditioned by a lifetime of swimming and diving.