JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

All Parr could think of was how irresistible Mary Beth was. She smelled of some lush, feminine perfume, a scent so enticing that he longed to see if she tasted as sweetly sensual. He had no right to touch her. She was his brother’s woman.

So why the hell wasn’t Bobby Joe here protecting what was his? Male instinct should have kicked in. It was for Parr.

“I want to taste you, Strawberry. I want to put my mouth on yours.”

“Parr . . . I . . . Look, just don’t. Please. This is hard.”

“Yeah. For me too.”

“Yes,” she sighed. She wasn’t agreeing to anything. But that softly breathed yes was a million miles away from no.

“I may be too rough,” he warned. “I’m not used to good girls like you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she pleaded.

One big, dark finger touched her lower lip, running tenderly from corner to corner, pausing as her mouth gradually opened. “Your lips look so sweet,” he murmured. “So inviting.”

“Oh, Parr.”

“Do you want my mouth on yours, Strawberry?”

“Yes,” she begged, her body leaning into his....

Books by Beverly Barton

Books by Beverly Barton

AFTER DARK
EVERY MOVE SHE MAKES
WHAT SHE DOESN’T KNOW
THE FIFTH VICTIM
THE LAST TO DIE
AS GOOD AS DEAD
KILLING HER SOFTLY
CLOSE ENOUGH TO KILL
MOST LIKELY TO DIE
THE DYING GAME
THE MURDER GAME
COLD HEARTED
SILENT KILLER
DEAD BY MIDNIGHT
DON’T CRY
DEAD BY MORNING
DEAD BY NIGHTFALL
DON’T SAY A WORD
JUST THE WAY YOU ARE
THE RIGHT WIFE (available as an eBook)

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

Title Page

JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

BEVERLY BARTON

ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Chapter One

Chapter One

Parr Weston stood just inside the wide double doors that had been left ajar, his broad shoulders practically filling the opening. He hated social gatherings, especially if the invitation specified black tie, but this was one he’d been unable to refuse. The engagement party for his younger brother, Bobby Joe, seemed to be in full swing. The enormous hotel ballroom was jammed with formally attired guests, dancing, drinking, and celebrating up a storm.

But Bobby Joe was nowhere to be seen, which was odd. Maybe he had stepped out for a smoke, something he’d sworn he’d given up long ago. Parr wouldn’t put it past him.

He looked back into the crowded ballroom and shook his head, then went outside. The dimly lit patio beyond the doors was edged with benches set between manicured shrubs, but Parr didn’t want to sit. The night air was warm and balmy, surprisingly pleasant for late April in Iminga, Mississippi. He leaned back against a smooth wrought-iron pillar, relaxing his tall, rugged frame for a few moments in the embrace of the soft night.

Since he’d footed the bill for this extravagant shindig, he thought the least Bobby Joe could have done was be there to greet him at the entrance to the ballroom. He was surprised Mama hadn’t rushed over to introduce him to Bobby Joe’s “perfect” fiancée. During the three months he’d been on the construction site in Canada, the whole family had met and fallen in love with this paragon of virtue his brother intended to marry.

True, Parr had arrived over an hour late, but the delayed flight from Memphis hadn’t been entirely his fault. He couldn’t help it if a last-minute problem with one of his suppliers made him miss the departure of his original flight.

He’d parked himself and the carry-on with his formal wear at the gate to wait for the next flight, and caught up on other pressing business on his laptop. Parr Weston believed in staying focused. He worked off-line, so as to avoid wasting time on the Internet, where Bobby Joe had no doubt posted scads of flattering photos of himself and his true love.

Parr preferred to skip all that and judge for himself when he met her in person.

He had figured his family and the fabulous fiancée were all mad at him. But just what did they expect him to do? His successful construction business had to come first so they could all continue to enjoy their present lifestyle. Parr had taken on the role of head of the household long ago, at the too-young age of twelve, when their old man died. It hadn’t been an easy job then. It still wasn’t.

A low, sobbing sound interrupted his solitude, bringing his mind away from his troubled thoughts. What was that noise? he wondered. Was someone crying?

He listened for several minutes, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. As if in answer to his confusion, the weeping grew louder. Then he saw her. On the far side of the patio, a small form stood huddled against the wall, her face hidden by a hand that brushed away tears.

Even in the semidarkness, he could see the gleaming, fiery gold length of her hair, not quite concealing the pearly white smoothness of her bare neck and shoulders, and the womanly curves of her satin-covered breasts and hips. Before he saw her face clearly, he knew she was beautiful. Just looking at her made him ache with powerful longing. He wanted to take her in his arms. Comfort and protect her.

