imagine how I felt when I read that letter, when I knew what I'd done."
Somehow breath had suspended itself in her throat. She felt as if she were drowning in the depths of his pale eyes, held there by something new and strange and vulnerable. He'd always seemed incapable of emotion, yet for one moment, one heart-stopping eternity, his expression had held such pain-such agonized loss-that now she was powerless to move, to speak, even to think.
He lifted his head and stared at the painting above the mantel. It was a scene of Texas that had been done by someone in his family almost a century ago, of longhorn cattle in a storm with a ranch house and windmill in the background.
"Erin..." He paused as if searching for words, his back straight and rigid. "I didn't plan what happened that night. I told you I had, but it wasn't the truth...."
Her hands fiddled with her skirt as she stared at him in wonder. He'd never talked to her like this. She waited silently for him to continue.
"I thought if I goaded you, I might make you mad enough to strike out at me," he said, lifting his eyes to the painting. "When you did, it gave me an excuse to touch you. I'd wanted that. You obsessed me, haunted me. I dreamed about how it would be, touching you that way." He shrugged wearily. "You kissed me back, and I went crazy. To this day, I don't half remember how it happened. I didn't even think about taking precautions. I assumed that you were already doing it, that you were experienced."
The confession fascinated her. She studied the hard muscles of his legs, his narrow hips, remembering how they'd felt under her exploring hands. She flushed a little at the memory. "I thought it was to get me out of Bruce's life."
He turned, pinning her with quiet, steady eyes. "I lied," he said. "Bruce was the last thing on my mind. I wanted you."
She felt like a trapped animal. He was doing it again, trying to take her over, own her. She clenched her hands tightly in her lap. "You let me go," she whispered.
"I had to, damn it!" he cried. "You were his, for all practical purposes. I'd betrayed him; so had you. I couldn't live with it. I had to get you out of here before I..."
"Before what, iron man?" she asked him. "Before you lost your head again? Is it so hard to admit that you're human enough to feel desire?"
"Yes!"
He slammed the brandy snifter into the fire, watching it splinter amid the explosion of blazing liquor. Erin jumped at the impact, but he didn't even flinch. He brushed back a lock of unruly hair and reached automatically into his pocket for a cigarette. He lit it and took a long draw while Erin sat nervously watching him.
He moved away from the fireplace restlessly. "My father's idea of marriage was warped. He saw it as a business merger. Sex, he always told me, was a weakness that a man with any backbone should be able to overcome." He paused in front of her and looked down, his silvery eyes cold and unfeeling. "Erin, I had my first woman when I was twenty-one, and it took weeks to get over the guilt. I gave in to a desire I couldn't control, and I hated it. And her." He lifted his shoulders. "Maybe I hated my father, too, for forcing his principles onto me. My mother couldn't live with him. She was normal. A warm, loving woman. He couldn't even touch her at the last."
He moved back to the fireplace and stared into the flames while Erin sat quietly and thrilled to the wonder of hearing these intimate things-things, she knew, that he'd never shared with another living soul.
"I'm more like him every day," he said dully, studying the flames. "I can't change. Walls work both ways. They keep people out...but they keep people in, too."
Her heart ached for him. Her own problems seemed to diminish a little as she realized what he was saying.
"You're lonely," she said gently.
He turned and looked at her, and for the first time his expression wasn't hidden. He seemed
Somehow breath had suspended itself in her throat. She felt as if she were drowning in the depths of his pale eyes, held there by something new and strange and vulnerable. He'd always seemed incapable of emotion, yet for one moment, one heart-stopping eternity, his expression had held such pain-such agonized loss-that now she was powerless to move, to speak, even to think.
He lifted his head and stared at the painting above the mantel. It was a scene of Texas that had been done by someone in his family almost a century ago, of longhorn cattle in a storm with a ranch house and windmill in the background.
"Erin..." He paused as if searching for words, his back straight and rigid. "I didn't plan what happened that night. I told you I had, but it wasn't the truth...."
Her hands fiddled with her skirt as she stared at him in wonder. He'd never talked to her like this. She waited silently for him to continue.
"I thought if I goaded you, I might make you mad enough to strike out at me," he said, lifting his eyes to the painting. "When you did, it gave me an excuse to touch you. I'd wanted that. You obsessed me, haunted me. I dreamed about how it would be, touching you that way." He shrugged wearily. "You kissed me back, and I went crazy. To this day, I don't half remember how it happened. I didn't even think about taking precautions. I assumed that you were already doing it, that you were experienced."
The confession fascinated her. She studied the hard muscles of his legs, his narrow hips, remembering how they'd felt under her exploring hands. She flushed a little at the memory. "I thought it was to get me out of Bruce's life."
He turned, pinning her with quiet, steady eyes. "I lied," he said. "Bruce was the last thing on my mind. I wanted you."
She felt like a trapped animal. He was doing it again, trying to take her over, own her. She clenched her hands tightly in her lap. "You let me go," she whispered.
"I had to, damn it!" he cried. "You were his, for all practical purposes. I'd betrayed him; so had you. I couldn't live with it. I had to get you out of here before I..."
"Before what, iron man?" she asked him. "Before you lost your head again? Is it so hard to admit that you're human enough to feel desire?"
"Yes!"
He slammed the brandy snifter into the fire, watching it splinter amid the explosion of blazing liquor. Erin jumped at the impact, but he didn't even flinch. He brushed back a lock of unruly hair and reached automatically into his pocket for a cigarette. He lit it and took a long draw while Erin sat nervously watching him.
He moved away from the fireplace restlessly. "My father's idea of marriage was warped. He saw it as a business merger. Sex, he always told me, was a weakness that a man with any backbone should be able to overcome." He paused in front of her and looked down, his silvery eyes cold and unfeeling. "Erin, I had my first woman when I was twenty-one, and it took weeks to get over the guilt. I gave in to a desire I couldn't control, and I hated it. And her." He lifted his shoulders. "Maybe I hated my father, too, for forcing his principles onto me. My mother couldn't live with him. She was normal. A warm, loving woman. He couldn't even touch her at the last."
He moved back to the fireplace and stared into the flames while Erin sat quietly and thrilled to the wonder of hearing these intimate things-things, she knew, that he'd never shared with another living soul.
"I'm more like him every day," he said dully, studying the flames. "I can't change. Walls work both ways. They keep people out...but they keep people in, too."
Her heart ached for him. Her own problems seemed to diminish a little as she realized what he was saying.
"You're lonely," she said gently.
He turned and looked at her, and for the first time his expression wasn't hidden. He seemed
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