Читать книгу White Christmas: Woman Hater / The Humbug Man - Diana Palmer - Страница 8

Winthrop’s horses attracted Nicole immediately, even though he’d given her a terse warning at breakfast about going too close to them. One of the happiest memories of her childhood was watching old Ernie at her home in Kentucky as he worked the thoroughbreds when they were ready to be trained.

Besides his saddle horses, mostly quarter horses, Winthrop had at least two thoroughbreds with unmistakably Arabian ancestry, judging by their small heads. All American thoroughbreds, she remembered, were able to trace their ancestry to one of three Arabian horses imported into England in the late 1600s and early 1700s: Byerley Turk, Godolphin Barb and Queen Anne.

Winthrop’s horses had the exquisite conformation and sleek lines that denoted thoroughbreds, too. She’d watched them during her brief stroll around the stables and corral. One was a mare about to foal, the other a full stallion, both with sleek chestnut coats and exquisite conformation. She’d wanted to ask Winthrop about them over scrambled eggs and steak that morning, but he’d been unapproachable. Frozen over, in fact, and she knew why without even being told. He didn’t want her too close, so he was freezing her out.

She’d finished her two hours in the study, taking dictation from Gerald, and now cozy and warm in tailored gray slacks and a white pullover sweater, she was lazing around the corral looking for the horses. The stallion was there, but she didn’t see the mare anywhere.

A noise from inside the big barn caught her attention. She couldn’t see inside, but it sounded like a horse’s whinny of pain. It was followed by a particularly virulent curse from a voice she recognized immediately.

She darted into the dim warmth of the big barn, down the neat corridor between the stalls that was covered with pine shavings.

“Winthrop?” she called quickly.

“In here.”

She followed his voice to the end stall. The mare was down on her side, making snuffling sounds, and Winthrop was bending over her, his sleeves rolled up, bareheaded, scowling.

“Something’s wrong,” she said, glancing at him.

“Brilliant observation,” he muttered, probing at the mare’s distended belly with tender, sure hands. “This is her first foal and it’s a breech, damn the luck! Go get Johnny Blake and tell him I said to come here, I can’t do this alone. He’ll be—”

“The mare will be dead by the time I find him,” she said matter-of-factly. She eased into the stall, ignoring Winthrop as she gently approached the mare, talking softly to her with every step. While Winthrop watched, scowling, she slid down to her knees beside the beautiful, intelligent creature, watching the silky brown eyes all the while. She sat down then, reaching out to stroke the mare. And slowly, she eased under the proud head and slowly coaxed it onto her knees. She drew her fingers gently over the velvety muzzle, talking softly to the mare, gentling her.

“She’ll let you help her now,” she told Winthrop softly, never taking her eyes from the mare’s.

“Yes,” he said, watching her curiously for a few seconds before he bent to his task. “I believe she might. You’ll ruin that fancy sweater,” he murmured as he went to work.

“Better it than lose the foal,” she said, and smiled at the mare, talking gently to her all along, smoothing the long mane, cuddling the shuddering head, as Winthrop slowly worked to help the colt in its dark cradle. She knew instinctively that the mare would realize that she was trying to help, and not hurt her.

Minutes later, guided by patient, expert lean hands, hind fetlocks appeared suddenly, followed rapidly by the rest of the newborn animal. Winthrop laughed softly, triumphantly, as the tiny new life slid into the hay and he cleared its nostrils.

“A colt,” he announced.

Nicole smiled at him over the mare, amazed to find genuine warmth in his dark eyes. “And a very healthy one, too,” she agreed. Her eyes searched his softly, and then she felt herself beginning to tremble at the intensity of his level gaze. She drew her gaze away and stroked the mare again before she got slowly to her feet so that the new mother could lick her colt and nuzzle it.

“A thoroughbred, isn’t he?” she replied absently, her eyes on the slick colt being lovingly washed by his mother. “The stallion has a superior conformation. So does the mare. He might be a champion.”

