Читать книгу His Medicine Woman - Stella Bagwell - Страница 10

His brown gaze broke connection with hers and dropped to the tabletop. “Not at my grandmother’s expense,” he said flatly. “I want her to get well. My feelings about you don’t matter.”

Bridget was suddenly choked with all the emotions she’d been trying to stem since last night when she first laid eyes on him. “I wasn’t aware that you still had any feelings about me,” she said in a low, strained voice.

“Bridget.”

Her name came out more like a warning than anything and the whole idea that he wanted to keep everything tamped down, all the hurt wrapped up and locked away on a shelf, sent a shaft of anger ripping right through her.

“You don’t have to scold me, Johnny. I understand that you don’t want to talk about us.”

His jaws clamped tightly. “There is no us. There never was.”

He was like an unmoving piece of iron and Bridget wondered what it would take to push the right buttons to make him react, to force him to expose the emotions hidden behind his dark face.

“A moment ago you said you would never lie to me,” she pointed out. “Yet you’re doing it now.”

His nostrils flared. “I’m not lying. Yes, we were together. But not in the fairy-tale way you want to imagine.”

Before he could guess her intentions, she reached across the table and snared his wrist with her thumb and fingers. The pressure of her grip apparently surprised him because he glanced at the hold she had on his wrist before he finally lifted his gaze to her face.

“I can’t speak for you, Johnny. But nothing about our time together felt like make-believe to me. When you kissed me, touched me—made love to me, it felt very real.”

His stoic features didn’t flinch, but deep in his eyes she saw something flicker and knew that her words had reached him, perhaps even hurt him.

She hoped it wasn’t the latter. She didn’t want to hurt this man. Far, far from it. She wanted to jar him, shake him into admitting that he’d been wrong to put a wall between them.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked bluntly. “It’s been five years. All of that ended back then.”

“Not for me.”

As she watched his lips harden to a thin line, her fingers unconsciously tightened around his wrist.

“Little fool,” he muttered.

Jerking her hand free of his wrist, she stood so abruptly she swayed. Before she could latch a steadying grip on the back of her chair, Johnny was instantly at her side, sliding a bracing arm around her shoulders.

Sucking in a harsh breath, she dared to glance at his dark face. “You don’t have to bother yourself,” she said tightly. “I’m all right.”

He cursed under his breath. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’ll get over it.”

But I’ll never get over you.

The unspoken words hung between them like a charged atmosphere on a stormy night. And then slowly, achingly, his gaze drifted downward to settle on her lips.

“Do you know what this is doing to me?”

Even though his question was spoken in a clipped whisper, she could hear agony and desire coating his words, twisting his voice.

“Yes,” she answered simply.

For one split second she thought he was going to drop his arm and move away. But then a groan sounded deep in his throat and before Bridget could anticipate his next move, she found his lips hovering over hers, his warm breath caressing her cheeks.

Desire stabbed her so deeply that she actually whimpered out loud. “Johnny.”

His name came out as a soft sigh, a gentle plea echoing from the past and he answered by closing the last bit of distance between their lips.

In the flash of an instant, the kiss became a frenzied give-and-take that had their mouths crashing together, their tongues tangling. The crush of his hard mouth was bruising, almost savage in its possession, yet Bridget’s senses thrilled to the utterly masculine domination.

Years of emptiness and longing fueled her need to get closer and without even knowing it, her arms slid around his neck, her body pressed into his.

But just as passion was beginning to consume her and the heat of his body spread through hers like liquid fire, he tore his mouth free and rapidly stepped back from her.

Pinning her with an accusing glare, he asked hoarsely, “Are you happy now? To know you still wield power over me?”

Completely dazed, her lungs heaving, Bridget stared at him. “Power?” she whispered in disbelief. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“What am I supposed to think? You come here tempting me.”

She gasped. “I didn’t just show up here! You asked me to come to your home! Remember?”

But for a tiny muscle twitching in his jaw, his face was as hard as a piece of granite.

“Yes. And already I regret it.”

His answer was like a punch in the stomach and she was still reeling from the pain when he turned on his heel and left the room.

Moments later, she heard the front door slam and the cold sound reverberated through her trembling body.

Tempt him? Yes, maybe a part of her had wanted to push him into some sort of reaction, she thought dismally. Maybe she’d wanted to see if there was still a spark between them, a vestige of desire leftover from the past.

Dazedly, her fingers lifted to her swollen lips. His wild kiss had given her the answer, she supposed. Five years had changed nothing. He might still want her, but he was determined not to have her.

So what, if anything, could she do about filling the chasm between them? Bridget didn’t know. But she was sure of one thing. She was older, wiser and much, much stronger than the woman he’d pushed out of his life five years ago. This time he was going to find that pushing her away wouldn’t be easy.