Читать книгу A Ranching Man - Linda Turner, Linda Turner, Marilyn Pappano - Страница 9

It was a fight he couldn’t win, and he was smart enough to know it. But he didn’t have to like it. Seething, he told Will Douglas what he thought of a contract that gave a man no say in who was or wasn’t allowed in his own home. When he finally turned back to Angel and tossed her the phone, his brown eyes were nearly black with angry promise.

“You win this one, Cinderella. You get to stay, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. But I wouldn’t start celebrating too soon if I were you. You’re not going to like it here. I’ll make sure of it.” And without another word, he brushed past her and stormed into the house, leaving her standing in the driveway.

His mother—and Myrtle—would have chewed his butt out for not at least carrying in her luggage for her, but she wasn’t a guest, dammit! Guests didn’t go behind your back to force their way into your home, then thumb their nose at you when you objected. She’d stepped over the line, and as far as he was concerned, the last thing she was entitled to was hospitality. Let her carry in her own damn bags!

But as much as he wanted to ignore her, he found to his disgust that he couldn’t when she followed him inside dragging a suitcase that had to be as big as a packing crate. It was on rollers, but difficult to maneuver, and must have easily weighed half as much as she did. Still, she didn’t ask for any help. Her chin set at a proud angle—as if she were the injured party! he thought incredulously—she tugged and pulled, straining with every step, and finally got the suitcase over to the bottom of the stairs.

Delicate color singed her cheeks, and try though he might, Joe couldn’t take his eyes off her. Damn her, who the hell did she think she was fooling? There was no way she was going to be able to carry that damn suitcase upstairs and they both knew it. It was too heavy, and she was too slight. The sheer weight of it would drag her back down again. It’d be just his luck that she’d hurt herself, and she was just the type of woman who would revel in that. He could see it now. Laid up in bed like a princess with a sprained toe, she’d expect him to come running every time she crooked her little finger.

The hell he would!

Muttering a curse, he strode over to her, ignored her gasp, and took the suitcase from her as easily as if it weighed no more than a feather pillow. “I’ll take it up for you…this time,” he said coldly. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re going to be waited on around here, sister. This is a working ranch and everyone carries their own weight.” His jaw like granite, he effortlessly carried her bag up the stairs, leaving her to follow or not.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re going to be waited on around here, sister, she mimicked silently, glaring at his ramrod straight back. Irritating man! Myrtle had warned her he wouldn’t make this easy for her—she should have listened. But after everything she’d said about his family, Angel had hoped that he’d at least give her a chance. She should have known better. The ink on his divorce might have dried four years ago, but according to Myrtle, he still avoided women like the plague. The last thing he would want was one living with him.

She could have told him he had nothing to fear from her. She wasn’t staying there because she was interested in him in any way, shape or form. He was too hard, too intense, too full of anger, and any woman who got in his way was going to get blasted. She just needed some place safe and off the beaten track for her and her daughter to stay, and his place qualified on both counts.

Still, his criticism stung. Did he think just because she had a glamorous career that seemed to require nothing more of her than she smile and play make-believe in front of a camera that her life had always been so easy? Her father owned a small café in New Mexico and had never cleared in a year what she made in a week. Her mother had died when she was eight, she’d been busing tables when she was ten, waiting them when she was fourteen. Joe McBride didn’t have to tell her what it was like to work hard—she’d been doing it all her life.

Resentment glittering in her eyes, she followed him upstairs. Besides the bathroom, there were three rooms—the master bedroom and two smaller bedrooms, one of which contained a single bed and a small desk that Garrett would have no doubt had to make do with as an office. The second was obviously the guest room. Simply furnished with a vanity-style dresser and an old-fashioned spool bed that was covered with a white chenille bedspread, it was modest and unadorned but for the lace half panels at the room’s two windows. It was here that Joe set her suitcase.

Stepping over the threshold, Angel took one look at the plain, unpretentious lines of the room and felt the tension that had knotted her nerve endings for the last two months ease. If this was the room Joe had given Garrett, she could just imagine what her costar must have thought when he laid eyes on it. He would have hated it. It was too small, too simple, and didn’t even have a television or phone. She’d done him a favor by having him moved to Myrtle’s.