“The stallion is by Calhammond, out of Dame Savoy,” he said, frowning as he moved away to wash his hands and arms in a bucket of water with a bar of soap, drying them on a towel that hung over it. “How did you know?”

“Kentucky is racehorse country,” she laughed, sidestepping the question. She didn’t want to tell him how much she knew about thoroughbreds, although she’d certainly given herself away just now, and she’d have to soft-pedal over it. “I cut my teeth on thoroughbreds. I used to beg for work around them, and one of the trainers took pity on me. He taught me a lot about them. You see, one of the biggest racing farms in Lexington was near where I lived—Rockhampton Farms.” Actually Rockhampton was her grandfather’s name; her mother’s people had owned the stables there for three generations. But it wouldn’t do to admit that to Winthrop, because he’d connect it with Dominic White, who was her father and the current owner. He might even know Dominic, because he entertained sportsmen, and her father was one of the best.

“I’ve heard of it,” Winthrop told her after a minute. He turned, staring hard at her with dark, curious eyes as he rolled down the sleeves of his brown Western shirt and buttoned the cuffs with lazy elegance. White. Her name was White. Wasn’t that the name of that jet-setting sportsman from Kentucky who was coming with the Eastern hunting party? Yes, by God it was, and Dominic White owned Rockhampton Farms. He lifted his head. “The owner of Rockhampton is a White,” he said in a direct attack, watching closely for reaction. “Any kin of yours?”

She held on to her wits with a steely hand. She even smiled. “White is a pretty common name, I’m afraid,” she said. “Do I look like an heiress?”

“You don’t dress like one,” he commented, with narrowed eyes. “And I guess you wouldn’t be working for Gerald if you had that kind of money,” he said finally, relaxing a little. He didn’t want her, but it was a relief all the same to know that she wasn’t some bored little rich girl looking for a good time. He couldn’t have borne going through that again. “I’ve been to Kentucky, but I’ve never been on the White place. My stallion and mare came from the O’Hara place.”

“Yes, Meadowbrook Farms,” she murmured. She could have fainted with relief. She didn’t want him to know about her background. Of course, there was always the danger that he might someday find out that she was one of those Whites, but with any luck she’d be back in Chicago before he did, and it wouldn’t matter anymore. Right now, the important thing was to get her boss well and not upset him with any confrontations between herself and Winthrop.

Winthrop had every reason to hate rich society girls, and he might be tempted to make her life hell if he knew the truth. And probably it would be worse because she hadn’t told him about it in the beginning. Her character would be even blacker in his eyes for the subterfuge. For one wild instant, she considered telling him. But she knew she couldn’t. He disliked her enough already. And it was suddenly important, somehow, to keep him from finding new reasons to dislike her. It did occur to her that someday he might hate her for not being truthful with him. But she’d discovered a tender streak in his turbulent nature while he was working with the mare, and she wanted to learn more about that shadowy side of him. That might not be possible if he knew the truth about her.

“I couldn’t have managed that alone,” he said quietly, watching her. “I’m obliged for the help.”

“I like horses,” she said simply. “And he’s a grand colt.”

“His father has been a consistent winner, but he was hurt in a race last year. I bought him to stand at stud rather than see him put down. I had a lot of money that was lying spare, so I developed an interest in racehorses. I’ve spent a good deal of time at racetracks in the past year.”

Another chink in the armor, she thought, thinking about his compassion for the stallion as she looked up at him.

He saw that speculative gleam and it irritated him. She wasn’t working out the way he’d expected. She had too many interesting qualities, and he didn’t like the feelings she aroused in him. He’d buried his emotions, and she was digging down to them with irritating ease.

“You don’t like me, do you?” she asked bluntly. “Why? Is it because I’m plain, or because I’m only a secretary …”

“You aren’t plain,” he said unexpectedly, his dark eyes tracing the soft oval of her face. Big green eyes. Pretty mouth. High cheekbones. Skin like satin, creamy and young. She was young. He sighed wistfully. “And I’m no snob. I just don’t want women around.”

