Heartbreaker (17 page)

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 Ae 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 lifee 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 mat 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.

Michelle bounced out 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.

She pushed her pale, tousled hair out of her
eyes, momentarily riveted by his nudity as he got out of bed. "I'm going
with you today," she said, and dashed to beat him to the bathroom.

He joined her in the shower a few minutes
later, his black eyes narrowed after her announcement She waited for him to
tell her that she couldn't go, but instead he muttered, "I guess it's
okay, if it'll make you happy."

It did. She had decided that John was such an
over-protective chauvinist that he would cheerfully keep her wrapped in cotton,
so reasoning with him was out of the question. She knew what she could do; she
would do it. It was that simple.