He crossed the distance between them without thinking twice. When his big hand came down on her shoulder, she cried out and whirled around to face him. Too late, he realized he should have spoken before touching her.

“Calm down,” he said as his hand eased gently from her shoulder to rest tentatively at the small of her back. “It’s all right. Really. I heard you crying. I was concerned.”

She tilted her head slightly to gaze up at the towering, dark-eyed stranger, her whole body surrendering as his arm encircled her, pulling her against his hard male strength.

She clutched at the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, burying her face in the stiff pleats of his white shirt as the tears began to flow again.

“I’m so . . . sorry . . . I . . . please,” she gulped helplessly between sobs.

He let her lean against him, still weeping as she snuggled closer and closer, as if wanting to lose herself in the warmth of his body. God, but she felt right in his arms.

Parr couldn’t fight the wild idea that she belonged there or the strange feeling that this unknown woman was somehow meant for him.

But she didn’t belong in his arms, he told himself. He sure as hell didn’t believe in fate—or luck, for that matter. But he made no move away. She nestled closer.

What would it be like, he wondered, if they could act on instinct and let this unexpected closeness lead to its natural conclusion? What would her small, round body feel like naked beneath his?

Parr stiffened. That wasn’t his brain talking. He had to regain self-control or this random encounter might go in an unwanted direction. The beautiful teary woman in his arms obviously needed nothing more than to be held for a few minutes. Give her that and then let her go, he told himself.

“Shhh . . . shhh . . .” His voice was deep and rough.

She moved her face up a few inches from his chest, looking into his eyes, trying to smile. “You must think that I’m crazy.”

“No.” He was still holding her close, so close that he could feel the soft warmth of her breasts. “Something upset you, hurt you.”

She stared into his brown eyes, eyes so dark they appeared almost black. “Yes. But I—I just can’t explain. Not now. Not here.”

His hand gently stroked her cascading strawberry blond hair and she rested her head on his chest again as her arms went around his waist.

To steady herself, Parr thought. Not to embrace him.

“That’s all right, honey,” he whispered into her hair. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Just let me hold you. It’ll do you good.”

Her response was a tiny, relieved sigh.

Parr wasn’t sure how long they stood there hidden in the shadows. No one saw the big, dark man with a small, golden woman in his arms. Soon enough, he realized that they couldn’t stay out there forever. The nearness of her was driving him crazy. He didn’t even know her name, but he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his entire thirty-two years.

“Hey.” His lips brushed her forehead. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer. Her green, catlike gaze raised to meet his, then moved downward to his slightly open mouth. Then up again. The eye contact was as hot as a kiss. Maybe hotter.

Parr guessed that she was feeling exactly what he was. That she wanted him desperately, his lips on hers, his body on hers, his . . .

Oh God, he thought. We’ve got to get out of here.

“Come on,” he said, putting one hand at her waist to lead her across the patio. “Let’s go to the lounge and get something to drink.”

She hesitated momentarily before accepting his proposal and moving into step beside him. “I don’t usually drink.”

He wondered if he’d heard her right. She’d sounded so prim and proper, it almost made him want to laugh. Was she kidding?

No. One look at that beautifully sweet face told him that she was sincere. “Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t fool around,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What?” She stopped still, her body suddenly tight as a coiled spring.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud. I’ll get you a Coke or coffee. Okay?”

She smiled with relief. “Yes. A Coke would be great. Thanks.”

The entrance to the lounge wasn’t far from the double doors. Parr guided her toward it, shouldering through the crush of guests as she followed until they reached the lounge, which was large, overheated, and even more crowded than the ballroom. The music was loud, the atmosphere stimulating.

Couples filled every corner, their eyes, their hands, their bodies speaking a language of sensuous longing and human loneliness. Some—too many, in Parr’s opinion—were staring into smartphones, the tiny, glowing blue screens doubled and redoubled in the mirrored walls of the lounge as the phones’ owners ignored the real people all around them. Parr didn’t get it.

Parr kept her close, easing her through the throng until he found a table for two. He slipped her smoothly onto a chair, guarding her with his big arm as he pulled up a seat for himself.

Then he signaled a waiter, not ordering anything for himself. Parr let her finish one Coke and ordered her another before he felt she had calmed down enough to talk. The entire time they’d sat there together, she’d remained silent, occasionally glancing his way with a strangely puzzled look in those big, feline eyes, once or twice offering a thanks-for-being-here smile.