“That’s straightforward,” she said softly. “And I hope it won’t offend you if I speak as bluntly. I know a little about what happened to you and why. I’m very sorry. But hating me and making my life miserable for the next few weeks isn’t going to erase your scars. It will only create new ones for both of us. So can’t we be sporting enemies?” she asked, her green eyes twinkling. “And I’ll promise not to seduce you in the hay.”

His eyebrows shot straight up. Unexpected wasn’t the word for this little firecracker. He’d have to think up a new one.

“What do you know about seduction, Red Riding Hood?” he asked with blithe humor, and she got a tiny glimpse of the man he’d been before the accident.

“Not much, actually,” she said pleasantly, “but that’s probably in your favor, because it will save you a lot of embarrassing moments. Just imagine if I were experienced and sophisticated and out to sink my claws into you!”

Her earnestly teasing expression made him feel as if he were sipping potent wine. He had a hard time drawing his eyes away from her soft mouth and back up to her laughing eyes. Incredibly long lashes, on those eyes. Sexy. Like the rest of her. She was tall, but she wasn’t overly thin. He liked the way she looked in tailored slacks and that white sweater. Both were thick with horsehair about now, and she’d smell of horse….

“She’ll want some water now,” she reminded him, unnerved by that slow, bold scrutiny and hoping that it didn’t show.

It did. His chin lifted just a little, in a purely male way, and his chiseled mouth twitched. “Nervous of me?”

“If all the gossip I’ve heard about you is true, I have good reason to be, and that isn’t conceit on my part,” she added proudly. “Playboys don’t usually mind who they charm, because it’s all a game to them.”

The light in his eyes went out, like a cavern succumbing to darkness. “I don’t play games with virgins, honey,” he said unexpectedly, catching her chin with a lean, steely hand. “And you’d better remember it. I’ve forgotten more about lovemaking in my time than you’ve ever learned, but I’m not low enough to take out my hurt on you.”

He was so close that she could feel the strong warmth of him. Her heart ran wild. She’d never had such a powerful, immediate reaction to a man before. Not even to Chase. This was new and wildly exciting, and she wanted more.

“How do you know that … about me?” she whispered, shocked that he could so easily discuss the most intimate subjects.

“I don’t know,” he replied quietly, searching her soft eyes. His blood warmed in his veins, and he felt his heartbeat slowly increase. Her scent was overpowering, drowning him, seducing his senses. He knew a lot about her, knowledge that only instinct could have supplied.

Her lips parted on a rush of breath. The dimness of the barn was warm and cozy, shutting them away from the world. Winthrop was closer than ever, towering over her, drowning her in a narcotic kind of hunger.

She took an involuntary step toward him. “I … don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice shaking. One slender hand went hesitantly to his chest and pressed against it, feeling the shock of warm muscle and a spongy wiriness that might have been hair underneath. She felt him tense, even before his hand came up to remove hers with abrupt impatience.

“Don’t do that,” he ground out, glaring at her. “I don’t want your hands on me.”

Her own forwardness shocked her more than his irritable statement. She turned away, feeling a rush of tears that she couldn’t let him see.

“I’d better get back to the house,” she said quickly. “Your brother was going to make a phone call and then finish his dictation. I’m glad the mare’s okay.” She said it all in a mad rush and threw a vague smile in his direction before she went out of the barn as if her shoes were on fire.

He watched her go with mingled emotions. Anger. Irritation. Hunger. Frustration. He couldn’t sort them out, so he didn’t bother. He went back to feed and water the mare and see about the colt. Damn women everywhere, he thought, and limped more than usual as he went about his business.

Nicole made a point of avoiding her boss’s unpredictable brother for the rest of the day. But there was no getting away from him at the supper table, and she had to fight not to look at him.

Cleaned up and freshly shaved, wearing a white shirt that suited his darkness, he would have drawn any woman’s eyes. It was easy to see how he’d appealed to women when he was younger. He was still a striking man, and it wasn’t just his looks. There was an indefinable something about him, a vibrant masculinity that was almost tangible and certainly overpowering at close range. Her hands trembled just sitting next to him at the long table.