She, on the other hand, found in its very simplicity a peacefulness that seemed to call to her very soul. Not only would she and Emma be safe here, she realized with a quiet sigh of relief, but she would find a haven from the tiring rat race that her life had become in L.A.

Joe, obviously finding criticism in her silence, snapped, “I warned you this was no fancy hotel. What you see is what you get. Take it or leave it.”

There was no question that he was hoping she’d leave it, but she wasn’t that stupid. “I’ll take it,” she said softly.

A muscle clenched in his jaw. “Then I’ll tell you the same thing I told Elliot. There’s no maid service, room service, or peons to do your laundry. You cook for yourself, pick up after yourself, and do your share of the cleaning. Since there’s only one full bath and we have to share the kitchen, I’ve come up with a schedule so that neither of us inconveniences the other. It’s posted on the refrigerator. I suggest you stick to it.”

Or else. The words weren’t spoken, but Angel heard them nonetheless. If she’d wanted to irritate him, she could have told him that there was nothing about sticking to a schedule in the contract he had with the studio. She could make mincemeat of his schedule and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. But she’d riled him enough for one day. And though he didn’t know it, he was giving her and her daughter a sanctuary that was invaluable. For no other reason than that, she’d do whatever she could to make sure she intruded on his home life as little as possible.

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” she assured him quietly. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

He didn’t even bother to dignify that with an answer, but he didn’t have to. His snort of contempt told her exactly what he thought of that.

Joe carefully wiped down the newly sanded twin bed he’d bought for his favorite—and only—niece, Cassie, his brow furrowed with a scowl. So he wouldn’t even know she was there, would he? he fumed, hardly noticing the beauty of the antique wood beneath his hands. Yeah, right! Oh, his unwanted houseguest had kept out of his way, he had to give her that. In the week since she’d moved in, filming had started on Beloved Stranger, and he’d barely seen her except in passing. He should have been happy he wasn’t running into her every time he turned around. But a man didn’t have to trip over a woman for her to nag him to death. Angel Wiley could do it without saying a single word.

With a muttered curse, he wondered if she had a clue just how impossible she was to ignore. Her food was in the refrigerator alongside his, her damp towel hanging on the towel rack next to his in the bathroom, her clothes in the washing machine when he wanted to do laundry. Then there was her scent. Good God, he thought with a groan. Why couldn’t it have been bold and blatantly sexy, just the kind of scent he’d never liked on a woman? Then she would have given him just one more reason to resent her presence in his house.

But the lady didn’t do the expected, dammit! Her fragrance was light and delicate and softly enticing. And like a promise whispered on the wind, it lingered on the air and wrapped around him every time he stepped through the front door. But it was the nights that were the worst, when he was asleep and her perfume drifted past his defenses to invade his dreams. He never remembered what he dreamed and didn’t want to, but he woke up restless and on edge. And it was all her fault.

In self-defense, he avoided her and the house every chance he got. The summer days were long, thankfully, and the ranch overrun with a film crew that had little experience with cattle, so he found plenty to keep him busy. There were downed fences to repair, strays to round up, and the herd to be moved when it was needed for filming.

He couldn’t, however, work around the clock. Eventually, he ran out of daylight and was forced to go home to find the lights on and the infuriating Ms. Wiley already home herself. Normally, he would have cleaned up, then scrounged around in the kitchen for something hot and filling. But not with her in the house. He didn’t want to see her, to talk to her, to have any more to do with her than he had to. So every night, he grabbed a cold sandwich from the kitchen, then retreated to his workshop in the barn.

It was his last sanctuary, his woodworking shop, and the one place of his that his houseguest had yet to invade. Here, working on Cassie’s bed, the smell of sawdust and varnish thick in the air, he didn’t have to think about that damn perfume of hers, didn’t have to think of her. And he intended to keep it that way.

Finishing off the last of his sandwich, he ran his hands over the headboard and found it as smooth as a baby’s bottom. When he’d picked the bed up at Myrtle’s, it had been covered in so many coats of paint that it had been impossible to tell the kind of wood it was made of. It had taken him four days to strip away a lifetime of paint with paint remover, but he was finally down to the bare wood. And it was beautiful.

