Heather Graham (9 page)

“Oh, no?”

“Certainly not!”

He grinned and changed the direction of the conversation. “Ms. Galway, you are sloshed. Only slightly perhaps, but definitely on the way to very. Want to put your head on my lap and watch mummies until you pass out?”

“I never pass out!” she protested. “And I’m not sloshed. Not even a little.”

He stretched an arm out, cupped her nape with his hand, and pulled her down. To her amazement she didn’t fight him. Nor did she gaze at the screen. She stared into his eyes, wondering why it felt so right to be there.

“Okay, we’ll go back to tipsy,” he said. His smile seemed very gentle, almost tender, and he brought his palm to her cheek, which he caressed lightly. “You were jealous, weren’t you?” he said teasingly.

“Certainly not,” she replied, but her voice came out a little breathless. The rough-tender movement of his hand over the soft flesh of her face was as hypnotic as his eyes were. Not really aware of what she was doing, she reached up to brush that stray lock of dark hair back against his forehead.

“It doesn’t matter at all to you where I went?” he asked in a whisper that seemed to rasp against her heart and send it into an erratic gallop.

“Of course not,” she said, smiling sweetly and giving in to the temptation to explore the high bones of his cheeks with her fingers.

He caught her fingers and kissed their tips, then held them to his mouth, teasing them with his tongue. Martine felt something deep in her abdomen seem to melt like liquid fire.

“You really don’t want to know where I went?” he taunted her with a smile.

“No,” she said flatly. Then: “Where did you go?”

He chuckled. “A business appointment. I promise. Nothing that wasn’t important would take me away from you.”

“Really?” She tried to sound totally indifferent.

“Mmm …” he murmured, still playing with her fingers, running his teeth lightly over the pad of her pinkie.

She inhaled sharply and exhaled very slowly, still staring into his eyes, so beguiled that she could not tear away. Then he entwined his fingers with hers; his large hand, very tan and strong, seemed to engulf her own. He brought their folded hands over her lap and smiled at her tenderly.

“Why do you fascinate me so?” she asked, suddenly feeling just a bit wary but also feeling the warming, lulling effects of the brandy and a strange sensation that being here, on his lap, was right and exciting and wonderfully comfortable.

“I don’t know,” he answered seriously, “but I’m awfully glad I do.”

Her lips curled into a wistful, beautiful smile. “Why?”

Kane had been enjoying the evening immensely, but playing it with great restraint. That was difficult—close to impossible—when he was holding her, when her hair was lying like velvet over his legs and all her feminine curves were within his reach. He was holding her, feeling all her warmth, the vibrance that was so much a part of her beauty. Her flesh—he could almost feel it beneath the velvet of her robe. He caressed the curve of her hip, and the V of her robe gave a hint of the firm fullness of her breasts. He longed with all his heart to take full advantage of the moment, but he didn’t want it to be this way.

“Because you fascinate me,” he told her honestly. Her eyes were so large, he thought, trusting and curious—and still wary.

He caressed her cheek lightly and smoothed her tangled hair from her face. “I’m taking you to bed,” he told her.

Her eyes grew even wider, and he laughed as he slipped his arms beneath her shoulder and knees to rise.

Her arms locked around his neck, but the stunned alarm was still in her eyes.

“I’m taking you to your bed, where I’m going to leave you alone,” he told her, grinning. “The first time we make love, you might precede the act with, say, one glass of wine. But you won’t be the least bit tipsy. You’ll be wide-awake and very much aware of each sensation, and you’ll be filled with passionate energy.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.” His voice was low, deep—and totally confident.

T
HEY ALL LET HER
oversleep again. It was eleven when she jumped out of the bed with her head pounding, and of course, everyone was already gone.

An aspirin and two cups of coffee made her feel a little like living again. So did the vow she made to her stomach that she would never even sniff brandy again.

Martine spent the day industriously cleaning out stalls and the tack room. She worked with a vicious will, determined that she might as well make the tempest in her mind a useful one to get things done. She didn’t leave a saddle or bridle unoiled, nor when she had finished with that task, did she leave one of the horses in peace. They were all curried and groomed to perfection.

