couldn’t possibly share because she hadn’t wanted to be pregnant—at least not initially.
And when his despair left no room for hers, she’d done the only thing she could—hide her sorrow and crowd the hollow in her life with activity.
In silence Cassie cleared the mugs from the table and carried them to the sink, sneaking a glance in Luke’s direction. Hands thrust into jeans pockets, he stood at the kitchen door, seemingly absorbed with something in the backyard, though the rigid set of his shoulders and his widely spread legs betrayed his inner tension.
For an instant Cassie felt an urge to step close, to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his back, to whisper she was sorry, the way she’d done in their early days together. Things had been so easy then. One simple gesture and Luke would shake off his irritation and laugh at himself. He’d gather her close and tell her he loved her just the way she was—ornery and contrary and too damned independent.
Not for long. After they’d married, he called her headstrong, foolhardy, and she’d found his attempts to protect her stifling. Maybe people were right when they said the things you loved best about a person were what chafed the most as time went by.
No, she told herself, picking up a wet sponge, their differences couldn’t be settled with a simple apology.
She blotted a coffee stain from the countertop, wishing it were as easy to wipe out past mistakes. But hers had seeped into the very fiber of their marriage, like printer’s ink across a sheet of newsprint.
The curtains at the open window stirred briefly, and the hot, dry air seemed to suck all moisture from her body, leaving behind an empty, brittle husk. She closed her eyes and wished Luke would leave. She had enough to deal with without resurrecting the past. Things like a throbbing head and weary muscles.
Shifting her weight from one leg to the other, she felt a nudge against her bare calf. Even before she turned, she knew Duffy was regarding her with a hopeful look. Grateful for the diversion, she joined in the familiar game by cocking her head skyward and pretending not to notice. Duffy settled back on his haunches, pricked his ears and whined.
Though Luke turned at the sound, Cassie avoided meeting his gaze. Focusing, instead, on playing out the ritual with the dog, she stared at the ceiling and feigned indifference to his whimpers. He gave a sharp bark—her signal to look astonished and ask, “What’s the matter, fellow?” In response, he balanced on his hindquarters and raised his front paws, unashamedly begging.
Cassie dipped a hand into the cookie jar, all too aware that Luke now leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, narrow hips outthrust in a flagrantly male posture.
Watching.
His pose was so achingly familiar, she hesitated, her fingers curled around a dog biscuit. Memories flooded through her, memories of other times when he’d assumed the same stance, following her every movement with such passion-filled intensity, she’d grown faint with longing.
A second bark from Duffy broke the spell. Quickly she withdrew her hand from the jar and held the biscuit a few inches over Duffy’s head. He caught it midair and settled to the floor, crunching happily.
“I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Some old dogs,” Cassie muttered, then looked up in surprise when Luke chuckled.
No one, seeing Luke at this moment, would imagine him other than the most easygoing of men. He’d shrugged off his anger easier than a dog shook water from wet fur, but Cassie didn’t buy it. She studied the lazy smile playing across his lips and wondered what he was up to.
“We won’t solve anything by losing our tempers,” Luke said as though responding to her unspoken thoughts.
Cassie stiffened. “I was explaining my position. You lost your temper.”
Although a nerve twitched along his jaw—an obvious sign he wanted to throttle her—he merely shook his head in resignation. “Have it your way.” He even managed a halfhearted grin as he held up his hands in exaggerated surrender. “Truce?”
She eyed him with suspicion. Luke never gave in unless he’d already come up with an alternate strategy. She wondered what new surprise he had up his sleeve.
“Hell, Cassie,” he growled, his patience snapping. “I’m not the enemy.”
“Trying the ‘catch more flies with honey’ approach?” she asked in saccharine tones.
Even before he bridged the short distance between them, she knew she’d finally pushed him too far.
“Would it do any good?”
His husky whisper raised hairs on her neck. Cursing her runaway tongue, she took a hasty step backward and ran into the counter. Her retreat cut off, she took the only available course of action—she tensed and stood her ground.
Calmly, deliberately, he moved closer. Close enough for her to feel the heat of him. Close enough to read intent in his dark eyes.
Anticipation skittered up her spine. Surely he wouldn’t—
His fingers curled around her upper arms.
Sensation jolted through her, making a mockery of her efforts to remain indifferent. As her pulse leaped, she realized she’d been deluding herself. She was as susceptible to his charm as she’d been the first time they met.
Her mouth turned to parchment when he drew her to him, but she could no more break free of the gentle pressure he exerted than stop her heart from beating. His palms cupped her face, and she shut her eyes, feeling the soft caress of his breath as he dipped his head.
An alarm sounded in her mind.
She couldn’t respond to it.
Didn’t want to.
The touch of his mouth, coaxing and featherlight, took her breath away, and when he brushed her lips with his moist tongue, she thought she’d melt from pleasure.
It was insanity. Sheer madness. Yet Cassie was powerless to halt the swell of emotions that blossomed within her. As she surrendered to them, inhaling his familiar, masculine scent, the long years of separation vanished as though they’d never been.
His kiss transported her back to the beginning, when their relationship was fresh and new and full of wonder. Power radiated from his lean body; tenderness, from his stroking fingers. Her pulse leaped in an erratic dance of desire.
And then his hands dropped away, releasing her. Cool air slipped between them. She opened her eyes.
Luke’s face was expressionless, his gaze assessing.
“Enough honey?”
As his meaning penetrated, her stomach clenched and a bitter taste filled her mouth. It was a game to him, a cold-blooded experiment. She doused the pain in her heart with a surge of anger. Clenching her hands into fists, she opened her mouth to deliver a scathing put-down.
The phone rang.
No fighter, down for the count, could have felt more relieved than Luke did when Cassie whirled to grab the telephone. Her flashing eyes and thin-lipped