Elizabeth and Zeke were going to love it. They didn’t know that he’d bought an antique, but he’d wanted to give Cassie something special. She was the first baby born into the McBride family in over three decades and he’d wanted her to have something special that could be handed down for generations to come. It had taken Myrtle a while to find what he was looking for, but this was it. After another light sanding, staining and a coat of varnish, it would be beautiful.

“Excuse me. I don’t mean to intrude, but there’s no hot water—”

Swearing, Joe whirled to find Angel standing at the entrance to his workshop just like she had every right to be there. Too late, he wished he’d locked the door. Because the lady looked too damn good. So much for the rumor mill, he thought sarcastically. Gossip abounded about the ranch now that it had been overrun by the Hollywood crowd, and from what he’d heard, the glamour queen had had a rough day playing the part of a widow trying to break a stallion on the ranch she’d inherited from her deceased husband.

She hadn’t done the actual work, of course, but even then, a certain amount of real physical labor was required in order for her to look like she knew what she was doing. Supposedly, she’d thrown herself into the scene—and gotten more than she bargained for when the horse she was working with got out of hand and pulled her off her feet into the dirt.

He nearly rolled his eyes at that. Yeah, right. The studio’s publicity department might get her adoring fans to swallow that bunch of malarkey, but anyone who’d been jerked around by a stubborn horse knew better. If a soft city slicker like Angel Wiley had really been pulled off her feet, she’d be laid up in bed right now whining about her sore muscles, not standing there in his workshop looking as fresh as a ray of sunshine in a simple yellow cotton blouse and jeans that clung in all the right places.

Irritated that he’d noticed the enticing curve of her hips and thighs, he growled, “What do you want?”

Not surprised by his coldness—he hadn’t said two words to her after their initial confrontation when she’d moved in—Angel didn’t so much as blink. She was just too tired. Every bone in her body ached from her battle on the set earlier that afternoon with the horse from hell, and all she wanted to do was soak in a hot tub, then go to bed. But there was no hot water, and she absolutely refused to go to bed without a bath first.

If she’d known where the hot water heater was, she would have checked the pilot light herself—even if she was too stiff to sink down on her knees to do it—but she didn’t. Which left her with no choice but to beard the lion in his den in the barn. And there was no question that it was his den. He’d hidden out for hours there every night that week, not returning to the house until well after she turned out the light in her room.

More than once, she’d been tempted to follow him just to see what he did out there every night. But she’d already intruded on his privacy more than he liked, and the peacefulness of their coexistence was fragile at best. He still didn’t want her there and didn’t insult her by pretending that he did. And he had no idea how much she respected him for that. He was a rarity in her world, where people played nicey-nice just so they could get close to her. His rudeness could be off-putting at times, but he didn’t play games. She knew where she stood with him, and that was a welcome relief.

“I was going to take a bath, but there’s no hot water,” she began, only to gasp in delight when her glance slid past him to the antique bed he’d obviously been working on. “Is that the bed you bought from Myrtle?” she asked in surprise. “The one for your niece? My God, it’s beautiful!”

If she hadn’t recognized the angels carved into the bed’s headboard, she never would have thought it was the same bed she’d seen Joe carry out of Myrtle’s shop last week. Then, it had been ugly and scarred and nearly black with paint. She wouldn’t even have looked twice at it. But now…it was gorgeous!

Eager to examine it closer, she stepped across the threshold into the workshop, but that was as far as she got. She never saw him move, but suddenly he was right in front of her, blocking her path, and so close she could almost feel the hard wall of his chest against hers. Startled, she looked up and found herself caught in the trap of his narrowed, dark brown eyes. And for no reason at all, her heart began to thump.

“The barn isn’t included in the agreement with the studio.”

She knew that and wouldn’t have had a problem with it—if the glint in his eyes and the low rumble of his voice hadn’t dared her to even think about taking another step. Between one heartbeat and the next, she’d had enough…enough of his hostility when she’d done nothing except have the misfortune to be a single female…enough of his flinty looks and distrust. So he’d been hurt by a woman. She could sympathize with that. But he wasn’t the only one who’d ever had the misfortune to be hurt by love. And she wasn’t the one who’d hurt him!