He decided she was definitely the loveliest woman he’d ever seen, and totally different from any he’d ever known. Perhaps it was because she seemed so young and vulnerable, and was obviously in a great deal of emotional pain.

She winced when she caught a glimpse of herself in a background mirror. “I need to fix my face,” she sighed. “Would you please excuse me for a few minutes?”

No argument there. Parr had thought it ungallant to point out that her tears had not improved her eye makeup. A few delicate streaks didn’t make her any less beautiful. But she didn’t have a purse with her, something she seemed to have just remembered. Giving him an awkward smile, she rose and made her way through the crowd.

Every male head turned to watch her walk. Parr couldn’t blame them, not with all that strawberry sweetness on display. Coming or going, she was a stunner.

He leaned back a little in the spindly chair, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, alone with his thoughts. He didn’t need drama, hadn’t ever liked it. He wasn’t remotely tempted to turn this accidental encounter into something else. The last thing he wanted in his life right now was someone with a new set of unknown problems.

Since he’d been a kid, other people had needed him, depended on him, and he’d come through every time. He’d been there for Mama, even before Kenneth Parr Weston, his dad, had been found in a motel room with a bullet through his heart. He’d been there for Bobby Joe, and for his cousin Eve and her family. He’d been provider, substitute father, as well as brotherly advisor, to the whole tribe. By the time he was grown and on his own, it was like women sensed Parr would just naturally step up and take care of whatever had to be done.

And he had. Too often.

Every woman he’d been involved with had wanted, needed, demanded—endlessly. Maybe he didn’t know how to ask for what he needed, but it was still a fact that the giving never seemed to work both ways. When he’d needed to know that someone would return the favor, stand by him, have his back . . . it didn’t happen.

The lounge crowd got liquored up and louder. Parr observed the interactions around him, unable to avoid listening to chitchat that sounded depressingly familiar. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Women wanted their freedom, their careers, their hard-won rights, and at the same time, they wanted a man’s love, his money, his body, and his total acceptance of them just as they were.

Parr was thinking that he ought to stop thinking and order a real drink, a stiff one, when the standing guests stepped this way and that to let someone through.

Her.

His cynical mood dissolved in an instant.

She didn’t look right or left but straight at him. Her eyelashes were darker, her cheeks pink. She had fixed what needed fixing with a damp paper towel, he supposed. The streaks were gone.

“Thank you for waiting.” Her voice was gentle, extremely feminine, just like her smile, her face, her body.

Parr rose as she reached the table. “Not a problem.”

He sat down after she did. “Don’t you want anything?” she asked, moving aside the glass of melting ice.

The returning waiter stopped and set down the second Coke, pausing for a fraction of a second to look down at Parr, who shook his head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

The young man moved on.

“I was thinking we might go somewhere quieter,” Parr began.

“I don’t mind the noise.”

“I mean, if you want to talk. Would it help?”

“I don’t know.” She reached for the Coke the waiter had just delivered.

“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger.” He didn’t know exactly why he was encouraging her. But he really did want her to talk, to tell him what was hurting her. Seemed like the least he could do, even though they might never see each other again.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her soft, sweet mouth. God, what a smile. Sensual and sincere. Meant for him. She wasn’t checking herself out sideways in the mirrored walls like practically everybody else in the lounge, female or male. A tiny dimple appeared in her cheek. That right there was almost his undoing.

Parr struggled to sit up straight and not lean over the table to taste those full, pink lips and kiss the breath out of her.

“For some reason, you don’t seem like a stranger,” she said. “It’s as if I’ve always known you.”

Her frank admission surprised him. The identical thought had just crossed his mind, unbidden, but he would never have told her. “Same here,” he muttered.

Before he could stop himself, he raised a hand and caressed her cheek. Her skin was dewy and cool. She must have splashed cold water on her face in an effort to regain her composure. He was getting more rattled by the second.

“I didn’t mean anything by that,” she said quietly. “I . . . I have a boyfriend.” She took a deep breath. “Well, he’s more than that.”

“You’re engaged?” Parr couldn’t help noticing that her hands were in her lap. He hadn’t noticed a ring, but then he hadn’t been looking for one, mesmerized by every other little thing about her.

Anger and frustration consumed him. Whoever the other man was or what his reasons might be, Parr wished he didn’t exist. How could any man hurt her? The would-be bridegroom deserved to be broken in two.

“We were supposed to be celebrating tonight, in fact.” Her voice cracked on a sob, her eyes pressed tightly shut to hold back renewed tears.