Gerald was quoting figures on some real estate he’d acquired, and Winthrop was listening with barely half his mind. He was watching Nicky while he pared his steak and chewed it deliberately, trying not to let her know that he was watching her. She was wearing that gray jersey dress that clung so lovingly to her curves, and the memory of the effect she’d had on him in the barn wasn’t doing his appetite any good.

He finally grew impatient with her downbent head and stopped eating and just stared at her intently while Gerald went on talking without realizing that he was talking to himself.

Nicole felt that intent stare and looked up into Winthrop’s dark eyes. And her heart stopped beating.

Electricity danced between them. She couldn’t drag her eyes from his, any more than his were willing to be tugged away. The look they exchanged was long and piercing and shattering in its intensity. It was as personal as a kiss, so steady and unblinking that she felt her body tremble in intimate response to his blatant interest.

His gaze held hers for a shuddering moment, and then it dropped to her mouth, and she felt her lips part helplessly for him.

“Winthrop, are you listening?” Gerald asked suddenly, breaking the silence when he discovered that his brother was apparently staring into space.

“What?” Winthrop turned back to him. “Something about real estate values?” he asked absently. He didn’t like the way his body responded to that look in Nicole’s eyes. He was going to have to do something. But what?

Nicole was having as difficult a time with her own body. She shifted restlessly and drank coffee that was, by now, hopelessly oversugared. While Winthrop’s dark eyes had been openly making love to hers, she’d put six spoons of sugar in the black liquid. She took a sip and shuddered and left it in favor of the glass of water Mary had provided for each of them. So much for common sense. It was time to retreat.

For the next few days, she and Winthrop avoided each other—ignored each other—to the extent that everybody noticed, and Mary began asking gentle questions that Nicole smiled at and avoided answering. And that might have gone on for another week if she hadn’t tripped on the steps coming in from a walk late one afternoon, to be caught by Winthrop in the gathering darkness.

He’d apparently just come in from the corral himself. He smelled of cattle and he needed a shave, but his arms in the sheepskin jacket felt strong and warm, and instead of pulling away like a sensible girl, Nicole had sighed and relaxed against his tall, strong body.

Winthrop muttered something, but he didn’t push her away. His hard arms contracted, drawing her against him under the unbuttoned jacket, and he stood holding her in the dusky light, savoring her softness, his cheek against her dark hair.

It seemed so natural, somehow. So right. His eyes closed and all the reasons why he shouldn’t allow her this close vanished. He didn’t make a sound, and neither did she. The wind sang through the tall lodgepole pines, whispered through the aspen and maples, whipped her hair against her flushed cheek. She pressed closer with a tiny, inarticulate sound, too hungry for the contact to listen to the warning bells going off in her head. He was warm and strong, and it was sheer delight to be held by him. She felt her body tremble with exquisite pleasure.

“We could hurt each other badly,” he whispered in her ear, his voice deep and soft and slow. “You don’t have the experience to understand the risk, and I can’t be sure that I wouldn’t take out old hurts on you, even though I wouldn’t do it consciously. This is crazy.”

“Yes.”

He nuzzled his cheek against her hair. “I mean it, Nicky.”

She sighed, reluctantly drawing away from him. She looked up, curious, excited. “Afraid of me, cattle baron?” she asked softly.

“In a way,” he agreed unexpectedly, but he wasn’t smiling. He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers in a soft caress. “I don’t like to start things I can’t finish.”

“Meaning?” she persisted. If it was digging her own emotional grave, she couldn’t help it. She had to know.

He stared into her eyes for just a second, and then drew back, physically and emotionally. “You’ll figure it out. Don’t wander out of the yard when you go walking. One of the men thinks he spotted a wolf today. I don’t want anything to happen to you, little Eastern girl. I may never be your lover, but I’ll take care of you, all the same, while you’re here.”