She remembered the night before exactly—every word spoken, every nuance of movement. She thought that she should be a little ashamed by her behavior, but she wasn’t. She kept telling herself that she barely knew the man and that she would have willingly fallen into bed with him in an instant. She didn’t really trust him, so she had to be a little insane!

But throughout the day she just kept coming up with one conclusion: She did want him, whether it was right or wrong—or crazy. And he wanted her. It seemed to be only a matter of time.

Combing out Cheyenne’s long mane, she decided that she needed time between them. She wasn’t going to be embarrassed or awkward when she saw him again, but she was going to be the one to pull in the reins. Going to the senator’s for dinner could be a little like a first date. Maybe she could ask him where he came from, when his birthday was, how many siblings he had, and a million other things she could think of.

“Hey, there.”

She froze a little, inwardly bemoaning the fact that she had spent the day shoveling out the stalls. She was sweaty and filthy and certainly much less than fragrant, and Kane was standing at the barn door to assure her that she didn’t need to speak of the devil but merely to think of him for him to make an appearance.

“Hi,” she murmured back, looking around Cheyenne’s long neck.

He walked up to her and sat on one of the corded stacks of hay, idly drawing out a strand to chew as he regarded her, his eyes heavy-lidded with some secret amusement.

His gaze took in the place, the neatly raked dirt, the clean stalls, the gleaming leather trappings on the tack room shelves.

“Been busy, I see.”

She shrugged. “Things need to be done.”

“That they do,” he said pleasantly, leaning on his elbows. He smiled. “I’d thought you might be nursing a headache.”

She arched a brow and smiled at him sweetly. “Not at all,” she said innocently, lying, of course. She allowed her gaze to meet his and inquired lightly, “What is this? The new foreman’s goofing off on the job already? Really, Mr. Montgomery, I expected much more from you.”

He cast back his head and laughed easily, then patted the hay next to him. “Even the lowest employee gets a break here and there, Ms. Galway. Bosses should take breaks too. Come and sit.”

She shook her head, saying dryly, “I smell like a stall.”

“I’m sitting next to the stall. My nose will never know the difference.”

“Ah, but you see, I would,” she told him.

He got to his feet, slowly walked to her, clutched her hands, and forced her to turn around and look at him. His eyes were bright with amusement and a touch of fever, and he lowered his mouth to hers slowly. He kissed her lightly, murmuring his appreciation, and then kissed her again more deeply, slowly, and fully as if he were exploring her mouth and finding it infinitely sweet. His touch was beguiling, and she found herself leaning against him, a little awed by the way her blood warmed at his kiss.

But he didn’t force any more. He broke away from her, still holding her hands. “Will you leave that poor gelding alone?” he said teasingly. “He’s a male. Males do not like to be primped.”

“Oh, they don’t?” Martie murmured, watching him with wide eyes, her breath coming a little erratically.

“No.”

“They don’t like attention?”

“Oh, they love attention.”

“That’s interesting.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he murmured, flashing her a white smile. Staring at his mouth, she remembered the erotic way his teeth had moved over her fingertips the night before, and it occurred to her that he was probably a very experienced lover and that he was probably equally accustomed to having his way.

“Come on over and sit with me a minute. I want to talk to you.”

She shrugged and allowed him to lead her to the hay bale, curious about his next move.

But it wasn’t moves he had in mind. Not the type she had been thinking of at any rate.

“Martine, I want to bring in more cattle. I talked to Holliman on the phone just now, and he gave me a great lead on some young Brahmans. What do you say?”

She stiffened. “That puts me a lot further into debt, doesn’t it?”

He spit out an impatient oath, releasing her hands to stand and pace the dirt floor in front of her. “Lady, you took one hell of a chance when you signed that note to Ken Lander. What is your problem with doing something legitimate?”

She hesitated, staring down at her hands.

“Martine, I’m trying to help you make a go of this place!” he said, coming before her earnestly to get down on one knee and grip her hands again, heedless of the dirt. He smiled suddenly and pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe a speck of dirt off her nose. “Admit it. I gave you one of the best loans in history! If you fired me tomorrow, the terms wouldn’t change. Tell me, just what is your problem with this?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered. Then she smiled at him a little ruefully, a little cynically. “No strings attached?”