Parr scooted his chair next to hers and pulled her into his arms, not caring who saw. No one seemed to notice—a noisy game of beer pong had started up at the back of the lounge. Thankful for that, Parr knew his only concern was for her. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to ease her pain. He wanted to make her happy.

Oh God. He just plain wanted her.

Seeming to draw strength from his embrace, she continued, her voice ragged and low. Parr had to strain to catch every word.

“He says he loves me, that he wants to marry me, but tonight—of all nights—he did something . . . unforgivable.”

The last word was spoken with anguished determination, as if she were making a vow: No matter what anyone says or does, I will not forgive him.

“What did he do, honey?” The endearment seemed right. Parr couldn’t take it back.

“I . . . I saw him . . . them.”

“Who?”

“He was with his old girlfriend. In each other’s arms, to be exact. And that’s n-not all,” she stammered, her face scarlet.

“Maybe she was kissing him.”

“No maybe about it. She was all over him!” Abruptly jerking out of Parr’s arms, his fire gold angel faced him. “And vice versa. Kissing. Touching. He practically had her undressed less than an hour after we announced our engagement.”

“Oh.” Parr wasn’t sure what to say, didn’t know what she wanted to hear. She obviously needed consoling, but he’d bet good money that, gentle as the woman seemed, she had good reason to take her fury out on any representative of the male sex in a fifty-mile radius. And he was a lot closer than that.

The fire in her soul shone in her green eyes. Parr was dazzled. Angry, she was even more beautiful. And available, because some selfish idiot had cheated on her. Parr was suddenly more than ready to volunteer for consolation duty.

It had been a long time since he’d wanted a woman badly. In all honesty, he couldn’t ever remember wanting one this much.

“I knew he’d loved her once. I knew that they’d had a hot affair. But he swore everything ended when she married another man. And I believed him.”

Parr nodded.

“He used to say that the love he felt for me was so different.” She just about spat the words. “So much deeper. Then tonight . . . there they were. I caught them almost in the act.”

This was no ordinary drama, not the way she told the story, in few words but with matchless intensity and good old-fashioned righteous, blazing indignation that would do a real angel proud. Even though infidelity happened every damn day, every hour, every second all around the world.

Still.

Whoever her fiancé was, he must be the biggest fool ever to walk the earth. What man in his right mind would mess around with an old girlfriend when he could have this gorgeous little redhead?

“I’m sorry,” she said, placing her hand on his where it lay on the table. “You don’t need to know the details. I appreciate your patience. You’ve been truly kind.”

“Whatever I can do.” Parr forced his thoughts back onto the gallant track.

“Thank you. But we are strangers. I can’t ask you for help—I’ve already presumed too much.”

Her hand began a slow withdrawal. The sensation of her soft fingertips moving over his skin was too much for him. “Not at all.” Parr captured her slender wrist.

She gave him a startled look but didn’t pull away.

Impulsively, he took her hand, brought it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to her palm. Then he released her. She didn’t seem shocked or pleased.

“Sorry.” Parr didn’t know what had possessed him to do that. “I just thought—maybe you needed—”

Her reply was swift. “No need to apologize.”

“Right. But there is a question I’d like to ask.”

“Go ahead. You can say anything you like. This night couldn’t get any weirder.”

“What if I said that I needed you?”

Her lips parted with evident surprise. “Huh? You need me?”

Her startled gaze met his. Parr wished there was a surefire way to get her to understand what was on his mind. But he couldn’t quite define it himself.

“I think I do.”

“Really,” she said, her voice laced with wry amusement. “The love of my life, whom I thought I knew, doesn’t need me at all, and a total stranger apparently does.”

“It was just a question. I’m not sure what I meant by it.”

“That makes two of us. Just the two of us.” She surveyed him warily.

Parr nodded. Just the two of us. He liked the sound of that. Maybe he hadn’t overstepped the bounds of propriety or whatever rules were in effect when rescuing a damsel in distress.

“I guess—well, it seemed to me you needed a kiss, that was all.”

“Is that something you do often? Find an unhappy woman and plant one on her?”

“No. And it wasn’t like I was looking for you.”

That tiny dimple appeared above her slight—very slight—smile. Nonetheless, Parr had a feeling she was taking him seriously, for reasons known only to herself. Maybe she was just used to men throwing themselves at her feet.

Which was all the more reason not to let her walk away. But she honestly didn’t seem outraged by his impulsively romantic gesture and she certainly didn’t seem scared of him.

So far, so good. But where did they go from here?

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