And with that surprising statement, he turned and walked off. Nicole stared after him with eyes that brimmed with unshed tears. He was very protective of her, and she wondered if he realized it. He wasn’t saying what he felt, but she knew instinctively that he shared some of the warm feeling that was growing inside her. But whether he’d ever give in to it was anyone’s guess. As for Nicole, it had shocked her to realize that she had none of her usual defenses when he was near her. And that realization kept her quiet all through supper and beyond bedtime. What an unexpectedly complicated thing this vacation of her boss’s had become. She hoped that she was going to be able to cope with the new and disturbing feelings that Winthrop had unearthed in her.

Life sailed into a pleasant routine after that. She and Gerald settled down to work, and Nicole spent her free time exploring outdoors or watching Mary in the kitchen. Winthrop was pleasant enough, but he kept things cool, although from time to time she found those dark, quiet eyes watching her in a way that excited her beyond bearing.

Two days later, she heard cattle bawling and excited male voices, and she succumbed to the need to see Winthrop. The cattle were massed at a makeshift corral just away from the barn and the stables, and Winthrop was on his horse, helping to drive cattle into a holding pen where they were apparently being vetted and vaccinated and examined and treated for diseases or infestation by grubs.

That weak leg didn’t seem to bother the big man one bit on horseback. He could cut and rope with the best of them, and the wilder the horse, the better he seemed to enjoy himself. He laughed deeply and with obvious pleasure the whole time. She imagined that when he was in the saddle he could forget how ungraceful he was on the ground.

Not that a limp made him any less a man. He bristled with masculine sensuality. She could see quite easily how he’d gained a reputation in his youth as a playboy. He was devastating physically, and he had a voice that even in memory could make her flush with pleasure. Her heart hadn’t been the same since that unexpected embrace on the porch. She could close her eyes and hear his voice all over again, as it had been that evening, and she could almost imagine it in a dark room, coaxing, deliberately seductive….

Warmth coursed through her and she forced herself to watch the men and the cattle. Winthrop had climbed off the horse to help catch a calf, apparently one that needed doctoring. He looped his rope and undid it, lazily coiling it while one of the other cowboys threw the calf and began to do something to it. Winthrop was rubbing his leg, and the limp was even more pronounced when he turned, leading his horse by the reins.

He saw Nicole at the fence, and he stood very still for an instant. She could feel his anger even at the distance, and made a discreet and quick withdrawal. He was headed in her direction, so she changed it and walked quickly into the forest that encircled the house.

Why she should have been embarrassed, she didn’t know. But she knew he was angry, even before he caught up with her minutes later.

She stopped, catching her breath. He was right behind her, still leading the horse. As he walked, he favored that right leg.

“Running away?” he taunted. “Why?”

She stared at him. It was silly to be so ill at ease with him, but his expression wasn’t at all welcoming. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. She was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved yellow sweater. He had on a shirt the same shade of yellow and brown as his jeans, and she thought illogically how well they matched.

He lifted his dark head. “Don’t you? What are you doing—spying? Did you want to see if the cripple could still throw a calf?”

She went forward without thinking and put her soft hand over his mouth. “Don’t,” she said softly. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re not a cripple. You’re a man with a limp.”

The feel of her fingers shocked him. The gesture was unexpected and it threw him off balance. He caught her smooth hand, holding it near his cheek as if he couldn’t quite decide what to do with it.

He stood over her, breathing roughly, his eyes dark with pain and anger as they searched hers. His fingers contracted absently around hers, bruising a little, but she didn’t protest.

“I don’t want you here,” he said quietly, his eyes narrow, piercing.

“Yes, I know.” She moved her fingers experimentally, and he let them go. She touched his cheek, tracing the long scar down his jaw, into the dimple in his chin. It was incredible how secure she felt with him, and not the least bit afraid. She sensed something in him, something vulnerable and tender, and she wanted to reach it. She needed to reach it, although she didn’t understand why. “You don’t talk about it, do you? Not ever.”

His broad chest rose and fell. He was very close. Too close. She could feel the muscles ripple when he moved, feel him breathing, feel the warmth of him in the chill air.

His fingers slid into her hair, hesitantly, feeling the curls as he moved his hands to her nape and turned her head up with firm gentleness.