Drawing herself up to her full five foot seven inches, she somehow managed to look down her nose at him in spite of the fact that he towered over her by a good six or more inches. “I wasn’t going to contaminate the place, just look at the bed. But that’s not what you’re worried about, is it, Mr. McBride? You’re afraid I’m going to trip you and beat you to the ground.

“Oh, don’t bother to deny it,” she said quickly when his brows snapped together in a fierce scowl that would have intimidated a lesser woman. “You think I’m some sort of loose floozy from L.A. looking for a little dancing between the sheets while I’m stuck here in the boondocks, and I’ve set my sights on you. Well, just for the record, you can relax. It’s not going to happen. And do you know why? Because I’m not interested. Which is a good thing for you, big guy,” she taunted softly, thumping him on the chest. “Because if I was, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Dismissing him with a toss of her head, she turned and walked out. And never knew that she left him standing there staring after her like a man who had just been hit by a two-by-four.

Tiny’s Pool Hall was the only place in town that came close to passing for a bar, and it was a poor substitute. Granted, there was a jukebox in the corner, and smoke hung like a cloud overhead, rising unrestricted to the bare rafters, but the only alcoholic beverage sold was beer, and that was limited to three per customer. The locals knew the rules and had long since accepted the fact that Tiny was never going to let anyone leave his place drunk, but the Hollywood crowd was something else. Packed shoulder to shoulder in the humble establishment and looking for action, they grumbled and whined about everything from the size of the minuscule dance floor, where couples were packed together like sardines, to the fact that the beer wasn’t imported. But no one left. Because unless someone wanted to check out Ed’s Diner down the street and get something to eat, Tiny’s was the only hot spot in town open after eight o’clock.

Seated alone at a rough-hewn table far in the back, Joe nursed a beer and never noticed the interested looks he was getting from some of the female cast members of Beloved Stranger. Instead, his gaze was focused inward, on the film’s star and the cocky, knowing little smile she’d given him right before she’d lifted that pert nose of hers into the air and sailed out of his workshop like a princess decked out in a tiara.

So she thought he wouldn’t stand a chance if she decided she wanted him, did she? he fumed. That he had no choice in the matter? Like bloody hell! He’d gone after her to tell her he had no intention of dropping at her feet like the rest of the men in the country, but by the time he’d reached the house, she’d already gone upstairs. Just the idea of confronting her in her bedroom had been enough to send him packing. He’d only taken time to relight the pilot light on the hot water heater, then he’d gotten the hell out of there.

He hadn’t been able to go back to the barn, not without envisioning Ms. Tinseltown there, so muttering curses, he’d headed into town to Tiny’s for a beer and a game or two of pool. That should have been enough to push the lady from his mind, but half the population of L.A. seemed to be crammed into the pool hall, and everywhere he looked were reminders of Angel. The blonde on the dance floor wore her hair like Angel’s; the brunette at the bar had her smile. It was enough to drive a man to drink.

He had to admit he’d thought about it—having his three-beer limit at Tiny’s, then stopping at the Quick Stop on the edge of town and picking up a six-pack to take home. Maybe then he’d be able to forget at least for a little while that he not only shared his home with Hollywood’s newest sweetheart, but that he slept right across the hall from her night after night after night. And he didn’t like it, dammit! He didn’t care how much she stayed out of his hair, he didn’t want her there.

He just wanted to be left alone in his own home. To be able to fall into bed at the end of a long, hard day and actually fall asleep instead of lying there half the night, staring at the ceiling and fighting the seductive allure of that damn scent of hers. And when he finally did sleep, to be able to control the hot, erotic dreams he had of the woman. Was that too damn much to ask?

Images from last night’s dream swirled before his mind’s eye, teasing him, tempting him, driving him crazy. Grinding a curse between his clenched teeth, he started to signal Tiny for another beer. But he hadn’t gotten drunk over a woman since Belinda had walked out on him, and he wasn’t about to start now. Throwing down a generous tip on the table, he pushed to his feet and walked out, the hard don’t-mess-with-me glint in his eyes just daring anyone to get in his way. No one did.

When he got back to the ranch and saw that the light in Angel’s bedroom was still on, he didn’t even turn into his driveway, but continued on past it and drove straight to his brother’s. It wasn’t until he braked to a stop in Zeke’s driveway and saw that the house was shrouded in darkness that he glanced at his watch and realized it was nearly twelve. Damn! He should have known Zeke and Elizabeth would be asleep. With a two-year-old in the house, their day started early.

