Harlequin American Romance November 2014 Box Set: The SEAL's Holiday Babies\The Texan's Christmas\Cowboy for Hire\The Cowboy's Christmas Gift (59 page)

“Oh.”

Duke let out a breath and seemed relieved; he didn't appear to clue in to Carrie's disappointment. Which was probably a good thing when all was said and done. She'd read more into things than she should—it wasn't the first time.

“I know I should go back inside,” she heard him say, “but all the voices and the noise... It's hard to separate out the strands and hear just one thing. It kind of becomes a jumble, and then I get tense and frustrated and a bit overwhelmed. I needed to get outside and get some space for a bit.”

Translation: he'd come out here to be alone. And she'd followed him out here like the Brandt's farm dog followed at Kailey's heels. Devoted and dumb. What a fool she was.

“I'd better get back inside.” He couldn't have made it plainer, and she might as well go home. Get a good night's sleep. Start exercising some common sense where Duke was concerned.

He reached out and grabbed her arm. “I didn't mean you, Carrie.” They were face-to-face now and that stupid spark flared to life again.

“You said you wanted space....”

“From the noise. From the crowd. Not from you.”

And then it dawned. That night at the bar, how focused he'd looked, how he didn't smile much. The hum of chaos must have been unreal between the music and the shouted conversations. When he'd gone out to his truck, he'd been looking to get away from the noise and the crowd. But not from her.

She shivered, and only half of the reason was the cold. “Duke, you have to let me go. Anyone could look out here and see us. Not a big deal when we were just talking, but this...”

She knew how it must look. They were only inches apart, his hand on her arm, her looking up into his handsome face...

He let go of her arm.

“Don't go home,” he said. “Stay. For a while.”

“Duke...”

“Other than Quinn, you're the one I know best. And Quinn's gone home. I wouldn't mind having a—”

“Wingman?” she suggested, smiling a little.

“Yeah.”

“Duke, can I be honest?”

“Of course you can.” He was focused on her face again, but now she knew it was so he could understand her better. She toyed with the words sitting on her lips. Questions about what had happened to him. Wondering if he'd asked her back to his place because of this thing between them or if he meant what he said about it being platonic. Wondering what he'd say if she told him what was really on her mind—mainly wishing she had never turned him away that night at her house.

She blinked and said simply, “I'm freezing.”

“I guess we'd better go in, then.”

They were nearly to the door when Duke's voice stopped her again. “Carrie? Don't tell anyone about this, okay?”

She wasn't sure she was a big fan of holding on to his secrets, but he'd confided in her and he deserved her discretion in return for his trust. “Your secret is safe with me,” she answered, and put her hand on the door handle.

Inside the noise enveloped her once more, as well as the welcome warmth. But she heard it a little bit differently now, wondering what it must be like for Duke, and wondering why he was so secretive about it. He'd said it happened when he was wounded, but nothing more. What had really gone down the day he'd been hurt? Did that have something to do with why he didn't talk about it?

She smiled and circulated through the remaining guests, but the whole time she was thinking that Duke was more of a mystery now than he had been when he first arrived.

Chapter Seven

He couldn't believe he'd told her.

Came right out and admitted he was half-deaf. Blame it on a moment of weakness, maybe. He was tired, the noise had become overwhelming, and there she'd been, quiet and pretty, standing on his porch with the stars overhead...

He'd trusted her. He'd confided in her. And that went well beyond the physical need that had been driving him up to this point. Maybe it was her own troubles in the past that made her seem like someone who could understand.

And yet he hated revealing that weakness to anyone. He wished he hadn't done it. It was bad enough that everyone in his employ knew more about ranching than he did. Add in his deafness... He was sure they all expected him to fail.

Now the last of the partyers was going home, most of the mess was already cleaned up and Carrie was reaching for her jacket.

Trouble was, even though he was tired, he was too keyed up to sleep and he knew it. It had something to do with being overstimulated, but some nights it took hours for him to relax enough to fall into a decent sleep. What he needed right now was some downtime to catch his breath. And he didn't enjoy the thought of going back to his place alone.

“Hey, do you want a glass of wine or something?” He followed Carrie to the hall. “I'm going to chill for a while. Wouldn't mind some company. There's probably a late-night show coming on soon.”

“It's been a long day,” Carrie replied. “I've been awake since before five.”

“Right.” And he didn't want to seem desperate. But damn. As fun as the neighbors had been—despite the noise—he was lonely. This was so far removed from the life he'd known for years.

“Besides, I have to drive home.”

“You could always crash here.” At her alarmed look, he continued, “There are lots of beds here at the house. And I'm in the bunkhouse. It's no biggie.”

Her knuckles were nearly white as they gripped her casserole dish. “And my car would be in the yard overnight. It's a small town, Duke.”

“Who's going to see it? You can't even see the house from the road.”

“Quinn. The hands when they come in the morning to look after the stock.”

