Heather Graham (6 page)

She could still feel his eyes on her. The sensation was electric, but she forced herself to ignore him, smile, and walk out of the kitchen with the coffeepot.

He followed her with the tray. “We need to discuss a little business,” he said.

Martine hesitated. “Right after coffee. The house office connects to the foreman’s quarters.” Again she hesitated, wondering if she wasn’t inviting a mountain lion straight into her home. “Inside the house,” she said at last. “There’s a separate entrance, a kind of whole private area. I’ll show you.”

She started out again, then spun around. “Except, of course, you realize that I have a permanent foreman? The job can only be temporary.”

“I know the situation,” Kane said flatly as he went out to the patio.

The mood at the patio table was festive. And why not? They all could have been packing, and they weren’t. But as everyone else talked, Martine found herself silent again, watching her newfound rescuer/employee. He was smiling a lot, laughing. Yet she still felt something hard about him, and she sensed that the others felt it too. It was as if he might be very pleasant at the dinner table but a granite dictator when it came to work. Still, Martine didn’t think her people would mind that. They were a great group, with a firm belief in a day’s work for a day’s pay. They all worked the ranch as hard as she did. As long as they respected Kane, she knew they wouldn’t mind his authority; she suspected that anyone would wind up respecting the man.

Sonia explained to him that she and Bill had what they called the bunkhouse, except it wasn’t really a bunkhouse at all; it was a beautiful little frame house that was just perfect for them. It was set about a quarter of a mile behind the barn and had a couple of rooms with a separate entrance—just like the main house—for whoever else was around.

Martine thought that Sonia should act a little worried about her being up at the main house alone with the new foreman, a stranger, but Sonia didn’t appear at all concerned. Martine stared at her mug and sighed. The foreman was always in the main house, and no one had ever worried. But then Ed Rice was older than her father had been, his hair was snow white, and he was a paternal figure if Martine had ever seen one.

There was nothing remotely paternal or fraternal about Kane Montgomery. The man was pure threat—or promise, Martine wasn’t sure which. Yet she was equally sure, as Sonia apparently was, that Kane would never use his strength against her—unless it was the strength of his will, which Martine decided could probably be as dangerous as the power of his lean but tautly muscled frame.

“You know, Mr. Montgomery,” Jim was saying good-naturedly, “I could swear we’ve met before or that I’ve seen you somewhere.”

Martine tensed, carefully watching the profile of the man beside her; it was as strong as a hawk’s. He didn’t sidestep the issue; he stared straight at Jim, frowned slightly, and pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one.

“No, I don’t think we’ve met,” he said at last.

Jim shrugged. “I guess not. But maybe it will come to me later.”

“Well, it’s getting late,” Sonia said to her husband. “Let’s get some of these dishes in and done and head for home.”

Everyone rose and started bringing things into the main house. The effort was in unison, like all the work on the ranch, and with Sonia’s competence at supervision, the kitchen was soon as clean as the patio with every last dish put away.

But before Bill, Sonia, and Jim could leave, there had to be a concession to the fact that Martine still owned the ranch and that they all still had jobs. Bill hugged Martine, Sonia kissed both her cheeks enthusiastically, and even Jim got carried away enough to hug her and kiss her nose awkwardly. Finally they each shook Kane’s hand again, promising to see him at dawn.

And then she was waving good night, with Kane standing behind her.

The place suddenly seemed unusually quiet. And Martine felt as if all her nerve endings had been stripped and she had become acutely aware of sensation.

She shoved her hands into her pockets, turned, and walked past Kane. “Where are your things?”

“In the barn. I’ll get them later.”

She nodded. “Come on down the hall, and I’ll show you the office and your room.”

She passed her own bedroom door, and a fit of shivers seemed to seize her. She kept walking, past the room that had been her father’s and past the guest room. She took a little turn to the left, to the ell where a door stood ajar. She pushed it open and quickly, too nervously, turned on the light. There was a big oak desk in the office, silver gray filing cabinets, and the small home computer she had purchased just the year before.

