Mail-order bridegroom (16 page)

'Down the hallway. Third door on the right.'

She didn't look back. Walking away, she fought an unease—an unease she couldn't express and chose not to analyze fully. The door he'd indicated was to the master bedroom. She closed herself in the adjoining bathroom and stripped off her clothes, indulging in a quick, refreshing shower. Slipping on a bathrobe, she returned to the bedroom.

She stood beside the bed for several minutes before giving into temptation. Climbing on top of the down coverlet, she curled up in the center and shut her eyes. A short catnap would do her a world of good. But, despite the best of intentions, her thoughts kept returning to Hunter and their conversation.

The situation between them grew more and more confusing with each passing day. Standing in the middle of the penthouse living-room, seeing the visual proof of the wealth and power she'd long suspected, had forced

her to face facts. Hunter Pryde had returned to the ranch for a reason ... a reason he'd chosen not to share with her.

And no matter how hard she tried to fight it, the same question drummed incessantly in the back of her mind. Having so much, what in heaven's name did he want with her and Hampton Homestead ... if not revenge?

CHAPTER NINE

'Leah? Wake up, sweetheart.'

She stirred, pulled from the most delicious dream of laughter and peace roses and babies with ebony hair and eyes. She looked up to find Hunter sitting beside her on the bed. He must have showered recently; his hair was damp and slicked back from his brow, drawing attention to his angled bone-structure. He'd also discarded his shirt and wore faded jeans that rode low on his hips and emphasized his lean, muscular build. He bent closer, smoothing her hair from her eyes, and his amulet caught the light, glowing a rich blue against his deeply bronzed chest.

'What time is it?' she murmured, stretching.

'Time for dinner. You've been sleeping for two hours.'

'That long?' She sat up, adjusting the gaping robe. 'I should get dressed.'

'Don't bother on my account,' he said with a slow grin. 'I thought we'd go casual tonight.'

She wrinkled her nose. 'I suspect this might be considered a little too casual.'

'Only one person will see.' He held out his hand. 'Let me show you.'

Curious, she slipped her fingers into his and clambered off the bed. He returned to the living-room and gestured toward a spiral staircase she'd failed to notice earlier. 'Follow me.' At the top he blocked her path. 'Close your eyes and hold on,' he instructed.

'Why?'

'You'll see.'

4 Okay. Don't let me fall/

Before she knew what he intended, he scooped her up into his arms. 'Trust, remember?' he murmured against her ear. A few minutes later he set her on her feet. 'You can look now.'

She opened her eyes and gasped in disbelief. They stood on the roof of the apartment building, but it was unlike any rooftop she'd ever seen. If she hadn't known better, she'd have sworn they stood in the middle of a park. Grass grew beneath her feet and everywhere she glanced were flowers—barrels of petunias, pansies and impatiens. Even irises and tulips bloomed in profusion.

'I thought you said you weren't a gardener,' she accused.

'I lied,' he said with a careless shrug. He indicated a greenhouse occupying one end of the roof. 'Some of the more delicate flowers are grown there. But I've had an outside concern take over since I moved to the ranch. They prepared everything for our visit.'

'It's... it's incredible.'

'Hungry?'

Suddenly she realized that she was. 'Starving,' she admitted.

'I thought we'd eat here. You can change if you want, but it isn't necessary.'

She caught the underlying message. She could dine in nothing but a robe, just as he dined in nothing but jeans, or she could dress and use her clothes as a shield, a subtle way of distancing herself.

'This is fine,' she said casually. 'Satisfy my curiosity, though. What sort of meal goes with scruffiness and bare feet?'

'A picnic, of course.'

He pointed to a secluded corner where a blanket had already been spread on the grass. All around the shel-

tered nook were pots and pots of azaleas, heavy with blossoms in every conceivable shade. A bucket anchored one corner of the blanket, the top of a champagne bottle thrusting out of the ice. Next to the champagne she saw a huge wicker basket covered with a red-checked square of linen.

She chuckled at the cliche. Tried chicken?' she guessed.

'Coleslaw and potato salad,' he confirmed.

'Fast food?'

He looked insulted. 'Catered.' Crossing to their picnic spot, he knelt beside the basket and unloaded the goodies on to china.

