Mail-order bridegroom (2 page)

4 You never were much of a shot,' he said, his voice low and rough. And then he kissed her.

His kiss was everything she remembered and more. He'd always combined strength with tenderness, but now there was also a ruthless demand to his kiss, a fierce assault on both mind and body that held her stunned and unmoving. His mouth shifted over hers, subduing any hint of resistance, taking with a relentless thirst, but also giving a wealth of passion in return. One hand settled low on her back, arching her into the tight cradle of his thighs. His other hand slid up her spine, beneath the heavy fall of her braid, his fingers thrusting through the silken strands of her hair and cupping her head.

Unable to help herself, she felt her arms tighten around him, discovering again the breadth of his shoulders and the lean, compact muscles sculpting his ribs and chest. With trembling fingers she searched out the tiny mole that hid in the hollow at the base of his throat, knowing that she should fight him, that she should end this farce. But somehow she couldn't. He'd been her first lover ... her only lover. There was a connection between them that could never be severed, much as she might wish it otherwise.

He deepened the kiss between them, his thumb sliding along her jaw to the corner of her mouth and teasing the sensitive spot until her lips parted beneath his. To her shame, she kissed him back, kissed him with eight lonely years' worth of pent-up yearning. She needed this moment out of time, and part of her rejoiced in the exquisite memories his touch resurrected. She came alive in his arms, became the woman she'd once been. But another part of her, the part that had suffered at his hands, knew the danger, knew the price she'd pay for

allowing him to sweep away the barriers she'd fought so hard to build. She couldn't afford to feel again. She'd almost been destroyed once by this man; she wouldn't offer him the opportunity to complete the job.

He kissed her at length, the conqueror staking his claim, and a small growl of satisfaction rumbled deep in his chest. It was that tiny sound which finally brought her to her senses. She fought her way free of his embrace and retreated several steps across the porch. Raising trembling fingers to her mouth, she stared at him.. .stared in stunned disbelief at Hunter Pryde-—the one man she'd hoped never to see again.

He returned her look, his expression one of cool amusement. 'Hello, Leah,' he said. 'It's been a long time.'

His careless words brought a world of hurt. She struggled to conceal her devastation, to hide the pain his kiss had resurrected. After all that had gone before, after all they had once meant to each other, how could he be so casual, so heartless? Hadn't he caused enough anguish by walking out on her without... this?

'It hasn't been long enough, as far as I'm concerned. Why are you here, Hunter?' she demanded in a raw voice. 'What do you want?'

He smiled briefly, a flash of white teeth in a bronzed face. 'You know what I want. The same thing I've always wanted.'

She shook her head in desperation. 'No. Not the ranch.'

'The ranch? Try again, Leah.' He reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved a newspaper clipping. 'I've come in response to your ad.'

A small gasp escaped. 'You can't be serious,' she protested.

'I'm very serious.'

His voice held an implicit warning and she took another unthinking step away from him. 'You... you can't do this. You don't even have an appointment!' She used the first ridiculous excuse that occurred to her, but she was grasping at straws and they both knew it.

* Would you have given me one?' he asked, seemingly content to play the game her way. For now.

'Not a chance.'

'No. I didn't think so. Which is why I answered your ad under the name H.P. Smith.'

Briefly, she shut her eyes. After her experience with Titus T. Culpepper, she'd pinned ridiculously high hopes on the unknown H.P. Smith. So much for dreaming of a knight in shining armor. Hunter Pryde was no knight— a former lover, a one-time wrangler on her father's ranch, and a thief who'd stolen her heart before vanishing like the morning mist—but no knight. More likely he'd prove to be one more battle she'd have to fight... and win.

He tucked her ad back into his shirt pocket and cupped her elbow. 'Inside, Leah. We have a lot to discuss.'

'No!' she protested, yanking free of his grasp. 'I have nothing to discuss with you.'

He bent down, picked up her rifle and emptied the chamber of shells. He stared first at the slugs in his hand, then at her. 'I suggest you reconsider,' he told her.

It took every ounce of self-possession not to apologize for shooting at him. She faced him, hands planted on her hips. 'You're not wanted here.' She gestured toward the rifle, adding drily, 'You should have taken the hint.'

'Last chance, Leah. You don't want to fight me on this.'