“You’ll find the accounts, payroll, purchases, and anything else you might want to know on disks. Neatly labeled and arranged,” she said with a little laugh. “Requisitions and all are in the cabinets. But I guess we can go through all that sometime tomorrow. I’ve been doing the bookkeeping since Ed has been laid up.” She stopped speaking and sat in the chair before the desk, indicating that Kane was welcome to the one behind it. He smiled slightly and sat, watching her.

“What happened with Ken?” she asked at last.

He shrugged. “I paid him.”

“Just like that?”

“Oh, well, he wasn’t really happy with the situation at first,” Kane said, his voice trailing away slightly.

Martine flinched, quickly perusing his features, as if she hadn’t already done so all evening. “You didn’t—he didn’t—”

Kane laughed. “We both were very civilized, though I admit there’s something about that man that makes me long for a good fight.”

“So?”

“I pointed out the legal ramifications. He was bound to take the money. I also pointed out the fact that you could bring charges against him for attempted rape and physical abuse. I don’t think that had occurred to him yet.”

“Oh,” Martine murmured, looking down at her hands. She raised her eyes to his then. “Well, what do we do next? I’m assuming you’d like a little more than faith right now to guarantee your money.”

He smiled. “Yes, I’ve got a note for you to sign. But tomorrow will be soon enough. Or the day after—I’m assuming that you’d like to have it checked over by your attorney.”

She nodded, watching him uneasily, fascinated again by his eyes and the cast of his rugged features.

“So it really is—legitimate,” she murmured.

“Completely,” he told her. “I’m not the devil, and you’re not signing over your soul.” He stood and stared at the back door of the office. “I take it my room is back there?”

Martine nodded and rose too. He walked to the connecting door and switched on the light.

It was a massive room with a large bed covered with an old Indian spread. There was a small television, an old stereo system, an icebox, and a small Sterno burner. Ed Rice had been with the Galways as long as the Stuarts had; he had lived in the house like family, but even family needed moments of privacy, and this back room attached to the office had been planned to afford privacy.

“Nice,” he murmured, stepping into the room.

Martine followed him but paused in the doorway. “The bath leads out to the pool. On Sundays we all have a habit of sitting around a little in the afternoon and using your bath as the cabana. I hope you don’t mind.”

He chuckled. “It’s your house.” His smile flashed whitely against his bronzed cheeks. Then his long strides took him across the room, and he disappeared into the bathroom.

The door remained opened, but he didn’t reappear. At last Martie frowned and followed him.

The door that led back out to the patio was open too. She stepped quickly through the bath and outside.

He was standing by the pool, looking up at the moon. He smiled when he saw her. “It’s really a fabulous layout,” he told her.

“Thank you,” she said simply. Then she exhaled a long breath. “Uh, thank you, for everything. For this morning, for your money, for letting me keep this, for …” Her voice disappeared in a whisper.

He chuckled again and came to her slowly, a bit as if he were stalking her. But then he didn’t really. There was nothing predatory about his movement. He just came to her. His hands rested on her shoulders, and he stared down into her eyes, his own touched by the moon and seeming to compel her to meet his stare.

“For giving you a loan with no strings attached?” he asked.

She nodded.

“No strings …” he murmured. There definitely was a devilish cast to his gaze now, and he lowered his head. “I would take one advantage—if you don’t mind?”

“Yes?” she asked a little breathlessly.

“One kiss.”

She didn’t answer him. Or perhaps she did. She moistened her lips slightly with the tip of her tongue. His mouth came to hers. His hands slid evocatively down her spine to the small of her back, pressing her against his length.

She felt strength in the coercive thrust of his tongue against her lips, yet it was somehow gentle, like a rough velvet persuasion.

She slipped her hands around his neck and felt the fine cords of muscle there. Her body seemed to come alive against his, cherishing its hardness, the feel of heat and power against the softness of her breasts. He tasted slightly of beer, and his scent was that of the night, clean and musky and fascinating.

His knuckle brushed her cheek, and he slowly, savoringly lifted his lips from hers. His eyes were on hers again, and she realized that he had carefully restrained himself from any more than what he had asked. She felt tension in him, like a passion and hunger well leashed.