'You're kidding,' she said in disbelief, joining him on the blanket. 'China? For a picnic?'

He gave her a bland smile. 'Isn't that what you use?'

'Not likely.' She examined the champagne. Terrier Jouet flower bottle? Lalique flutes? Hunter, I'm almost afraid to touch anything.' She stared at him helplessly. 'Why are you doing this?'

'It seemed ... appropriate.'

She bowed her head, her emotions threatening to shatter her self-control. 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'It's beautiful.'

'You're hungry,' he said, and she wondered if she just imagined the tenderness in his voice. 'Try this.'

He held out a succulent sliver of chicken that he'd stripped from the bone. She took it from him and almost groaned aloud. He was right. This didn't come close to fast food. She'd never tasted chicken with such a light, delicate flavor. Drawing her knees up against her chest, she tucked into the next piece he offered.

'Don't you trust me with the china?' she teased.

He extended a forkful of potato salad. 'Not when I'm seducing you.'

4 With potatoes and fried chicken?' She nibbled the potato salad and this time did groan aloud. * Ignore that question. This is delicious.'

'Want more?' At her eager nod, he patted the spot next to him. 'Then come closer.'

With a laugh she scrambled across the blanket to his side, and before long they shared a plate between them, exchanging finger food and dispensing with silverware whenever possible. Finally replete, she didn't resist when he drew her down so her head rested in his lap.

'Look at the sunset,' she said, gesturing at the vivid colors streaking across the sky above them.

'That's one of the reasons we're eating out here.' He filled a flute with champagne. Impaling a strawberry on the rim, he handed it to her. 'There's dessert.'

'No, thanks.' She sipped the champagne. 'This is all I need.' His fingers slipped into her hair and she closed her eyes beneath the delicate stroke of his hand, his abdomen warm against her cheek.

'Leah, watch,' he murmured.

She glanced up at the sky. As the last touch of purple faded into black, tiny pinpricks of light flickered to life around the rooftop. It was as though the stars had fallen from the heavens and been scattered like glittering dew-drops among the flowers. She raised a trembling hand to her mouth.

'Hunter, why?' She couldn't phrase the question any clearer, but he seemed to understand what she asked.

'I wanted tonight to be perfect.'

She released a shaky laugh. 'You succeeded.'

'Good. Because I'm going to make love to you and I want it to be special. Very special.' He made no move to carry out his promise. Instead he sat motionless, apparently enjoying the serenity of the evening. 'Eight years

ago you told your grandmother about our meeting at the line-shack, didn't you?' he asked unexpectedly.

It was the last question she had ever envisioned him broaching. She didn't even consider lying to protect Rose. 'Yes:

'You came to the line-shack and waited for me/

'Yes,' she admitted again.

'When did you find out I'd been arrested?'

'When you told me.'

'I was afraid of that/ He released a long sigh. 'I owe you an apology, Leah. I didn't believe you. I thought you were lying about what happened back then/

'Did Grandmother Rose tell you the truth?'

'Yes. She told me.'

'I'm glad/ Leah hesitated, then said, 'There's also an explanation for why I wouldn't leave with you—if you're willing to listen/

The muscles in his jaw tightened, but he nodded. 'I'm listening/

'I told my grandmother about our meeting because I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to her. That was when I learned about Dad. He was dying of cancer, Hunter. I had to stay and help take care of him. That's why I wouldn't have gone with you. But I would have asked you to come back... afterward/ She stared at him with nervous dread. 'I hope you believe me, because it's the truth.'

For a long time he remained silent. Then he spoke in a low, rough voice, the words sounding as though they were torn from him. 'Growing up in an orphanage, honesty came in short supply. So did trust. No one cared much about the truth, just about finding a culprit.'

'And were you usually the culprit?' she asked compassionately.

'Not always. But often enough.'

'Didn't you try and explain?'

'Why?' he asked simply. 'No one would have believed me. I was a mongrel. Not that I was innocent, you understand. I provoked my share of trouble.'

She could believe he had, though she suspected that the trouble he'd provoked had never been undeserved. 'And then one day...' she prompted.

'How did you know there was a "one day"?'

She shrugged. 'It makes sense.' She felt his laugh rumble beneath her ear.