The words were arctic-cold, the threat inexorable. He gazed down at her, and the expression in his eyes almost stopped her breath. Why did he look at her like that—

as though all the sins in the world could be laid at her doorstep and he'd come to exact retribution? She'd done nothing to hirn, except love him. And he'd repaid that love with desertion. His fierce gaze continued to hold her, and with a sudden, gut-wrenching certainty she realized that somehow she'd wronged him and he'd come to even the score. She fought a mind-numbing panic. If she succumbed to panic she didn't stand a chance against him.

Instinct urged her to throw him off her property and be done with it. But she didn't have that luxury. Knowing him, he wouldn't go until he'd had his say. Instead, she'd handle this in a calm, intelligent manner. She'd hear him out—not that she had much choice in the matter. Then she'd throw him off her property.

'Leah,' Hunter prompted in a surprisingly gentle voice.

She didn't allow his mildness to mislead her. The softer he spoke, the more dangerous he became. Right now, he was deadly serious. 'All right, Hunter.' She forced out the words. 'We'll play it your way...for the time being.'

He rattled the rifle-slugs fisted in his hand, the sound more sinister than any made by a diamond-back snake. Settling his hat more firmly on his head, he snagged her elbow, his grip firm and purposeful. 'Let's go.'

She didn't flinch. Instead, she allowed herself to be drawn into the house. Peeking up at his rigid features, she released a silent sigh. With no rescue in sight, it looked as if she'd fight this battle alone. And she could, too.

So long as he didn't touch her again.

Once inside the study, Hunter closed the door and crossed to the far wall, where the family photos hung. He paused, assessing them, one in particular seeming to

capture his attention. It had been taken around the time he'd known her; she'd been just eighteen.

In the picture she sat on a fence-rail, faded jeans clinging to her coltish legs, a sleeveless checked shirt revealing slim, sun-browned arms. She stared off into the distance, a half-smile curving her mouth, her gaze unfocused as though her thoughts were far, far away. Just as the picture had been snapped she'd raised a hand to her cheek, brushing a stray curl from her face.

'I expected your hair to have darkened.' He glanced from the photo to Leah. 'It hasn't. It's still almost silver. As I recall, it used to flow through my fingers like silk. I wonder if it still would.'

'Stop it, Hunter,' she ordered tightly.

He glanced back at the photo. 'It doesn't do you justice, you know.'

'What, the picture?' She shrugged uneasily. 'If you say so. I think it looks just like I used to.'

'Not quite.' His mouth curled to one side. 'It doesn't show the passion... nor the ruthlessness. Even at that age you had a surplus of both.' He turned to study her. 'Do you still?'

Her mouth tightened. 'I've changed a lot since then. You figure out how.'

Turning away, she took a stance behind the huge oak desk, hoping it would put her in a stronger, more authoritative position. She hoped in vain. Hunter removed his hat, dropped it in the middle of the desk and edged his hip on to the corner nearest her.

'You knew the ad in the paper was mine, didn't you?' she began, determined to get their confrontation over as quickly as possible. 'How?'

'The nickname you used. Miss Bluebonnet.'

She nodded in acknowledgement. 'Dad used to call me that because of my eyes.' Then, with a sigh, she asked,

'Why are you really here, Hunter? Because I don't believe for one minute that it's in response to that ad.'

'You know why I'm here,' he said.

'I can guess.' Pierced by eyes that were panther-black and jungle-watchful, she'd never felt so intimidated in her life. And it took every ounce of resolve not to let it show.

Hunter Pryde had changed, attained a sophistication she'd never have believed possible. Eight years ago he'd been in his mid-twenties and wild, both in appearance and in attitude. In those days his black hair had brushed his shoulders, held back by a leather thong, his eyes reflecting a savage determination to succeed in a world just as determined to see him fail. But what had attracted her most had been his face—the high, sculpted cheekbones, the hawk-like nose, and the tough, bronzed features that reflected an unmistakable strength and vitality.

His long-limbed arms and legs, his broad chest and lean, sinewy build spoke of a mix of conquistadors and native American Indian, of a proud and noble heritage. When he'd taken her into his arms she'd sensed that no one else would ever make her come alive the way she did with him, that she'd never love anyone quite as much.

And she'd been right.

'You've come to see the Hamptons broken, is that it?' Leah asked with a directness she knew he'd appreciate.

A cynical smile touched his mouth. 'Swayed, never broken. Wasn't that your father's motto? No. I've come to discover why, if things are so bad, you haven't sold out. Are you really so destitute that you need to resort to this?' Removing the ad once more from his shirt pocket, he balled it in his fist and flicked the crumpled newspaper toward the trash can. It arched over the rim and hit the bottom with a faint metallic thud.