Which left him with nowhere to go but home. And it was a sorry state of affairs when a man didn’t want to go home.

Scowling at the thought, he just sat there with the motor running and never noticed a light flare on in the living room or Zeke step out onto the porch. Dressed in nothing but jeans, he called out teasingly, “Are you going to sit there all night or come inside?”

He swore softly. “I just wanted to talk, but I didn’t realize it was so late. Go on back to bed before Elizabeth wakes up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

If it had been anyone but his brother sitting in his driveway wanting to visit, Zeke would have sent them packing. But Joe didn’t make a habit of showing up on his doorstep at that hour of the night without a damn good reason. Something was obviously troubling him.

“You’re here,” he retorted. “We might as well talk now. Come on up on the porch while I get us a beer.”

Not giving him a chance to argue, he turned and went back into the house for the beers. When he came back outside, it was to find Joe prowling the length of the porch and back. Arching a brow in surprise, Zeke handed him his beer. It wasn’t like Joe to be restless. The only time Zeke had ever seen him let his emotions get the best of him was when it came to family…or a woman. And since there were no family emergencies that he knew about, it had to be a woman eating at him.

It was about damn time.

Grinning, he sank down into his favorite porch rocker and watched with amusement as Joe set his beer down on the porch railing without even tasting it. “Sorry I couldn’t help you with moving the cattle today, but I couldn’t put off picking up that maimed mamma wolf and her pups north of Denver. The locals were in an uproar and pressuring the sheriff to put them all down, even the pups.”

“Idiots,” Joe growled in disgust. “You get them settled okay?”

Zeke nodded. He and Elizabeth had opened a wildlife refuge for injured animals on the ranch after they were married, and now they got rescue calls from all over the West. “Merry had to amputate the mother’s shattered front leg,” he said regretfully, remembering how she’d agonized over the decision but done the only humane thing she could. “So she’ll spend the rest of her life with us, but Elizabeth’s hoping the pups’ll be able to be released back into the wild eventually.”

“If anyone can pull that off, Elizabeth can.”

Zeke had to agree. A wolf biologist, his Lizzie had pulled off a miracle or two in the past, and she’d do it again. Taking a swig of his beer, he stretched out his legs and asked casually, “Everything going okay around here?”

Joe shrugged. “Well enough. You’ve always got some jackass spooking the cattle, but other than that, I guess things are going as well as can be expected.”

“And your houseguest?” he prodded, his blue eyes twinkling with devilment. “How’s she working out?”

In the time it took to blink, Joe stiffened like a poker and it was all Zeke could do not to laugh. “She’s not a guest, she’s a renter, and she does whatever she damn well pleases,” he snapped. “And don’t get that look in your eye. I know what you’re thinking and you’re barking up the wrong tree. I haven’t looked twice at the woman.”

“Oh, really? So she has nothing to do with this foul mood you’re in?”

“Of course not!”

“You just showed up here at midnight to shoot the breeze? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Pretty much,” he retorted, stung. “And to let you know that Cassie’s bed will be ready the day after tomorrow. I thought Lizzie would want to know.”

That information could have been passed along in a phone call at a more reasonable hour and they both knew it. “Nice try,” Zeke drawled, making no attempt to hold back a grin. “But I’m not buying it, big brother. I know you better than that. And from where I’m sitting, I’d say Miss Angel Wiley has you rattled, and I think it’s great. It’s about time someone shook you up.”

“I’m not shook up, dammit!”

“No? Then why are you acting like an old bear with a sore paw? Something’s needling you, and if it’s not a problem with the ranch, then it’s got to be a woman. Namely the one you’re living with—”

“I’m not living with her! She’s renting a couple of rooms, for God’s sake.”

“Same thing,” Zeke said, dismissing that argument with a wave of his hand. “Bottom line is half the men in the country would kill to be in your shoes. I haven’t met her face-to-face, but I’ve seen her movies, and she’s an incredibly attractive woman. So have you kissed her yet?”

His teeth clenching on an oath, Joe gave serious consideration to killing him. But Elizabeth loved him, though God knew why, and Cassie was entitled to grow up with a father…even if he was as irritating as hell. “I’m not even going to bother to answer that,” he growled. “There’s no reasoning with you tonight. I’m going home.”