“So you tell them that you left your car here. No biggie.”

She hesitated, which meant either she was trying to come up with another excuse or she actually wanted to stay and was considering it.

“Come on. When was the last time you just hung out, had a drink, watched some TV? I get a little tired of doing that alone.”

“You just want to hang out?”

Hell no. Just last night he'd kissed her in the cookhouse kitchen, and as he recalled there'd been a suggestion about a hot bath for two at some point. It was the strangest thing. Duke usually went for the stereotypically pretty girls who dressed in nice clothes and wore makeup and were, well, girlie. But Carrie was different. She was pretty in a more natural way. She didn't need fancy clothes or eyeliner or hot rollers or whatever women used to get themselves dolled up. Besides, he found her independence and capabilities really attractive. There was something inherently sexy about her strength and confidence.

“Sure,” he answered, mentally calling himself a big fat liar. “Just hang out.”

She seemed to ponder a moment more, then nodded. “Okay. But not wine. You have any beer at your place?”

He nearly choked on a laugh. They were peas in a pod, weren't they? Maybe Carrie would be easier to resist if he didn't actually like her so much.

“I think there's a few in the fridge,” he answered.

They walked across the frosty yard, stars glittering sharply in the cold, clear night. Their boots made crunching sounds on the hard gravel and snow, and Duke found himself wondering what she was thinking.

The inside of the bunkhouse was warm, and they shivered out of their jackets. “I'm going to add some wood to the fire,” he said, heading straight for the living room, where a black woodstove sat on a brick base. “Why don't you grab us a few beers?”

He turned the damper up, then opened the door and shoved in three sticks of wood from the rack beside the stove. When the bark caught, he shut the door again, waiting for the fire to really get going before turning the damper again.

When he stood, Carrie was waiting for him, holding out a bottle of beer. “It's nice in here,” she commented. “I haven't been inside in a while.”

He nodded. “I don't think anyone was. It was pretty dirty and neglected. But it's much more my size.”

“Quinn lived here for a while, a long time ago now. Then he got married and they bought a bigger house.” She met his gaze. “A family house.” She didn't have to say any more. He could tell they were both thinking about Quinn and his adorable daughter and how he was now bringing her up on his own.

Duke led the way to the sofa and sat down, waiting for Carrie to follow his lead. When she sat on the opposite side of the sofa, he picked up the remote and turned on the TV. The last minutes of a hockey game were on and for a bit they watched until the horn sounded and the third period was over.

And all the while he was aware of her sitting next to him, a respectable space between them, looking young and pretty and accepting him for exactly who he was. He sipped at his beer and let his gaze fall on her. He'd been so nervous about revealing his injury to anyone, but Carrie had brushed it off. Not to make it seem like nothing, but to let him know that it didn't matter.

His hearing loss was now part of who he was. For weeks he'd thought that made him less of a person somehow. That people would look at him differently. But Carrie hadn't made him feel like anything was missing. She made him feel like he just...was. Duke Duggan. What you see is what you get.

It was a revelation. He doubted she understood how much.

“Are you going to stare at me all night?” she asked quietly, her gaze never leaving the television screen.

“Sorry.” He spared a glance at the TV, which had switched to some late-night infomercial for a revolutionary cooking utensil. He smiled and nodded at the screen. “Are you saying that's more interesting than I am?”

She looked over at him and the connection hit him in the chest and stole his breath.

Her pupils widened slightly. “And that's why I didn't look at you,” she murmured. “What are we going to do about this, Duke? We can't...we shouldn't...and yet every time we get together it's like...”

“Fireworks,” he said hoarsely. “And I'm running out of willpower, Carrie. I thought we could just hang out. I thought it would take away the quiet. But there's no ‘just' anything with you. I don't know why.”

“Me, either.”

The admission only heightened the tension between them. “You've got to know,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers, “that I can't think past tomorrow. I don't know what my future holds. I don't have plans, I can't make promises. If I offer you tonight, that's what this is. Tonight. I don't want you pinning hopes on me.”

God, he could just about drown in her eyes.

“I gave up pinning hopes on people long ago,” she replied. “It's just easier that way.”

It was a good answer for a man like him, so he wasn't sure why it unsettled him so. He tried to push it to the back of his mind. “So what are we going to do about this, then? About...us?”

She didn't answer. The television announcer babbled on about how life would be so much easier and better if you only bought what he was selling. Duke wished it was that easy. Give a credit card number over the phone and your life's problems solved. A piece of cake when someone else knew what you needed and gave it to you, instead of having to painfully figure it out for yourself.

One of them had to make the first move—either to be together or push away. He really didn't know which would take more strength.

“Duke,” she said softly, and that one word broke the thread of his control. She was feeling it, too. The pull. The need. The inevitability.

“Come here.” He took the remote and muted the volume, so only the light from the screen flashed through the room.