He couldn't have made his disapproval any clearer. She found it mortifying that he, of all people, had happened across that ad. But she wasn't a shy, easily coerced teenager any more. And she wouldn't be bullied. Not by anyone. Certainly not by Hunter.

'This isn't any of your business,' she informed him. 'I don't owe you a thing, least of all an explanation for my actions.'

'I'm making it my business,' he corrected in a hard, resolute voice. 'And, one way or another, I will have an explanation.'

She struggled to curb her anger. It wasn't easy. He had an uncanny knack for driving her into an uncontrollable fury. 'Are you really interested,' she snapped, 'or have you come to gloat?'

He folded his arms across his chest. 'I wouldn't be here if I wasn't interested.'

'Fine.' She'd try taking him at his word and see where it led. Though she suspected she wouldn't like it when they got there. 'I didn't have any choice but to place that ad.'

He dismissed her excuse with a contemptuous gesture. 'Don't give me that. We always have choices. You just have a knack for picking the wrong ones.'

'You may not agree with my decisions, but that doesn't make them wrong,' she retorted, stung. 'The last few years haven't been easy. Dad.. .Dad died a year after you left.' Hunter's leaving at a time she needed him most still hurt, even after all these years. Until he'd ridden up today, she hadn't realized how much of that pain lingered.

'Yes, I know.'

She flinched. 'You knew?' Knew and never bothered to return? Never bothered to see how she was, see if she

required any help or support? She straightened her shoulders. No, not support. She'd support herself. And her grandmother. And the ranch. And all those she'd gathered beneath her wing. No matter what it cost.

'I read his obit in the papers/ He leaned closer, and she caught her breath, drawing in the rich, spicy scent of his aftershave. 'I understand the ranch has gone downhill ever since. You may be just as ruthless and single-minded as your old man, but you're sure as hell not the rancher he was/

She jerked as though slapped, and for a moment the defiant, protective mask she'd kept rigidly in place slipped, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. How could she ever have been seduced by this man? Even at eighteen she should have had the sense to see the cold, heartless soul that ruled his keen intellect, no matter how attractive the outer packing.

'I won't defend myself to you. Why should I? Nor will I be judged by your yardstick,' she insisted fiercely. 'So spit out what you came to say and get the hell off my land/

She saw the familiar spark of anger flicker to life in his eyes and wondered if she'd pushed him too far. Not that she cared. With her back against the wall, both literally and figuratively, she'd fight free any way she could and damn the consequences.

With an abrupt sweep of his arm he snagged her waist, and forced her between his legs. 'Don't you know why I'm here?' He cupped her shoulders to curb her instinctive opposition, rough amusement edging his words.

As much as she wanted to tell him to go to hell, she knew he wouldn't release her until she'd answered. Glaring at him, she said, 'You came in response to the ad/

'More than that, Leah. Much, much more,' he corrected, a bitter smile twisting his mouth. *I came for the ranch.' His eyes grew black and pitiless, searing her with a burning determination. 'And... I came for you.'

CHAPTER TWO

Shock held Leah immobile for a split-second. Recovering swiftly, she lifted her chin. 'That's a real shame, Hunter,' she retorted, continuing to fight his hold. 'Because you aren't getting either one.' His grip tightened. 'We'll see.' She stopped struggling. Resistance was fruitless. Instead, she used the only other weapon she possessed. Words. 'Did you really believe that after all these years you could just come strolling back up my drive? Your arrogance is incredible. After what you did to me, I wouldn't give you so much as the time of day!' 'A little melodramatic, don't you think?' Fury ripped through her and she gave in to it, needing the satisfaction losing her temper would provide. 'Melodramatic? Not by a long shot. You stole my innocence, you bastard. And you did it solely to get your hands on this ranch.' Bitterness spilled over, pouring out after years of suppression. Her pain, her agony, stripped of any protective cover, lay bare for him to see. 'I was eighteen and crazy in love. And you used me. You used meV 'The hell I did. I just took what you offered.' His cruelty cut her to the quick and it required all her willpower not to hit him. But she remembered his lightning-fast speed of old. Her blow would never land and his retaliation would be swift and unpleasant. She looked him straight in the eye. 'You can't get out of your responsibilities that easily. You took exactly what you wanted, no matter who suffered in the process.'