Heartbreaker (16 page)

She had been surprised at the luxury. John
was a long way from poor, but the house had cost a lot of money that he would
normally have plowed back into the ranch. She had expected something more
utilitarian, but at the same time it was very much his
home
. His
presence permeated it, and everything was arranged for his comfort.

Finally she forced herself to stop hesitating
and go downstairs; if Edie intended to be hostile, she might as well know now.

The layout of the house was simple, and she
found the kitchen without any problem. All she had to do was follow her nose to
the coffee. As she entered, Edie looked around, her face expressionless, and
Michelle's heart sank. Then the housekeeper planted her hands on her hips and
said calmly, "I told John it was about damned time he got a woman in this
house."

Relief flooded through Michelle, because
something in her would have shriveled if Edie had looked at her with contempt
She was much more sensitive to what other people thought now than she had been
when she was younger and had the natural arrogance of youth. Life had defeated
that arrogance and taught her not to expect roses.

Faint color rushed to her cheeks. "John
didn't make much of an effort to introduce us last night. I'm Michelle
Cabot."

"Edie Ward. Are you ready for breakfast?
I'm the cook, too."

"I'll wait until lunch, thank you. Does
John come back for lunch?" It embarrassed her to have to ask.

"If he's working close by. How about
coffee?"

"I can get it," Michelle said
quickly. "Where are the cups?"

Edie opened the cabinet to the left of the
sink and got down a cup, handing it to Michelle. "It'll be nice to have
company here during the day," she said. "These damn cowhands aren't
much for talking."

Whatever Michelle had expected, Edie didn't
conform. She had to be fifty; though her hair was still dark, there was
something about her that made her look her age. She was tall and broad
shouldered, with the erect carriage of a Mother Superior and the same sort of
unflappable dignity, but she also had the wise, slightly weary eyes of someone
who has been around the block a few times too many. Her quiet acceptance made
Michelle relax; Edie didn't pass judgments.

But for all the easing of tension, Edie
quietly and firmly discouraged Michelle from helping with any of the household
chores. "Raffe rty would have both our heads," she said.
"Housework is what he pays me to do, and around here we try not to rile
him."

So Michelle wandered around the house, poking
her head into every room and wondering how long she would be able to stand the
boredom and emptiness. Working the ranch by herself had been so hard that she
had sometimes wanted nothing more than to collapse where she stood, but there
had always been a purpose to the hours. She liked ranching. It wasn't easy, but
it suited her far better than the dual roles of ornament and mistress. This
lack of purpose made her uneasy. She had hoped living with John would mean
doing things with him, sharing the work and the worries with him…just as
married couples did.

She sucked in her breath at the thought; she
was in his—still
his
—bedroom at the time, standing in
front of the open closet staring at his clothes, as if the sight of his
personal possessions would bring him closer. Slowly she reached out and
fingered a shirt sleeve. Her clothes were in the closet beside his, but she
didn't belong. This was his house, his bedroom, his closet, and she was merely
another possession, to be enjoyed in bed but forgotten at sunrise. Wryly she
admitted that it was better than nothing; no matter what the cost to her pride,
she would stay here as long as he wanted her, because she was so sick with love
for him that she'd take anything she could get. But what she wanted, what she
really wanted more than anything in her life, was to have his love as well as
his desire. She wanted to marry him, to be his partner, his friend as well as
his lover, to belong here as much as he did.

Part of her was startled that she could think
of marriage again, even with John. Roger had destroyed her trust, her optimism
about life; at least, she'd thought he had. Trust had already bloomed again, a
fragile phoenix poking its head up from the ashes. For the first time she
recognized her own resilience; she had been altered by the terror and shame of
her marriage, but not destroyed. She was healing, and most of it was because of
John. She had loved him for so long that her love seemed like the only
continuous thread of her life, always there, somehow giving her something to
hold on to even when she'd thought it didn't matter.

At last restlessness drove her from the
house. She was reluctant to even ask questions, not wanting to interfere with
anyone's work, but she decided to walk around and look at everything. There was
a world of difference between John's ranch and hers. Here everything was neat
and well-maintained, with fresh paint on the barns and fences, the machinery
humming. Healthy, spirited horses pranced in the corral or grazed in the
pasture. The supply shed was in better shape than her barn. Her ranch had once
looked like this, and determination filled her that it would again.

Who was looking after her cattle? She hadn't
asked John, not that she'd been given a chance to ask him anything. He'd had
her in bed so fast that she hadn't had time to think; then he'd left while she
was still dozing.

By the time John came home at dusk, Michelle
was so on edge mat she could feel her muscles twitching with tension. As soon
as he came in from the kitchen his eyes swept the room, and hard satisfaction
crossed his face when he saw her. All day long he'd been fighting the urge to
come back to the house, picturing her here, under his roof at last Even when
he'd built the house, eight years before, he'd wondered what
she
would
think of it, if she'd like it, how she would look in these rooms. It wasn't a
grand mansion like those in
Palm Beach
,
but it had been custom built to his specifications for comfort, beauty and a
certain level of luxury.

She looked as fresh and perfect as
early-morning sunshine, while he was covered with sweat and dust, his jaw dark
with a day's growth of beard. If he touched her now, he'd leave dirty prints on
her creamy white dress, and he had to touch her soon or go crazy. "Come on
up with me," he growled, his boots ringing on the flagstone floor as he
went to the stairs.

Michelle followed him at a slower pace,
wondering if he already regretted bringing her here. He hadn't kissed her, or
even smiled.

