do I think of you, honey?” he asked.
“As a flighty, money-mad tramp,” she replied.
He fingered his coffee cup thoughtfully. “You haven’t done much to satisfy my curiosity about you.”
“Why bother?” she asked. “You wouldn’t believe anything I said, you never have. You hated me on sight five years ago.”
One corner of his disciplined mouth lifted wryly. “Not quite.”
“At any rate,” she continued, “you didn’t want me on the place, and I knew it. I seem to have spent most of my vacations and holidays since I met Jenna dodging either her invitations or you.”
“Was that the only reason—because you thought I had it in for you?”
She looked into her coffee cup. “Of course.”
“You little liar,” he accused softly.
She took a large swallow of coffee. “Shouldn’t we get back to the ranch now?” she asked quickly.
He caught her eyes and searched them intently. The silence between them was broken only by the soft murmur of other diners’ conversations.
“I thought you were going to pass out when I started to touch you earlier,” he said in a deep, hushed tone. “Why are you afraid of me?”
“I’m not,” she replied firmly, avoiding his eyes. “You...you caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
“I rather think I did,” he murmured. He didn’t pursue it, but his eyes were calculating.
All the way down the road, she felt his gaze on her while a tape played soft, soothing music that helped to calm her shattered nerves. She didn’t even attempt conversation. She was too shaken by her own physical reactions to him to try.
They were just a few miles down the road from Gray Stag when a thunderstorm split the skies open, and King was forced to pull over onto the shoulder because the rain obscured the road completely.
Fortunately for Teddi, there wasn’t much lightning. And the sound of the rain on the roof and hood of the sports car was soothing, oddly comforting. It made the interior of the car cozy and warm and isolated.
King leaned one arm over the back of her seat, staring openly at her, letting his eyes trace every soft line of her body in a silence that was intensified by the fury of the rain.
“Not frightened?” he asked softly, lighting a cigarette with steady fingers.
“There’s no lightning,” she murmured evasively.
“I remember a night when there was a lot of it,” he said thoughtfully, opening a window slightly to let the smoke escape. “You were sixteen or seventeen, and I heard you crying because of the storm.”
She searched his narrowed, intent eyes. “When you opened the door, it was a toss-up as to whether I was more afraid of the lightning or you.”
He smiled faintly. “I realized that. It was a good thing for you that I did,” he added, the smile fading. His eyes dropped to the filmy bodice of her blouse, narrowing. “There was precious little to the gown you were wearing that night. When the light hit you at a certain angle, it was transparent.” His eyes lifted to catch her shocked ones. “You didn’t realize that, did you? The hardest thing I’ve done in years was open that door and walk out. I felt as if a wall had fallen on me.”
She averted her gaze to the rain splattering on the spotless hood, silently counting the drops. Her face had gone red and she couldn’t look at him. She hadn’t known the gown was transparent, she’d been too afraid of the storm.
“You haven’t changed,” he said absently, watching her. “Your body is as perfect now as it was then. Pink and creamy—”
She caught her breath, remembering his eyes on her. “Don’t,” she pleaded.
“Will you stop this prudish act?” he growled suddenly, flinging the cigarette out the window before he turned to catch her shoulders and drag her across the console into his hard, warm arms.
At his sudden proximity, her senses exploded, and all she could do was lie stiffly against his warm chest and stare helplessly into his blazing eyes.
“One
“As a flighty, money-mad tramp,” she replied.
He fingered his coffee cup thoughtfully. “You haven’t done much to satisfy my curiosity about you.”
“Why bother?” she asked. “You wouldn’t believe anything I said, you never have. You hated me on sight five years ago.”
One corner of his disciplined mouth lifted wryly. “Not quite.”
“At any rate,” she continued, “you didn’t want me on the place, and I knew it. I seem to have spent most of my vacations and holidays since I met Jenna dodging either her invitations or you.”
“Was that the only reason—because you thought I had it in for you?”
She looked into her coffee cup. “Of course.”
“You little liar,” he accused softly.
She took a large swallow of coffee. “Shouldn’t we get back to the ranch now?” she asked quickly.
He caught her eyes and searched them intently. The silence between them was broken only by the soft murmur of other diners’ conversations.
“I thought you were going to pass out when I started to touch you earlier,” he said in a deep, hushed tone. “Why are you afraid of me?”
“I’m not,” she replied firmly, avoiding his eyes. “You...you caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
“I rather think I did,” he murmured. He didn’t pursue it, but his eyes were calculating.
All the way down the road, she felt his gaze on her while a tape played soft, soothing music that helped to calm her shattered nerves. She didn’t even attempt conversation. She was too shaken by her own physical reactions to him to try.
They were just a few miles down the road from Gray Stag when a thunderstorm split the skies open, and King was forced to pull over onto the shoulder because the rain obscured the road completely.
Fortunately for Teddi, there wasn’t much lightning. And the sound of the rain on the roof and hood of the sports car was soothing, oddly comforting. It made the interior of the car cozy and warm and isolated.
King leaned one arm over the back of her seat, staring openly at her, letting his eyes trace every soft line of her body in a silence that was intensified by the fury of the rain.
“Not frightened?” he asked softly, lighting a cigarette with steady fingers.
“There’s no lightning,” she murmured evasively.
“I remember a night when there was a lot of it,” he said thoughtfully, opening a window slightly to let the smoke escape. “You were sixteen or seventeen, and I heard you crying because of the storm.”
She searched his narrowed, intent eyes. “When you opened the door, it was a toss-up as to whether I was more afraid of the lightning or you.”
He smiled faintly. “I realized that. It was a good thing for you that I did,” he added, the smile fading. His eyes dropped to the filmy bodice of her blouse, narrowing. “There was precious little to the gown you were wearing that night. When the light hit you at a certain angle, it was transparent.” His eyes lifted to catch her shocked ones. “You didn’t realize that, did you? The hardest thing I’ve done in years was open that door and walk out. I felt as if a wall had fallen on me.”
She averted her gaze to the rain splattering on the spotless hood, silently counting the drops. Her face had gone red and she couldn’t look at him. She hadn’t known the gown was transparent, she’d been too afraid of the storm.
“You haven’t changed,” he said absently, watching her. “Your body is as perfect now as it was then. Pink and creamy—”
She caught her breath, remembering his eyes on her. “Don’t,” she pleaded.
“Will you stop this prudish act?” he growled suddenly, flinging the cigarette out the window before he turned to catch her shoulders and drag her across the console into his hard, warm arms.
At his sudden proximity, her senses exploded, and all she could do was lie stiffly against his warm chest and stare helplessly into his blazing eyes.
“One
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