Once again he was surprised at her obedience. She put down her still-full bottle on the coffee table and scooted across the cushions until she was seated beside him, half-turned so they were facing each other. She'd put her hair up again and he reached behind and slid the elastic away from the soft strands, sinking his fingers into the heavy golden mass. The underside was still damp from her bath, and the scent of her shampoo rose up in a perfumed cloud.

“I don't want to take this fast,” he murmured, leaning closer and touching his lips to the velvety softness of her earlobe. “I don't want it over too soon.”

Her breath touched his cheek, warm and shaky. “Okay.”

He smiled against the skin of her jaw. “It's been...a while,” he admitted. Quite a while. After the breakup, he'd let the guys convince him to go out a few times, hook up. It wasn't his style and it had got old real fast. Truth be told, Duke rather suspected he was a one-woman kind of man.

Which meant he shouldn't even be considering what he was about to do. Not if he had no intention of it going any further.

“It's been a while for me, too,” she confessed.

When he touched his lips to hers, he had to fight for control. His body was screaming for a wild, button-popping, clothes-ripping, frenzied coupling. While it would be ultimately satisfying, it would be over too quickly. It took all his willpower to move slowly, kiss her thoroughly, to gentle his hands on her skin as they fell into an embrace.

Breaths mingled; buttons were undone, clothes removed with soft whispers of fabric on skin. With a gentleness he hadn't known he possessed, he laid her down on the rug in front of the woodstove and lavished his attention on her, nearly breaking his tenuous hold on self-control when she arched beneath him and called out his name.

But when she released a long, satisfied sigh and smiled at him, he was lost. And he didn't regain control until they were side by side on the rug, utterly spent.

* * *

S
HE
SHOULD
GO
HOME
.

Carrie lay in the circle of Duke's arms, covered with a soft afghan he'd pulled off the sofa. The woodstove chugged out a steady heat and between that and the warmth of Duke's body, she was definitely feeling lazy and sleepy.

It might also have something to do with the fabulous sex they'd just had.

But she couldn't stay all night. Duke had said it himself. He couldn't think beyond tomorrow, and they had no business getting involved emotionally. This
thing
between them was just physical. It was satisfying a need that had gone unsatisfied for far too long. Now that they'd done it—and well enough that her body felt quite beautifully boneless—she really needed to gather up her clothes and go back to her own house.

In a minute. Or five.

“Wow,” Duke whispered against her hair. “That was...wow.”

She chuckled, a soft little vibration inside her chest. “You seem to have misplaced your vocabulary.”

“How would you describe what just happened?”

She rose up on an elbow and looked down into his face. God, he was beautiful. Not in a pretty-boy kind of way but in a rough-and-ready, rugged-yet-tender kind of way.

Crap. She was in bigger trouble than she'd thought.

“Wow,” she echoed, and his smile grew, making her warm all over.

He closed his eyes and let out a replete sigh. “Told ya,” he said, and she smiled.

“Unfortunately, I really should get home. The last thing I need to do is fall asleep here on the floor.” Naked. Under a blanket. It sounded deliciously out of character for her. Still, she'd meant what she said earlier. She had to keep the respect of the people she worked with, and she couldn't do that if she and Duke were carrying on.

“We could move to my bed. It's much more comfortable.”

And she was tempted. But at some point good sense needed to prevail. “And that's an attractive offer. You also promised me hanging out.”

“Yeah, we were both fooling ourselves about that, weren't we?” He brushed off her accusation by sharing the blame. She knew he was right. The hanging-out thing had only been an excuse. A justification. Deep down they'd both known what would happen.

“Well, now that we've, uh, scratched our itch, it's time to get back to business. And for that I really do need to get a good night's sleep, Duke.”

He looked up at her, his eyes communicating dark intentions. “And if you stay here, there won't be much sleeping.”

She nearly ached with wanting to stay. But it would be a mistake, so she pushed off the afghan and got up to find her clothes. Even with the heat from the stove, goose bumps popped up on her skin.

Duke's grin as he looked at her was lethal.

A blush heated her cheeks as she stepped into her panties and reached for her bra.

“It must be all the manual labor,” he mused, sitting up, the afghan pooling around his hips. “But you have got muscles in all the right places. That's very hot.”

“You don't have to say that now,” she teased, trying to cover her embarrassment. “You already got into my pants.”

“Don't do that.” His brow furrowed. “Don't put it that way.”

“It's okay, Duke. We both know that's what it was. We agreed.”

She pulled on her jeans and top and sat on the sofa for a moment. “This doesn't change anything, okay? You're still my boss. You're still sorting things out and I have a job to do. Like you said, you can't look past tomorrow. Neither can I.”

She was getting to be a very accomplished liar because, while every word was the truth, she still knew there was a corner of her heart that wished he'd contradict her. How stupid was that?

“You're the most independent woman I've ever known,” he said, resting back on his elbows. “Most women would be wondering when we'd see each other again or if things were okay.”