Heartbreaker (14 page)

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.

She was oddly relaxed during dinner; it somehow seemed natural to be here with him, as if the world had suddenly settled into the natural order of things. The awkwardness of the morning was gone, perhaps because of John's presence. Edie ate with them, an informality that Michelle liked. It also gave her a chance to think, because Edie's comments filled the silence and made it less apparent.

After dinner, John gave Michelle a quick kiss and a pat on the bottom. “I'll finish as fast as I can. Can you entertain yourself for a while?”

Swift irritation made up her mind for her. “I'm coming with you.”

He sighed, looking down at her. “Baby, I won't get any work done at all if you're in there with me.”

She gave him a withering look. “You're the biggest chauvinist walking, John Rafferty. You're going to work, all right, because you're going to show me what you're doing, and then I'm taking over your bookwork.”

He looked suddenly wary. “I'm not a chauvinist.”

He didn't want her touching his books, either. He might as well have said it out loud, because she read his thoughts in his expression. “You can either give me something to do, or I'm going back to my house right now,” she said flatly, facing him with her hands on her hips.

“Just what do you know about keeping books?”

“I minored in business administration.” Let him chew on that for a while. Since he obviously wasn't going to willingly let her in his office, she stepped around him and walked down the hall without him.

“Michelle, damn it,” he muttered irritably, following her.

“Just what's wrong with my doing the books?” she demanded, taking a seat at the big desk.

“I didn't bring you here to work. I want to take care of you.”

“Am I going to get hurt in here? Is a pencil too heavy for me to lift?”

He scowled down at her, itching to lift her out of her chair. But her green eyes were glittering at him, and her chin had that stubborn tilt to it, showing she was ready to fight. If he pushed her, she really might go back to that dark, empty house. He could keep her here by force, but he didn't want it that way. He wanted her sweet and willing, not clawing at him like a wildcat. Hell, at least this was safer than riding herd. He'd double-check the books at night.

“All right,” he growled.

Her green eyes mocked him. “You're so gracious.”

“You're full of sass tonight,” he mused, sitting down. “Maybe I should have made love to you before dinner, after all, worked some of that out.”

“Like I said, the world's biggest chauvinist.” She gave him her haughty look, the one that had always made him see red before. She was beginning to enjoy baiting him.

His face darkened but he controlled himself, reaching for the pile of invoices, receipts and notes. “Pay attention, and don't screw this up,” he snapped. “Taxes are bad enough without an amateur bookkeeper fouling up the records.”

“I've been doing the books since Dad died,” she snapped in return.

“From the looks of the place, honey, that's not much of a recommendation.”

Her face froze, and she looked away from him, making him swear under his breath. Without another word she jerked the papers from him and began sorting them, then put them in order by dates. He settled back in his big chair, his face brooding as he watched her enter the figures swiftly and neatly in the ledger, then run the columns through the adding machine twice to make certain they were correct.

When she was finished, she pushed the ledger across the desk. “Check it so you'll be satisfied I didn't make any mistakes.”

He did, thoroughly. Finally he closed the ledger and said, “All right.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that all you have to say? No wonder you've never been married, if you think women don't have the brains to add two and two!”

“I've been married,” he said sharply.

The information stunned her, because she'd never heard anyone mention his being married, nor was marriage something she readily associated with John Rafferty. Then hot jealousy seared her at the thought of some other woman living with him, sharing his name and his bed, having the right to touch him. “Who…when?” she stammered.

“A long time ago. I'd just turned nineteen, and I had more hormones than sense. God only knows why she married me. It only took her four months to decide ranch life wasn't for her, that she wanted money to spend and a husband who didn't work twenty hours a day.”

His voice was flat, his eyes filled with contempt. Michelle felt cold. “Why didn't anyone ever mention it?” she whispered. “I've known you for ten years, but I didn't know you'd been married.”

He shrugged. “We got divorced seven years before you moved down here, so it wasn't exactly the hottest news in the county. It didn't last long enough for folks to get to know her, anyway. I worked too much to do any socializing. If she married me thinking a rancher's wife would live in the lap of luxury, she changed her mind in a hurry.”

“Where is she now?” Michelle fervently hoped the woman didn't still live in the area.

“I don't know, and I don't care. I heard she married some old rich guy as soon as our divorce was final. It didn't matter to me then, and it doesn't matter now.”

It was beyond her how any woman could choose another man, no matter how rich, over John. She would live in a hut and eat rattlesnake meat if it meant staying with him. But she was beginning to understand why he was so contemptuous of the jet-setters, the idle rich, why he'd made so many caustic remarks to her in the past about letting others support her instead of working to support herself. Considering that, it was even more confusing that now he didn't want her doing anything at all, as if he wanted to make her totally dependent on him.

He was watching her from beneath hooded lids, wondering what she was thinking. She'd been shocked to learn he'd been married before. It had been so long ago that he never thought about it, and he wouldn't even have mentioned it if her crack about marriage hadn't reminded him. It had happened in another lifetime, to a nineteen-year-old boy busting his guts to make a go of the rundown little ranch he'd inherited. Sometimes he couldn't even remember her name, and it had been years since he'd been able to remember what she looked like. He wouldn't recognize her if they met face-to-face.