He smiled. “I guess I’d better let us both get some sleep, Ms. Galway. Ranch life starts early.”

She nodded, still staring at him. She wasn’t at all sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She felt as if her body were dancing, and she was shivering, very hot and then suddenly very cold.

She had wanted him to hold her and hold her. …

He was a stranger, and she had never behaved like this before in her life. But then she had never wanted a man like this before in her life. She felt as if she had been set afire, as if she couldn’t care less about anything else in the world. All she wanted was to explore the heat within herself, have him touch her, lie beside him and feel his body against hers. …

She stepped back quickly, groping wildly in her mind for good sense and ethics. What in God’s name was wrong with her?

“Good night,” she said quickly. Then she fled across the patio and returned to the house by way of the game room.

In her room she quickly donned a worn head-to-toe flannel nightgown, as if its chaste appearance could rid her body and mind of wanton fascination.

It didn’t work. She lay awake half the night, painfully, achingly aware that he was in the same house.

Who
was in the same house?

The great shame was that she just couldn’t seem to make not knowing who he was matter that night. She couldn’t make the question of his identity uppermost in her mind. He had made her burn inside, yearn and ache with desire. …It was an alien feeling. It was so thrilling that she could barely catch her breath, even as she lay still.

And it was frightening. Very, very frightening.

But it was undeniable. She lay awake for hours, wondering about him. She could find no answers, and she tossed about miserably.

Too late, and very close to dawn, she at last slept. But even then he haunted her dreams. He came to her in them, offering her a world of wonder and ecstasy. …

Then she realized that he wanted something in return, but the dream refused to tell her what.

N
O ONE WOKE MARTIE
up in the morning. She opened her eyes in a foul humor that was made worse when she realized the sun was very high in the sky and daylight was flooding into her room.

“Damn!” she muttered, leaping out of bed to take a cool and invigorating shower. She dressed in something like a panic, then raced out of her room.

But the ranch house was empty.

In the kitchen she discovered a note: “Hope you had a nice sleep, Princess, with the castle safe once again. See you tonight. Kane.”

There was coffee awaiting her on the stove. Rather than ease her sense of irritation, the coffee only increased it, not enough for her to refuse to drink a cup, but she remained irritated nevertheless. Martie hated the fact that she had overslept while everyone else was out working.

She sat down at the kitchen table to sip her coffee. “It entirely destroys my hardworking self-image!” she said aloud. And then, at last, she laughed at herself. Things were going right. Maybe she had just been under so much stress for so long that she didn’t know how to handle things when they were finally going right.

She noticed by gazing around the kitchen that Kane had made himself breakfast and cleaned up after himself.

“I’ll bet he even fried his bacon,” she muttered, and then once again she was laughing and trying to decide if she hated him for being perfect or just for leaving her so mentally and physically confused that she seemed incapable of normal behavior.

At that thought she was seized by tension, and all alone in the kitchen she blushed. She didn’t hate him. She liked him. Actually she was fascinated by him. Maybe that was what frightened her so much. He was living in her house now and had very smoothly taken over the running of her ranch. He was attracted to her. He had said as much.

Inadvertently she put her fingers to her lips. She could still remember the feel of his lips: a touch of strength without force; a touch that was tender yet hinted of a smoldering demand; a touch that had kept her awake all night, wondering, fantasizing …

Martine drew in a deep breath.
Slow down,
she warned her suddenly pounding heart—and herself. Maybe the man was authentic, or maybe he was an impulsive drifter. Even so, she was over twenty-one, and she owed herself something. If he loved her and left her, wouldn’t that be all right too? Surely she could feel no emotional ties—not now. Wouldn’t it be okay, she mused wistfully, just to have a mad affair once in her life?

Yes, she answered herself flatly. She was a mature twenty-five-year-old woman who spent most of her life working for an inherited dream and the beloved father who had left her that dream. She deserved time for herself as well, and she was certainly of an age to decide how intimate she wanted her relations to be.