Storming past him out to his pickup, he never saw Zeke’s grin of delight. He knew he was letting him push his buttons, but he couldn’t stop himself when his brother called after him, “Tell Angel hi!” Shooting him a rude hand gesture, he drove away in a cloud of dust, cursing all the way.

In the deep silence of the night, a door slowly eased open downstairs, and Angel came awake with a start. Disoriented, she frowned at her shadowy surroundings, trying to get her bearings, when she heard it again. The quiet tread of a footfall somewhere downstairs. Her heart slamming against her ribs, she froze and tried to convince herself it was just Joe.

But in the six days she’d lived in his home, she’d come to recognize the sound of his step, and even in the dead of night, he never moved quite so stealthily. And when she soundlessly slipped from her bed to look out her bedroom window, Joe’s truck wasn’t parked in its customary spot in the front driveway. He’d left soon after they’d spoken in the barn, and he obviously hadn’t returned.

The fear hit her then, low and hard and all the more terrifying because over the last week she had foolishly begun to think she’d found a safe place to bring Emma. Idiot! She should have known better. Every time she’d changed her phone number, hadn’t her stalker discovered the new one within a matter of days? And in spite of a state-of-the-art security system, hadn’t he managed to find a way into her house twice to leave gifts for her? The police had warned her he was exceptionally clever—

A nearly soundless step on the stairs had her thoughts grinding to a halt and her heart jumping into her throat. He was coming for her, just as he’d promised. Dear God, she had to do something!

Panic clawed at her. Every instinct she had urged her to run for her life, but she could hear him on the stairs, climbing steadily, and soon he would be at the top. Her eyes wide, she looked wildly around in the darkness of her room for some kind of weapon, but the room was simply furnished. Then she spied the vase sitting on the dresser. Grabbing it, her heart thundering in her ears, she tiptoed out into the hall to lie in wait for the man who had made the last two months of her life a living nightmare.

From where I’m sitting, I’d say Miss Angel Wiley has you shook up.

Zeke’s words still ringing in his ears, taunting him, Joe swore under his breath and carefully made his way up the stairs in the darkness. Nobody had him shook up, especially Miss Hollywood. If he was restless and on edge, it was just because he didn’t like being forced to share his house with a woman. Any woman. Angel could have been eighty-six and as pious as a nun, and he would have still felt the same way.

Lost in his furious thoughts, he was halfway up the stairs when he suddenly noticed a slight movement in the shadows at the top landing. His step never faltered, but every muscle in his body tensed. He never locked his doors, had never felt the need. The house couldn’t even be seen from the highway, and crime was rare in Liberty Hill. But then again, so were strangers…at least they had been until Hollywood came to town.

Too late, he remembered Angel sleeping upstairs, unaware that someone had broken in. Was she safe? Fury flashed in his eyes at the thought that someone might have harmed her. She might drive him nuts, but by God, no one was going to hurt her while he was around. Braced for a fight, he reached the top of the stairs.

He had no time to think after that, only react. The intruder moved in the shadows off to his left, and suddenly something came flying at him in the dark. Cursing, he dodged it just before it could connect with his head and heard it crash against the wall behind him. Furious, he hit the hall light switch almost at the same instant he launched himself at his attacker. It wasn’t until his arms closed around a struggling, squirming woman that he realized it was Angel.

“What the devil!”

“Joe!”

“You were expecting Jack the Ripper?” he snapped, furious now that he knew she was safe. “Of course it’s me! Dammit, what were you doing hiding in the dark like that? I could have hurt you!”

“Me? You were the one sneaking around like a thief! When I heard someone moving around downstairs and I saw your truck wasn’t here, I thought someone had broken in. Why didn’t you turn on a light, for God’s sake?”

“Because I don’t need a light to see where I’m going in my own home! And I didn’t park out front because my truck is low on gas, so I left it by the gas tank so I could fill it up in the morning.”

Still holding her close, Joe glared at her and only just then noticed that she was wearing nothing but a pale blue nightgown. Made of cotton and designed more for comfort than seduction, it was hardly the type of nightwear you’d expect Hollywood’s latest sweetheart to wear to bed, but there was something about its very simplicity that would have tempted a saint. And God knew, he was no saint.

