A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing (16 page)

S
loan took my hand and led me through the nearest set of French doors. Once we'd crossed the terrace and started down the short flight of stairs to the garden, I asked, “Does my father always order people around like that?”

“Yeah.”

I shot him a sideways glance. “You don't impress me as a man who's easily ordered around.”

“I learned a long time ago to pick and choose my battles with James.” When we reached the bottom of the steps, he guided me along a flagstone path which wound its way through a garden that had been laid out with meticulous care. Flowers of
every color and size bordered the path, and their scents floated on the early-evening air.

“There are times when I go to the mat with him.”

“Who wins?”

After a moment, he said, “Usually, I do. James is a smart man. He knows that when we disagree, there's a good reason, and he listens to what I have to say.”

“Did he and Cameron butt heads often?”

He glanced at me then, and I could have sworn that there was a mocking glint in his eye.

“What?”

“It's odd hearing you refer to yourself in the third person.”

He was sharp. I'd have to remember that. “I feel strange when I try to think of myself as Cameron McKenzie. It's going to take some getting used to.”

Sloan steered me toward a wrought iron bench at the edge of the path. “We'll take a longer stroll another night when your ankle's had time to heal.”

I started to protest, but he merely said, “Sit.”

“You're as bad as my father is.”

“Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment.” He smiled as he sat down beside me, and I found myself wanting to smile back. Though I wouldn't call him charming, I was discovering that Sloan Campbell could be very disarming.

“Thank you for your help back there. It was…kind of you to fill me in on everyone.”

“No problem.”

I was very aware of the fact that Sloan had placed his arm along the back of the bench and that we were sitting close enough so that I could feel the heat of his body. As much to distract myself from that as out of curiosity, I asked, “Why was Dad so anxious to get us out of there?”

“The way I see it he's trying to accomplish three things at once. First, he's aware that tonight is a strain for you—meeting all these people that you don't remember.”

His tone was neutral and he didn't look at me, but I sensed that he wasn't quite buying that yet.

“He's also showing the family and a select group of business associates that everything is back to normal on the McKenzie Ranch. Cameron has returned, and the engagement is right back on track.”

“
The
engagement? You mean ours?” I could hear a thread of panic in my voice.

Sloan shifted that intent gaze of his to mine and studied me for a moment. “Yes, our engagement. James's health has deteriorated in the past year. His heart attack last winter gave everyone a scare, and his arthritis is causing him to use his wheelchair more frequently.”

“But the engagement is not back on track. Not really. I don't remember you.”

“Enter Doc Carter. He's here tonight to assure everyone that he's going to work with you on recovering your memory. I imagine James will be emphasizing that while we're out here. By morning, the Lakewoods and the Bolands will be spreading the word to others.”

I thought about it for a minute. “You said Dad was trying to accomplish three things at once. He doesn't want the evening to be too stressful for me, and he wants to reassure business associates. What's the third reason?”

“I suspect he's doing a bit of matchmaking.”

I frowned at him. “Hasn't he already done that? We're engaged.”

“But you don't remember me. James is providing us, not too subtly, with an opportunity to get reacquainted, Red. He's a master at manipulating people.”

I was once more aware of how close we were on the bench. I could smell him above the scent of the flowers—soap and sun and something more elemental and very male.

I had to clear my throat. “And you're willing to go along with that even though you don't trust me?”

He raised his hand and touched the ends of my hair. “I told you the jury's still out on the trust
issue. Has anyone ever told you that you have honest eyes?”

“No.” I barely got the word out. Every cell in my body was aware of his fingers as he tucked the strand of hair he held behind my ear. He was so close now that I could see his eyes were darker. They didn't remind me so much of fog as of the kind of dark-colored smoke that shoots up from a fire, and I found myself wondering what it would be like if he really touched me. I imagined the brush of those fingertips and the press of that hard palm against my shoulder, my arms, my…

I managed to clamp down on the images moving through my mind, but I couldn't prevent the arousal that started deep and spread as quickly as the ripples a stone would cause when it was tossed into a pond.

I drew in a deep breath and let it out, wishing I could just as easily get rid of the heat that was flooding through me. I reminded myself of my mission. James might have had his agenda for sending Sloan and me into the garden, but he'd also given me an opportunity that I couldn't afford to ignore. “Why did I run away?”

Sloan studied me for a minute.

“Or why do you think I ran away?”

“The usual reason. You needed time to think.”

“About what? Was I having second thoughts about the wedding?”

“Perhaps.”

I couldn't read anything in his expression. He was still playing with the ends of my hair.

“Were you worried that I'd change my mind?”

“No. The whole wedding thing was your idea. You proposed to me.”

That was news. “Dad said we argued the night before I went away. What about?”

Once again, he hesitated for just a beat. “If I told you, you'd only have my version. I think you should wait until you get your memory back.”

Once again, I caught something in his eyes—just a hint of mockery. “You don't think I really lost my memory, do you?”

“The thought has crossed my mind that you're faking it.” He hadn't dropped his hand from my hair, and he seemed to be even closer. I had to struggle to keep my voice steady. “Why do you think that Cameron—that I would come back here faking memory loss?”

“It all goes back to why you ran away in the first place. As I said, my best guess was that you were having second thoughts about the wedding. You needed some time alone to think, so you took off. The memory loss story gives you a chance to come back without having to admit that you ran away. You always hated to admit you were wrong, or worse still, make a fool of yourself.”

The fact that he could believe my sister capable
of such duplicity intrigued me. Might I have tried the same kind of masquerade in her situation? Then it occurred to me. Wasn't the impersonation I was engaged in just as daring? Perhaps Cameron and I weren't as different as I'd originally thought.