He was stripping off his shirt by the time
she entered the bedroom, and he carelessly dropped the dirty, sweat-stained
garment on the carpet She shivered in response at the sight of his broad,
hair-covered chest and powerful shoulders, her pulse throbbing as she
remembered how it felt when he moved over her and slowly let her take his
weight, nestling her breasts into that curly hair.

"What've you been doing today?" he
asked as he went into the bathroom.

"Nothing," Michelle answered with
rueful truthfulness, shaking away the sensual lethargy that had been stealing
over her.

Splashing sounds came from the bathroom, and
when he reappeared a few minutes later his face was clean of the dust that had
covered it before. Damp strands of black hair curled at his temples. He looked
at her, and an impatient scowl darkened his face. Bending down,he pried his
boots off, then began unbuckling his belt

Her heart began pounding again. He was going
to take her to bed right now, and she wouldn't have a chance to talk to him if
she didn't do it before he reached for her. Nervously she picked up his dirty
boots to put them in the closet, wondering how to start. "Wait," she
blurted. "I need to talk to you."

He didn't see any reason to wait. "So
talk," he said, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down his thighs.

She inhaled deeply. "I've been bored
with nothing to do all day—"

John straightened, his eyes hardening as she
broke off. Hell, he should have expected it. When you acquired something
expensive, you had to pay for its upkeep. "All right," he said in an
even tone. "I'll give you the keys to the Mercedes, and tomorrow I'll open
a checking account for you."

She froze as the meaning of his words seared
through her, and all the color washed out of her face. No. There was no way
she'd let him turn her into a pet, a chirpy sexual toy, content with a fancy
car and charge accounts. Fury rose in her like an inexorable wave, rushing up
and bursting out of control. Fiercely she hurled the boots at him; startled, he
dodged the first one, but the second one hit him in the chest. "What the
hell—"

"No!" she shouted, her eyes like
green fire in a face gone curiously pale. She was standing rigidly, her fists
clenched at her sides. "I don't want your money or your damned car! I want
to take care of my cattle and my ranch, not be left here every day like some
fancy…sex
doll
, waiting for you to get home and play with me!"

He kicked his jeans away, leaving him clad
only in his briefs. His own temper was rising, but he clamped it under control.
That control was evident in his quiet, level voice. "I don't think of you
as a sex doll. What brought that on?"

She was white and shaking. "You brought
me straight up here and started undressing."

His brows rose. "Because I was dirty
from head to foot. I couldn't even kiss you without getting you dirty, and I
didn't want to ruin your dress."

Her lips trembled as she looked down at the
dress. "It's just a dress," she said, turning away. "It'll wash.
And I'd rather be dirty myself than just left here every day with nothing to
do."

"We've been over this before, and it's
settled." He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders,
gently squeezing. "You can't handle the work; you'd only hurt yourself.
Some women can do it, but you're not strong enough. Look at your wrist,"
he said, sliding his hand down her arm and grasping her wrist to lift it.
"Your bones are too little."

Somehow she found herself leaning against
him, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. "Stop trying to make
me feel so useless!" she cried desperately. "At least let me go with
you. I can chase strays—"

He turned her in his arms, crushing her
against him and cutting off her words. "God, baby," he muttered.
"I'm trying to protect you, not make you feel useless. It made me sick
when I saw you putting up that fence, knowing what could happen if the wire
lashed back on you. You could be thrown, or gored—"

"So could you."

"Not as easily. Admit it; strength
counts out there. I want you safe."

It was a battle they'd already fought more times
than she could remember, and nothing budged him. But she couldn't give up,
because she couldn't stand many more days like today had been. "Could you
stand it if you had nothing to do? If you had to just stand around and watch
everybody else? Edie won't even let me help!"

"She'd damned well better not."

"See what I mean? Am I supposed to just
sit all day?"

"All right, you've made your
point," he said in a low voice. He'd thought she'd enjoy living a life of
leisure again, but instead she'd been wound to the breaking point He rubbed her
back soothingly, and gradually she relaxed against him, her arms sliding up to
hook around his neck. He'd have to find something to keep her occupied, but
right now he was at a loss. It was hard to think when she was lying against him
like warm silk, her firm breasts pushing into him and the sweet scent of woman
rising to his nostrils. She hadn't been far from his mind all day, the thought
of her pulling at him like a magnet. No matter how often he took her, the need
came back even stronger than before.

Reluctantly he moved her a few inches away
from him. "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes, and I need a shower.
I smell like a horse."

The hot, earthy scents of sweat, sun, leather
and man didn't offend her. She found herself drawn back to him; she pressed her
face into his chest, her tongue flicking out to lick daintily at his hot skin.
He shuddered, all thoughts of a shower gone from his mind. Sliding his fingers
into the shiny, pale gold curtain of her hair, he turned her face up and took
the kiss he'd been wanting for hours.

She couldn't limit her response to him;
whenever he reached for her, she was instantly his, melting into him, opening
her mouth for him, ready to give as little or as much as he wanted to take. Loving
him went beyond the boundaries she had known before, taking her into emotional
and physical territory that was new to her. It was his control, not hers, that
prevented him from tumbling her onto the bed right then. "Shower," he
muttered, lifting his head. His voice was strained. "Then dinner. Then I
have to do some paperwork, damn it, and it can't wait."

Michelle sensed that he expected her to
object and demand his company, but more than anyone she understood about chores
that couldn't be postponed. She drew back from his arms, giving him a smile.
"I'm starving, so hurry up with your shower." An idea was forming in
the back of her mind, one she needed to explore.