Stunned, he knew right then he should have released her and gotten the hell away from her. But with a will of their own, his fingers tightened on her arms, drawing her closer, and there didn’t seem to be a damn thing he could do about it. He watched her eyes flare with awareness, and suddenly the air between them was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with anger. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and just like every other man in America who’d sat in a darkened theater and watched her on the big screen, he found himself wondering what she tasted like. Right or wrong, he had to find out.

In the bright glare of the hall light, she read the intention in his eyes and stiffened like a board. “No.”

“Yes,” he growled, and covered her mouth with his.

The second his lips touched hers, he knew it was a mistake. The sweetest things always were. Like an addiction that called to a man’s very soul, her soft, generous mouth trembled under his, innocently teasing, tempting, until the need to taste became a need for more. His head clouded, and with a low groan, he gathered her closer and took the kiss deeper.

Her senses reeling, Angel clung to him and tried to tell herself this couldn’t be happening. Not with Joe McBride. He didn’t like her, had made it clear from the moment he’d laid eyes on her that he didn’t want anything to do with her. And the feeling was mutual. She wasn’t any crazier about him. He was cold and distant and whenever the opportunity presented itself, he went out of his way to make her feel unwelcome. If anyone had told her he was a sensuous man who could turn her knees to butter with just one kiss, she would have called them a liar. She would have been wrong.

And it was that, more than anything, that abruptly brought her to her senses. The last time she’d let herself be taken in by a man’s kisses, she’d been wrong about him, too. She’d been young and naive and so damn trusting that just thinking about it made her wince. She’d actually thought she’d found her prince. Instead, she’d been taken in by a toad. She’d promised herself then that she’d never make that kind of mistake again, and that wasn’t a promise she intended to break.

Furious with herself for letting him tempt her even for a second, she abruptly broke free of his arms and quickly sidestepped him when he instinctively reached for her again. Her blue eyes sparking fire, she snapped, “I don’t know what you think is going on here, cowboy, but somebody read the script wrong, and it’s not me. Back off!”

The taste of her still on his tongue, infuriating him, Joe rasped, “You’re the one who came at me in the dark dressed in nothing but a skimpy gown. I only took you up on your invitation, sweetheart.”

She gasped, outraged. “I already told you I thought you were an intruder! What was I supposed to do? Stop to change while someone was sneaking up the stairs to rape me? I don’t think so!”

She was right, of course. He was being completely unreasonable, and that only angered him more. He’d taken advantage of the situation, of a guest in his home, and he’d never done that in his life. But, dammit, he wasn’t made of stone! What man wouldn’t lose his head when he found Angel Wiley in his arms and dressed for bed?

“Next time, throw on a robe before you leave your room,” he retorted coldly.

“I should have known you’d find a way to make this my fault,” she tossed back. “That’s just like a man. Always blame the woman. Well, for your information, Mr. McBride, this never would have happened if you hadn’t sneaked into the house like a thief in the night!”

“So now it’s my fault for being considerate? I didn’t want to wake you, dammit!”

“Well, you did!”

“Well, excuse me for breathing. Next time, I’ll come stomping in so you’ll be sure to know it’s me. Will that make you happy?”

“As a clam.”

“Fine!”

Seething, they glared at each other like two eight-year-olds facing off in the playground across a line drawn in the dirt. It was a fight neither of them could win. Frustrated, Joe swore and turned to storm into his bedroom. A split second after he slammed his door, he heard the echo of Angel’s across the hall.

Tearing off his clothes, he let them lay where they fell and crawled into bed, determined to forget the entire incident and go right to sleep. But long after the dust settled in the hall and the silence of the night crept back into the house, sleep eluded him. Because every time he closed his eyes, he could see the awareness in Angel’s eyes right before he kissed her, taste the sweetness of her on his tongue, feel the soft, enticing curve of her breasts pressed against his chest as he’d wrapped her close in his arms. Furious with her, he tried to convince himself it had been too long since he’d had a woman, that he would have reacted the same to any female who appeared before him in her nightgown, but his body wasn’t buying it. There was only one woman he ached for tonight, dammit, and like it or not, that was Angel Wiley.