“Would I really do something like that?”

“Oh, yes. You like to play games, and you always like to win.”

As he continued to play with the ends of my hair, I realized that the bigger question was why would any woman be having second thoughts about marrying a man like Sloan Campbell? Or was I just blinded by the fact that I was so attracted to him?

“You know me very well then?”

“I've known you pretty much all your life. I was born and raised here. My mother died when I was a baby. My father had the same job that I do now—he was James's right-hand man running the stables and training horses. They were best friends until my father ran away with James's first wife, Sarah.”

Pepper had written briefly about this story in her report, but it was different hearing it from Sloan. I found my heart going out to the little boy. I reached out and took his hand. “How old were you?”

“Two. But you needn't feel sorry for me. James never harbored any resentment against me. He
took me in and raised me as if I were his own. He remarried two years later, and you were born two years after that.”

I did the math quickly in my head. Sloan was about six years older than I was. That made him thirty-one.

“What happened? Did your father ever contact you?”

Sloan shook his head. “James hired a P.I. to trace them, but he wasn't successful. My guess is that he wasn't much interested in tracking them down. I hired a P.I. five years ago to look into it, but the trail was cold by then.”

I continued to study him. There was so much I wanted to know. I wanted to ask him why he'd left the ranch five years ago, but I wouldn't have any way of knowing about that. The memory loss thing was tricky—especially with someone who thought I might be faking it.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Sloan said.

When I didn't immediately answer, he ran the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “I'll share mine for free. I've been thinking of how soft your mouth is.”

His gesture and the words had my mouth trembling, and I felt a flare of something deep inside me that was raw and stunning. He was going to kiss me.

I should have said something. There were so
many reasons for not kissing Sloan again, I could have made a list. But right now I couldn't seem to summon up even one reason, not while his breath whispered over my skin, not while those dark eyes were looking into mine.

The alarm bells ringing in my mind warned me to move away, but my body was no longer taking orders from my brain. Or perhaps my brain was no longer capable of giving any intelligent kind of orders. Bottom line, I wanted Sloan to kiss me again.

But he wasn't moving. He was waiting for me.

Just one more time, I told myself. Didn't I have a right to know if it would be as intense an experience as the first time? My curiosity would be satisfied and then I would move on. That was the problem with forbidden fruit—one taste was just never enough. I leaned forward.

The first brush of his lips against mine was light, exactly as it had been before. And not exactly what I wanted. Still, I felt the soft caress right down to my toes. All of my senses were immediately heightened. I felt the firmness of his hand, those strong fingers moving up and down on the nape of my neck while his thumb rested at the hollow of my throat. A mix of anticipation and longing moved through me. I could hear my pulse hammer, feel it beat in a frantic rhythm against his thumb.

His mouth brushed over my lips, slowly, as if
he wanted to commit them to memory. The movement was so lazy, so mesmerizing. I'd never been so aware of a man before, never experienced this kind of intensity in a man's touch. I wanted to simply melt into him.

As if he could read my mind, he put his arm around me and drew me close until every hard angle and plane of his body was pressed against mine. Then I
was
melting. I felt parts of myself slipping away. I tried to say his name, but all I heard was a sound, part sigh, part moan. He took my bottom lip between his teeth and bit it sharply, then used his tongue to soothe the ache. Explosions of pleasure shot through me, as he drew my lip into his mouth and sucked hard on it. Desire twisted tight in my center.

My fingers dug into his shoulders, and as if he were waiting for that particular response, Sloan finally pressed his mouth fully to mine. I knew the sensation of instant fire—I couldn't tell whether it came from me or him or both of us. But in that moment it was clear this man could make me want more, demand more than I ever had before.

My tongue met his, seeking, searching. His mouth was…paradise. The rich, dark taste of him was so enticing, so absorbing, I could have explored it forever. Jolts of hot pleasure coursed through me, and I needed more. I felt his muscles so hard beneath my palms, and the sound he made
deep in his throat told me he was feeling at least something of what I was. I pressed myself against him, felt his arms tighten around me.

Passion had never tasted this ripe, this dark before.

Desire had never been so sharp, so overpowering that it hurt.

I was so caught up in it, so lost in the moment and in the man that I wasn't even aware when we were interrupted.

I just knew that Sloan drew away, and I nearly shivered at the abrupt loss of heat. He didn't release his grip on me. If he had, I think I would have slid right off the bench. Instead, he settled my head against his shoulder, holding me as he spoke to whomever was standing behind me on the path.

“We'll be right in.”

I heard the words, but it took my mind a few beats before I could make meaning out of them. We were being called into dinner. I had to get it together. More than that, I had to face Sloan. Gathering all my strength, I lifted my head from his shoulder and drew away.

I met his eyes, and he met mine. Neither of us spoke for a moment, and I wished that I could tell what he was thinking. What does one say to a man who's just turned you into a puddle of lust? I was a writer. I should have had lots of words and phrases at my command, but what popped out of
my mouth surprised me. “I can't imagine why I would have run away from you.”

The look he gave me was enigmatic. “You don't know me yet.”

 

A short distance away, a shadow silently moved among other shadows in the garden, watching as the man and woman rose and moved back toward the patio.

She was back.
Just thinking the words had the anger building. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Everything had been going so smoothly. She'd been eliminated. Finally, justice had been accomplished.

But she was back.
Fury erupted. Then ruthlessly the emotion was shoved down. Anger never solved anything. That had been a lesson learned at an early age.

Anger never changed what was. It wouldn't change the fact that she'd returned. Speculating on how was a waste of time. The plan had been perfect…. But the only thing that mattered now was a new plan.