they came before me.”
His family hadn’t thought so. “They’re a part of who I am.”
“And I don’t know who I am. Is that what you’re saying?”
In bed or out of it, he almost shouted. Instead he flushed darkly. “My ranch wasn’t the problem.”
“You give everything of yourself to that ranch.”
“Because I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because my father died that’s why!” North remembered the fire. He remembered running. He remembered screaming for help.
“Why you, Bertie?”
“Just…just…” An emotion built and burst inside him, so he waited. “Just because,” he finished darkly, remembering his father’s funeral. “I’m his son. That’s all.”
Her eyes seemed to see inside him, into that shadowy secret place.
She smiled. “You can tell me.”
He glared. “Can I? If you were me, would you trust you…after…”
They’d hardly said hi, and already they were at it.
Yet he preferred arguing and probably so did she—to remembering that night and what had happened in his apartment and what hadn’t.
She was pale and yet breathing hard, every bit as agitated as he was. Those fingers with the little silver moons were tugging at her silken sash. “How can we be discussing this…like it still matters? When nothing about us matters…anymore.”
He watched that rhythmic tugging of those little half moons at her sash as if hypnotized. “My thoughts exactly, darlin’.”
So why was there a painful lump in his throat? Why that painful thickening lower down that stretched his jeans and made him too conscious of her easy power? Why were the memories of his childhood all mixed up with the crazy sexual frustration of that last night? Why this insane desire to yank that infernal sash loose, slide his hands inside that silk robe and pull her against his body when he knew why wanting her was so impossible?
Why couldn’t she be normal? Why did she have to be the sexiest woman alive and not sexy at all?
Those moving fingertips with the little moons that twinkled slid along red silk. He felt his collar tighten like it was really choking him. “Stop playing with that damned sash!”
“Sorry.”
“Do I come in or go?” he growled when her slim hands were still at last. “It’s been a long day.”
“Oh, do come in, Rancher Black,” she teased, pushing the door wider.
“Quit calling me that!”
When she didn’t move out of his way, he was forced to sidle so close to her he almost brushed against her. Which was what she must have wanted because when he was almost past her, she reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“North, I…” Even before the panic flared in her eyes, she chopped off the end of her sentence.
Instantly his muscles contracted beneath the liquid heat of her slim hand. His black head jerked, startling her, and for a long moment they both stared at those fingertips with the tiny silver moons. She’d scarcely touched him, but the effect on his senses was electrifying.
He remembered that last night when her hands had been all over him. She’d been eager, as eager as he. And then suddenly, she’d gotten scared.
“North…” Her little girl voice died in her throat as she splayed her fingers, causing the tiny little moons to twinkle.
He felt her, remembered her in every pore. They’d lain in his bed that night, his body pressed firmly against hers, her lips against his throat, her breast against his chest, the rest of their bodies touching all the way down. She’d felt so right. She always did.
He’d held her for a long time, stroking her hair, trying to gentle her as he might a frightened colt. But she’d gotten frightened again and gone back to the wild on him anyway.
“Don’t start in on me again, darlin’…unless you intend to finish what you start…this time.”
Her hand tightened and then fell away slowly, and still he couldn’t move past her any more than she seemed able to escape him.
“I want to forget you,” he said, but his gaze was on her pink lips.
“That does seem like the sensible solution to our problem.”
“Your problem,” he said in a flat tone.
“And yet—”
“There is not going to be a yet—damn you.”
She blushed. Her eyes remained downcast. “What if I can’t be as sensible or as rational as you? What if I—”
“Not if you crawled—”
She went white at that code word.
“You broke up with me, remember?” he said in a softer tone.
“And you’ll never be able to forgive—” Her husky voice had dropped, too—to something that sounded close to shame or regret.
“That’s right.”
Leave her alone. Cool off. Talk football outside with Sam.
But she looked so small and vulnerable. Suddenly he couldn’t stop staring at her lips and wondering how long since anybody had kissed their wet, pink fullness. Wondering who else knew how they tasted. These thoughts got him so riled, North pushed his way inside, grabbed her, backed her against the red flowers on the foyer wallpaper and pressed his body firmly against hers.
She swallowed. Her eyes shone nervously; her cheeks blazed a brighter hue, but for once, she didn’t try to run.
Suddenly his breathing was fast and irregular. “Why? Why do you always goad me? Why do you always have to push?”
“I—I don’t know. I-it’s just the way I am with you. I don’t like it that I do it, either. North—”
“Shut up,” he said silkily.
Then he touched her cheek with the back of his hand, ran it along her throat. Her skin was smooth and soft. Womanly soft. And hot. So hot. She was burning up just like he was.
“Let me go,” she whispered.
He stroked her hair. “Not just yet. You touched me. You led me on.”
“You’re too easy.”
He grinned. “If only you were as easy.”
She shut her eyes as if to shut him out.
“Your