“It’s been one hell of a long time since I kissed a woman,” he said half under his breath, looking down at her coldly. “Don’t you realize that you’ve been inviting that for days? I’m not a boy, and I’ve gone hungry in recent years. I can’t play games, I even told you so. You could start something that would ruin both our lives.”

She let him pull her head back. She looked up at him unafraid, her eyes soft with understanding and compassion. “I’m not afraid of you,” she said softly.

“I could make you afraid, Nicole.”

His voice was velvety soft and deep. Her lips parted, because it was as sensuous as she’d imagined it would be. She liked being close to him. She wanted his mouth and her lips parted in subtle invitation. She might have imagined herself in love with Chase James, but never in her life had she felt anything as sweet as this.

He looked down at her soft mouth, seeing it open, and something in him snapped. He bent quickly, covering it with his hard lips. He wanted to hurt her. She was a child, playing at sensuality, and he wanted to make it so rough that she’d stop tormenting him with emotions he never wanted to feel again….

She yielded completely, no thought of fighting him. His mouth was hard, warm and tasted of tobacco and it was only then that she realized how expert he really was. He made no allowances for her youth, and despite her small experience with Chase, this was her first real taste of passion. It was devastating, this helpless feeling he caused in her. She sighed hungrily, letting him draw her completely against the powerful hard length of his body, letting him crush her against it. Her mouth yielded eagerly to his insistent lips, tasting the tobacco tartness of his tongue as it pushed into her mouth, penetrating her in a silence that blazed with kindling sensations.

Her hands grasped his shirtsleeves, holding on, because her knees were getting weak. His arm at her back arched her, the hand at her nape tangled in her curly hair. He made a sound deep in his throat and lifted his head, his eyes black and blazing as they probed her dazed ones.

“Aren’t you going to fight me?” he taunted with a faint, mocking smile as his mouth poised over hers.

“No.” She reached up, sliding her arms around his neck. Her mouth was soft, parted and waiting, tempting his. “Oh, no, I want it, too!”

“Nicky …”

It was a groan, her name on his lips. He bent, half lifting her up to him. But this time, he didn’t try to hurt her. This time, he was achingly gentle. His hard mouth slowed and softened on hers, and he kissed her with a subdued passion that aroused all her protective instincts. Poor, tormented man, she thought. So much love in him, all wasted on the wrong woman. And now he was driven to hurt back, out of fear that it was going to happen again. But it wasn’t, she thought, her heart blazing with compassion. It wasn’t, because she’d never hurt him.

She closed her arms tight around his neck and opened her mouth for him, drawing it over his as she was learning he liked it. Her tongue teased at his full lower lip and he made a sound that corresponded with the tautening of his body.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his lips. “I don’t … know much about this. I’m sorry if I did it wrong.”

He lifted his head again. He was breathing roughly, and his eyes had a haunted look. The hand in her hair caressed gently. “You really are a virgin, aren’t you?” he murmured with a tenderness he wasn’t aware of.

“I guess it shows,” she whispered dryly. She looked down at his shirt, missing the sudden shocked delight in his eyes. “I haven’t had a lot to do with men in the past few years.”

He brushed the curly hair away from her face, touching her with pure wonder. Yes, this was what he’d been uneasy about, this vulnerable side of her that attracted him. He’d tried so hard to avoid this confrontation. Ridiculous, really, when it was inevitable that he was going to feel her warmth in his arms, savor the soft nectar of her mouth. He’d known she was nearby, back at the corral. He’d sensed her somehow. “Why were you watching me?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I needed to.” She shifted, burying her face against his broad shoulder. “You disturb me,” she whispered shakily. “It frightens me.”

“It shouldn’t.” He held her, rocked her. His mouth touched her forehead in a kiss as gentle as the arms that held her. “I won’t hurt you again.”

She nuzzled her face against him. “It’s very exciting, being kissed like that,” she whispered shyly.

He smiled. “Is it?” He tilted her chin up and searched her eyes. “Then let’s do it again,” he whispered into her open mouth.