It was odd, because even though he hadn't seen Michelle during the years of her marriage, he'd never forgotten her face, the way she moved, the way sunlight looked in her hair. He knew every line of her striking, but too angular face, all high cheekbones, stubborn chin and wide, soft mouth. She had put her mouth to his chest and tasted his salty, sweaty skin, her tongue licking at him. She looked so cool and untouchable now in that spotless white dress, but when he made love to her she turned into liquid heat. He thought of the way her legs wrapped around his waist, and he began to harden as desire heated his body. He leaned back in his chair, shifting restlessly.

Michelle had turned back to the stack of papers on his desk, not wanting to pry any further. She didn't want to know any more about his ex-wife, and she especially didn't want him to take the opportunity to ask about her failed marriage. It would be safer to get back to business; she needed to talk to him about selling her beef cattle, anyway.

“I need your advice on something. I wanted to fatten the cattle up for sale this year, but I need operating capital, so I think I should sell them now. Who do I contact, and how is transportation arranged?”

Right at that moment he didn't give a damn about any cattle. She had crossed her legs, and her skirt had slid up a little, drawing his eyes. He wanted to slide it up more, crumple it around her waist and completely bare her legs. His jeans were under considerable strain, and he had to force himself to answer. “Let the cattle fatten; you'll get a lot more money for them. I'll keep the ranch going until then.”

She turned her head with a quick, impatient movement, sending her hair swirling, but whatever she had been about to say died when their eyes met and she read his expression. “Let's go upstairs,” he murmured.

It was almost frightening to have that intense sexuality focused on her, but she was helpless to resist him. She found herself standing, shivering as he put his hand on her back and ushered her upstairs. Walking beside him made her feel vulnerable; sometimes his size overwhelmed her, and this was one of those times. He was so tall and powerful, his shoulders so broad, that when she lay beneath him in bed he blocked out the light. Only his own control and tenderness protected her.

He locked the bedroom door behind them, then stood behind her and slowly began unzipping her dress. He felt her shivering. “Don't be afraid, baby. Or is it excitement?”

“Yes,” she whispered as he slid his hands inside the open dress and around to cup her bare breasts, molding his fingers over her. She could feel her nipples throb against his palms, and with a little whimper she leaned back against him, trying to sink herself into his hardness and warmth. It felt so good when he touched her.

“Both?” he murmured. “Why are you afraid?”

Her eyes were closed, her breath coming in shallow gulps as he rubbed her nipples to hard little points of fire. “The way you make me feel,” she gasped, her head rolling on his shoulder.

“You make me feel the same.” His voice was slow and guttural as the hot pressure built in him. “Hot, like I'll explode if I don't get inside you. Then you're so soft and tight around me that I know I'm going to explode anyway.”

The words made love to her, turning her shivers into shudders. Her legs were liquid, unable to support her; if it hadn't been for John's muscular body behind her, she would have fallen. She whispered his name, the single word vibrant with longing.

His warm breath puffed around her ear as he nuzzled the lobe. “You're so sexy, baby. This dress has been driving me crazy. I wanted to pull up your skirt…like this… .” His hands had left her breasts and gone down to her hips, and now her skirt rose along her thighs as he gathered the material in his fists. Then it was at her waist, and his hands were beneath it, his fingers spread over her bare stomach. “I thought about sliding my hands under your panties…like this. Pulling them down…like this.”

She moaned as he slipped her panties down her hips and over her buttocks, overcome by a sense of voluptuous helplessness and exposure. Somehow being only partially undressed made her feel even more naked and vulnerable. His long fingers went between her legs, and she quivered like a wild thing as he stroked and probed, slowly building her tension and pleasure to the breaking point.

“You're so sweet and soft,” he whispered. “Are you ready for me?”

She tried to answer, but all she could do was gasp. She was on fire, her entire body throbbing, and still he held her against him, his fingers slowly thrusting into her, when he knew she wanted him and was ready for him. He
knew
it. He was too experienced not to know, but he persisted in that sweet torment as he savored the feel of her.

She felt as sexy as he told her she was; her own sensuality was unfolding like a tender flower under his hands and his low, rough voice. Each time he made love to her, she found a little more self-assurance in her own capacity for giving and receiving pleasure. He was strongly, frankly sexual, so experienced that she wanted to slap him every time she thought about it, but she had discovered that she could satisfy him. Sometimes he trembled with hunger when he touched her; this man, whose raw virility gave him sensual power over any woman he wanted, trembled with the need for
her
. She was twenty-eight years old, and only now, in John's hands, was she discovering her power and pleasure as a woman.

Finally she couldn't take any more and whirled away from his hands, her eyes fierce as she stripped off her dress and reached for him, tearing at his clothes. He laughed deeply, but the sound was of excitement rather than humor, and helped her. Naked, already entwined, they fell together to the bed. He took her with a slow, strong thrust, for the first time not having to enter her by careful degrees, and the inferno roared out of control.

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of bed before he did the next morning, her face glowing. “You don't have to get up,” he rumbled in his hoarse, early-morning voice. “Why don't you sleep late?” Actually he liked the thought of her dozing in his bed, rosily naked and exhausted after a night of making love.