'You're right. Okay. One day—on my fifteenth birthday, as a matter of fact—they accused me of doing something I didn't. It was the last time that happened.'

'What did they accuse you of?'

'Breaking a snow crystal—remember, those globes you shake and the little flakes swirl around inside? This one had a knight fighting a dragon.'

She stilled. 'A knight and a dragon?'

'Yes. I'd always been fascinated by the crystal, but it belonged to one of the live-in workers and was off-limits. When it broke, I took the rap.'

'But you didn't break it.'

'No.'

'Why was that the last time they accused you?'

'I left. For good.'

'Blind trust,' she whispered.

'Blind trust,' he confirmed. 'I've never had anyone give me unconditional trust before—never had anyone stand by me in the face of overwhelming odds. I guess it's a futile dream. Still... it's my dream.'

She sat up and slipped her arms around his neck. 'If I could wrap my trust in a box, I'd give it to you as my wedding-gift,' she told him. 'But all I have is words.'

'Don't make promises you can't keep,' he warned.

Her brows drew together and she nodded. "Then I'll promise to try. That's the best I can offer right now.'

'It's a start.'

He cupped her face and, after what seemed an endless moment, he lowered his mouth to hers. It was as though she'd been waiting an eternity for his possession. There'd be no further reprieve, no postponing the inevitable. After tonight she'd belong to him, joined with bonds more permanent than his ring on her finger.

Champagne and strawberries flavored his kiss, a kiss he ended all too soon, leaving her desperately hungry for more. 'Hunter,' she pleaded.

'Easy,' he answered, his lips drifting the length of her jaw. 'Slow and easy, love.'

And he did take it slow, seducing her with long, deep kisses, igniting the fires that burned so hotly between them. Slipping her robe from her shoulders, he cupped the pendant that had become a permanent fixture about her neck and in silent homage his mouth found the spot between her breasts where it so often nestled.

She gripped his shoulders, her eyes falling shut, blocking out the pagan sight of his dark head against her white skin. All she could do after that was feel.. .feel the touch of his tongue and teeth on her breasts, feel the hard, possessive sweep of his hands as he stripped off her robe, baring her to his gaze.

'You're even more beautiful than I remember,' he told her.

'Make love to me, Hunter. Now.' She shifted in his grasp, wanting to be closer, trembling with the strength of her need.

He lowered her to the blanket and she opened her eyes, staring up at him. He held himself above her, the embodiment of lean, masculine grace and raw power—a power muted only by the tenderness reflected in the black

depths of his gaze. Then he came to her, joined with her, his body a welcome weight, hard and angled and taut beneath her hands.

And there, sequestered within their tiny slice of heaven, he showed her anew the true meaning of ecstasy. She didn't hold back. She couldn't. For, if she gave him nothing else, she'd give him all the love she possessed.

They spent the entire weekend at the apartment, re-learning their roles as lovers. For Leah it deepened a love that had never truly died. Unfortunately, Hunter's reaction proved more difficult to read. He wanted her; she didn't doubt that for a minute. She could inflame him with the simplest of touches—his dark eyes burning with a hunger that stole her breath. Nor could she complain of his treatment, his gentleness revealing a certain level of caring. But love? If he experienced such an emotion, he kept it well-hidden.

To Leah's dismay, leaving the seclusion of the apartment and returning to the ranch proved to be the hardest thing she'd ever done.

Worse, the morning after their return Hunter rode Dreamseeker, the stallion at long last surrendering to the stronger, more determined force. Leah couldn't help drawing a comparison, feeling as though she, too, had surrendered to Hunter's perseverance, giving everything while he remained aloof and independent and in control. Never had she felt so defenseless, so aware of her own vulnerability—nor had she ever felt so afraid. As much as she'd have liked to protect herself, she suspected it was far too late.

The morning after Hunter broke the stallion, her fears took a new direction. Dreamseeker was missing from the pasture.

'Saddle Ladyfinger,' Hunter directed. 'And grab your slicker. It looks like more rain.'

Struggling to hide her concern, she did as he'd ordered, lashing the yellow oilskin to the back of her saddle. 'Could he have smashed down the fence again?' she asked apprehensively.