It was wilder this time, hotter, more unbearably sweet. She gave him her mouth and melted into the hard contours of his body with a soft moan. It wasn’t until she felt the tautening, felt the sudden urgency in the mouth devouring hers, that she realized things were getting out of control.

She put her hands against his wildly thudding chest and pulled her lips away from his. “No,” she said shakily.

He bit at her lower lip, his head spinning. “No?”

“You’re a man … and experienced,” she whispered. “I’ve never … and I can’t. I’m sorry.”

He was breathing roughly, but he didn’t seem to be angry. He brushed his mouth over her eyes, closing her eyelids. “Do you want to?” he whispered, smiling.

“What a ridiculous question. I expect you know the answer,” she said dazedly.

“I suppose I do, at that.” He sighed, wrapping her up against him. “Hold tight. They say it passes, eventually. I can’t vouch for it, of course. I’m not in the habit of drawing back at this point.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she moaned.

“I won’t die.” He nuzzled his cheek against hers, rocking her. His arms had a faint tremor, but his breathing was calmer now and his heartbeat had stopped shaking them both. “What a potent little package you are. I didn’t plan this. I meant to … hell, I don’t know what I meant to do. Scare you, maybe.”

“You did.”

He laughed. “Like hell I did, you were with me every step of the way. I could have laid you down in the grass and—”

“Hush!”

He drew back then and looked down at her, frowning, his eyes wary and searching. She was flushed, and her eyes had an unnatural brightness, as if she were holding back tears.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asked quietly, touching her eyelid gently to release a long, silver tear. “It was passionate, but still just a kiss. I didn’t even try to touch you in any way that would have offended you.”

“It isn’t fear,” she whispered. She lowered her eyes. How could she explain to him the intensity of her feelings, the aching tenderness she was beginning to feel for him?

“Are you afraid of intimacy?” he asked very quietly.

She lowered her eyes to his chest and closed them. “I’m afraid of getting involved. Just as afraid as you are,” she added. And it was true. She’d given her heart to Chase—she’d almost given her body to him. And he’d betrayed her trust. How could she risk it again?

“Why?”

She looked up at him. “Why are you?” she countered, searching his quiet eyes.

He bent and touched her forehead with lips that were breathlessly gentle. “I loved her,” he whispered, “in my way. It was the first time I’d ever felt more than a physical hunger for a woman. When she walked away from me, I wanted to die. I swore I’d get over it, but I don’t know that I really have. The scars go deep.”

She touched his face gently, running her fingers slowly along his hard cheek. Amazing, how exquisite it was to be near him.

“I got thrown over by my fiancé,” she confessed. “He decided he wanted a rich girl, and I wasn’t …” She almost added “anymore” but she caught the word in time.

He searched her soft green eyes. “You didn’t sleep with him,” he said, gazing at her intently.

“That’s hard to explain.” She stared at his top shirt button. It was undone, and thick dark hair peeked out against his tanned skin. “I wanted the first time to mean something. What hurts the most is that I never felt that way about him. I thought I loved him, but I never thought about sleeping with him.”

That was the truth. Seeing how fast living had ruled her parents’ lives had soured her on that part of life. Intimacy had become to them as careless as handshakes, and Nicole had determined that it would be treated more reverently in her own life. Perhaps, in retrospect, that was one of the reasons Chase had left her. He’d pushed her toward intimacy more and more after their engagement, but she’d resisted stubbornly. And now, standing close in Winthrop’s arms, she was savagely glad she’d resisted.

There was more to it than that, he knew, but she wasn’t volunteering any more information. He studied her quietly, thinking how much like him she was. He ran his finger down her cheek. Secretive, too, but he’d get more of an explanation eventually. It was insane to be so pleased that she was still innocent. It excited him, as sophisticated women never had.

“I could eat a moose,” he said conversationally. “Why don’t we rush back to the house and raid the freezer? Can you cook, in case Mary decides to try out for the Rockettes one day?”

