until his lips were almost touching hers. “You won’t let yourself like me, and I want to know why.”
“What you’re doing right now is reason enough, don’t you think?”
“I’m talking about before today. The afternoon you walked into that room at the Plantation, you were all bristled up like a little porcupine.”
“That’s a lie.” She could feel his breath on her mouth and smell his after-shave, and worse, much worse, she was unable to ignore the blatant evidence of his manhood pressing into her abdomen. She wanted to stay angry, to remain furious and spiteful, but a languor was spreading throughout her body.
His gaze flicked over her face, feature by feature. His hold on her relaxed. She could easily elude him now if she wanted to. “You are a seriously beautiful woman, Cassandra Whitfield.” Elation darted through him; she hadn’t moved an inch. He placed his mouth tenderly on hers, and at just about the same moment, he wedged his legs in between hers and adjusted his position so that his arousal was firmly resting against her most private and sensitive spot.
Cass’s brain seemed to divide, one portion suddenly aching with passion and the other trying desperately to cling to common sense. It would be so easy to get carried away, to just let go and kiss him back. He had succeeded in making her want him, in stirring up all of the eroticism she possessed, and the commonsense portion of herself was losing ground. His lips felt delectably sensual on hers, warm and tender, demanding and giving, all at the same time. Instead of feeling the substantial weight of his body, she felt its remarkable composition, his chest, his thighs, and most disturbing of all, his sex subtly moving against hers.
She was getting sweaty and weak, and her mouth had become yielding and soft under his, molding at his direction, opening for his tongue.
“Sassy,” he whispered huskily.
Oh, God, she thought. She couldn’t let this happen again, not when their first time had meant so little to him he had no memory of it. Her wounds from that episode had gone so deep she still felt them. Rebel Sterling wasn’t the man for her to be fooling around with, however persuasive were his kisses and hard body.
With her hands freed, she laid them on either side of his head and pushed. Their mouths separated, and he looked at her with surprise in his eyes. Cass could almost see the protests lining up in his head, so she spoke first, hoarsely but fiercely. “Are you planning to take advantage of me again?”
Gard froze, his expression, his hands, his body, every inch of him. “What did you say?”
Already she wished she hadn’t said it. It wasn’t the truth, not the whole truth, and she could see what her accusation had done to him.
But neither could she take back the question. “I think you heard me.”
“All right, I heard you, but why did you say something like that?” His voice was controlled only through intense effort. He’d taken advantage of her? When? Where? As the questions mounted in his mind, he could feel all traces of desire deserting his system.
But then a horrifying thought struck him: was it true? Was that why Cassandra had been so distant and unfriendly? Was that the event nagging at his flawed memory? Had he forced her into something sexual?
Abruptly he rolled away from her, ending up on his back, his face tense, his eyes shadowed with confusion. Cass sat up slowly, almost afraid to look at him. She never should have said such a thing. He hadn’t taken advantage of her; he’d just made giving in to his charm seem natural and sensible, and while it had felt perfectly natural at the time, it certainly hadn’t been sensible.
She sent him a quick, uneasy glance, wondering how to undo the damage she had just inflicted without getting into a detailed discussion of that night and its painful aftermath. There were some things she would never be able to tell him, such as the nights of crying herself to sleep because she’d seen him at some point of that day and he hadn’t noticed her. Certainly he had never called or come to the house to see her. It was as though that night at the dunes had happened only in her own mind, and she’d been so hurt by his avoidance that nothing else in life held any meaning.
That was when she had made the decision to leave Montana. Her parents agreed on the further education she’d chosen, a small, well-respected art school in San Francisco, and she had packed and left, praying that time and distance would allow her to forget Gard Sterling.
She pushed herself to her feet and brushed off the seat of her jeans. “I’m sorry I said that.”
Gard sat up. Something hurt in his stomach. Not a pain, exactly, more like a tearing, ripping sensation. He spoke raggedly. “Is it true?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Nervous and trying not to show it, Cass started for her horse.
Gard jumped to his feet and rushed after her. He grabbed her by the arm, and not gently, either. “Is it true?”
She tried to wrench her arm free. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”
Gard’s eyes were blazing. “That’s just too damned bad! You’re not leaving until you explain yourself. What you said is either a stupefying, deplorable fact or the most despicable lie I’ve ever heard. Now, which is it?”
Her own anger was rising. “What’s wrong with your own memory? Don’t you remember what you did years ago? How you behaved? Was the world really your oyster, or did you merely think it was? You were drunk or well on your way most of the time, and why anyone—including your father—put up with your selfishness escapes me completely.”
“List every fault I ever had if it makes you feel superior, Cassandra, but don’t try to evade the subject you introduced. Did I force you into something?” He winced at the question. Never in his wildest dreams could he have put himself in that scenario. Yes, there’d been many women, but what he remembered of them was willingness, eagerness, cooperation, participation.
Cass’s face was flushed. “I’ve said all I’m going to say about it, so you may as well stop throwing your weight around. Just what makes you think you can manhandle me the way you’ve done today? You’re still doing it!”
What he was doing was maintaining a tight grasp on her arm, though not with anything sexual in mind. She had struck a blow he wouldn’t easily forget, and he had to know if there was any truth to it. His teeth clenched. “Give me a straight answer, damn you. Did I ever force you to have sex with me?”
She looked away from the turmoil in his eyes. “There are different kinds of force,” she said stiffly.
Gard took her chin with his free hand and turned her head to face him. “So, we did have sex? When did it happen? Where? And what kind of force did I allegedly use to seduce you? Did I hold you down and rip off your clothes?”
Her lips pursed. “Not exactly.” She had never wanted to have this conversation. Why in God’s name hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut?
“But I did get you out of your clothes. Where were we when this supposedly took place?”
If she didn’t get away from him, he was going to pull every tiny detail out of her about that night. She gathered what strength she could and looked him right in the eyes. “I’m telling you to let go of my arm this instant. This conversation is over, and you can stew about it for the rest of your life for all I care.”
His