“No strings attached.”

“If I fired you tomorrow, you’d leave?”

He hesitated. “Would you do that?”

“I could. You never know,” she murmured, seeking his reaction. Surprisingly she did get one from him. He stood up and absently rubbed his chin as he wandered over to Cheyenne and then back.

“Okay,” he said a little harshly. “You seem to want terms. You seem to think that something has to have a catch for it to be real.”

She leaned back in the hay, bracing herself mentally and physically. “I just can’t figure this out, Kane,” she said bluntly. “You don’t look or act a thing like Mary Poppins or the Rainmaker. So what is this? You walked in—rode in, actually—out of the blue, right in the nick of time. My ranch is saved from the dastardly villain.”

“More than your ranch was saved.” He reminded her sharply.

“I never questioned that,” she said smoothly. “Nor have I shown a lack of gratitude. I just don’t understand what’s going on. I thought you were a drifter. Few drifters drift around with your kind of money. And with your kind of money you don’t seriously need a job. So what are you really after?”

Outside, a cloud must have passed over the sun. The barn was suddenly cast into shadow when she most needed clarity.

She could see nothing but his tall form, hands on his hips, feet firm on the ground, his profile rugged and harsh.

“You,” he told her flatly.

She started to laugh. “But you’d never even seen me before the day you came here!”

“That’s true,” he said, and even with the shadows suddenly filling the barn, she was clearly aware that he was stalking toward her. She thought to back away too late; he caught her shoulders, and she was suddenly lying in the hay with him above her, not hurting her but trapping her between the span of his arms.

“Kane—”

“I came here that day,” he interrupted with raw determination, “because Joe Devlin suggested it. We both know that. But I didn’t offer you the loan until I’d seen you. And I didn’t offer another loan for the cattle until I’d seen the ranch—and more of you. Now, Ms. Galway, we both know that there’s something going on between us. Call it chemistry, call it whatever you like. It—”

“It might well be a figment of your imagination!” Martie exclaimed, angry and suddenly more than a little frightened. Not that he would hurt her, but he was very right, and he could prove it—and she would still be as lost as she was now.

“I don’t think so,” he told her, his eyes narrowing still further in the dim light. “Not after last night—not before last night really. Now I’m not sure what your problem is, not with the loan but with me. You’re like fire and ice. If you want to be honest, you’ll admit that last night could have been mine completely. That’s not the way I want it. Not for us, because I’ll never give you a chance to have any excuse to deny anything after the fact. Maybe you’ve got a hang-up about knowing someone well. Or maybe you want the dinner and flowers routine first. Well, I’m not a game player, Martine. Maybe you are. Maybe you feel you have to have some kind of excuse to go to bed with a man other than the fact that you just want to. Want me to make it easy for you? Want me to make it part of a demand?”

“You wouldn’t,” she replied on a breath of fury and shock.

“You’re right,” he said flatly. “I wouldn’t.” He smiled suddenly. “Especially since it wouldn’t matter in the least. My feelings are too intense for deals or games—and I think yours are too. It’s going to be a short matter of time before you’re mine, Ms. Galway, and the ranch, the money, the loans—nothing will have a damned thing to do with it!”

“Why, you—you,” Martie sputtered, “you cocky, arrogant, SOB!”

He shook his head a little ruefully and suddenly moved away from her, freeing her from the prison of his arms. “Not guilty!” he told her lightly, and his smile flashed against his bronzed features again. “Determined and confident maybe. And”—his voice fell to an intense whisper that riddled her spine with a surging fever—“insatiably hungry …”

He turned and headed for the door. “I’m taking the truck. I’m off to buy the cattle. I won’t be back until late probably. I’m sure I can do something else with them if we can’t come to an agreement.”

Martine fumbled to sit up in the hay, trying to fight the spell of his words and take control. But he was still claiming there were no strings attached; he wasn’t asking her for anything, and she’d be a fool to turn down terms as good as his.