She laughed at him. His humor had surprised her. Was this the real man? Had that cold veneer finally melted away? “Yes, of course I can cook. Why would Mary want to try out for the Rockettes?”

He shrugged. “She threatens it once or twice a winter. She saw them on television once and was sure she was just the right height, even though her legs were a bit large. I haven’t taken her seriously in past years, but as I get older, my stomach worries.”

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Christopher, I’ll take care of you,” she murmured and turned toward the house. “Are you walking or riding?”

He sighed and grimaced. “I guess I’m riding,” he muttered. “Damned leg hurts like hell.”

She had a feeling he wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone but her. It was the best kind of compliment. She smiled and shook her head when he offered to let her ride with him after he’d painstakingly mounted the horse and was sitting regally on its back.

“It wouldn’t do your leg much good,” she reminded him. “I’ll just walk alongside and look up at you adoringly, if you don’t mind.”

“That’ll be the day,” he mused.

She looked up. “What happened to your leg?” she asked softly.

“Bone damage and torn ligaments. I was pinned in the car when she wrecked it,” he said simply. “The surgeons repaired it as best they could, but there were complications. I’ll always limp. And when I overdo, I’ll always hurt.” He glanced at her. “I had a choice between limping or giving up the leg. I came in with a matched set and I intend to go out the same way.”

She pursed her lips, feeling mischievous, and almost asked an outrageous question. Then she blushed wildly and turned away.

He guessed the question and burst out laughing. “No,” he murmured. “It doesn’t cramp my style in bed.”

She gasped, glaring at him. “I never—”

“You might as well have written it in twelve-inch letters on canvas,” he retorted.

Her mouth opened and then closed while she thought up searing retorts, none of which came to mind. Later, she’d think up hundreds, she was sure. But the thought of him in bed with another woman made her feel jealous and angry. And it showed.

He stopped, fingering the reins in one lean hand and waited for her to look up at him. His dark eyes, shadowy under the wide brim of his hat, watched her. “I’ll qualify that,” he said after a long exchange of eyes. “I don’t think it will cramp my style. I haven’t been with a woman since it happened.”

Her breath caught, but she didn’t look away. It was such an intimate thing to know about him, and she struggled to think of a suitable reply.

“That wasn’t fair, was it?” he asked with a slow smile. “And I can’t tell you for the life of me why I wanted you to know that. But I did. We’d better get home. It’s getting dark.”

She lowered her eyes to the trail that led back to the house. His revelation shouldn’t have mattered to her, but it did. She smiled softly to herself, unaware that he saw the smile, and understood it.

He lit a cigarette and rode along beside her with a carefully hidden smug expression while he smoked it. “How about dinner tomorrow night? I’ll drive you into Butte.”

She felt chills to the tips of her toes and a wild excitement that was new, like the sudden tenderness between herself and Winthrop. “If Gerald doesn’t need me, I’d love to,” she said.

He hesitated. He looked down at her curiously, but he didn’t speak. “Okay.”

She wondered about the reason for his withdrawn expression and the odd silence the rest of the way to the house. That was good, because it kept her from thinking about the way he’d kissed her. She’d never felt more threatened in her life, and the worst of it was that she wasn’t even afraid of what might happen between them.

He glanced at her just once, shocked by the surge of jealousy he felt at her remark about Gerald. It was that, too. Jealousy. He was afraid that there was something between this woman and his brother, and his own sense of honor and family wouldn’t allow him to trespass on Gerald’s territory. He wanted her to be heart-whole. He wanted that desperately. Could she have kissed him that way and still belong to Gerald? Surely not!

He pulled his emotions up short. It wouldn’t do to give in to this unexpected yen for her. He was playing with fire, and God forbid he should get burned a second time.

Nicole, unaware of his thoughts, was having some difficulties of her own trying to figure out his taciturn somberness after the new and delicate camaraderie between them. She guessed, rightly, that he was holding back out of apprehension, and she even understood. But she didn’t want him to leave her alone. She was beginning to love him, and it was only when she admitted it that she realized how desperately she wanted him.