by Lisa Jackson
“I said, she came to me.”
“You’re lying.”
“Ask her.”
“Why would she sneak around behind Dad’s back and—Oh!”
Quick as a rattler he struck, grabbing hold of her arm and yanking her toward him. “It was her idea.”
“I don’t believe—”
“Because you don’t want to. Brynnie’s a grown woman. She knew I was looking for a place and offered hers. We struck a deal.” His face was so close to hers Bliss could see the striations of brown in his gold eyes and watched as sweat dotted his forehead, darkening his hair. His nostrils flared and his lips barely moved. “I’m not going to deceive you, Bliss. There’s no love lost between me and your old man. Never has been. But I didn’t have to coerce Brynnie into selling out. She was more than willing.”
“Was she?”
“Absolutely.”
“You are a bastard, Lafferty.”
His smile was cold and cruel, and his hand, rough with calluses, clamped in a viselike grip over her wrist. But the scent of him, all male and musk and leather, filled the mere inches that separated his face from hers. “I wouldn’t be throwing that particular word too loosely around here, if I were you,” he warned. “It might hit a little close to home.”
Frustration pounded in her pulse. Blast the man, he was right. Her father had sired two children out of wedlock. Two that she knew about. “Let go of me.”
“If I only could,” he said. Then, as if her words had finally registered, he dropped her arm and backed off a step. “Hell.” With both hands, he plowed stiff fingers through his hair.
Idiot, she silently berated herself. How did it come to this—that she was alone with the one man she wanted to avoid, the one man who could make her see red with only a calculated lift of his eyebrow, the solitary man who had touched her unguarded soul?
“Look, I didn’t come back to Bittersweet to stir up trouble,” he said.
“Too late,” she retorted but decided, though her heart was thudding with dread, that there was no time like the present to sort out a few things with this man who seemed to be, ever since she’d glided into this part of Oregon, forever underfoot. “Just because you dumped me ten years ago and—”
“I didn’t dump you.”
“Ha.” She shook her head and started gathering her purse. Coming here had been a mistake, and really, what had she expected—some kind of rationale for his need to buy the ranch? Or was it something more?
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you married another woman,” she said, the words, having been pent up for ten years, tumbling out of her mouth. “What do you call that?”
“A mistake.”
The word echoed over and over again in her heart. But it was too late to hear it, far too late for apologies or explanations. “Listen, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“But you did.”
“Never mind, I really don’t need to know,” she said, starting for the door.
“I should have called you. Shouldn’t have been bullied into… Oh, hell, what does it matter?”
She swallowed hard and turned to face him again. Maybe this was the time to sort things out. “When…when I got out of the hospital ten years ago, you were already gone,” she said and saw a shadow of pain pass behind his eyes. “Dad said you’d had some surgery yourself, then eloped to Reno.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “That’s not exactly what happened.”
“No?” She stood straight and met his gaze with her own. “The way I see it, you were two-timing me.”
“Never.”
Oh, God, how she wanted to believe him, to trust the honesty reflected in his eyes; to think, even for a minute, that he’d cared about her. But she couldn’t. He’d been a liar then and was a liar now. She was shaking inside and realized that the conversation was getting too personal. Way too personal, and Mason, blast his sorry good-looking hide, didn’t seem afraid to open doors that had been locked for a decade. “I think you should back off with Dad.”
“I thought we were talking about us.”
“There is no ‘us,’ Mason. You took care of that. Remember?” She caught the door handle with one finger.
“It might be a good idea for me to explain.”
“And I think it might be a good idea for you to go straight to hell, but I told you that already, didn’t I? Ten years ago. If not, then consider the request retroactive.”
“Damn it, Bliss, don’t you think I’ve been there?”
She arched a cool brow. “I don’t really care.”
“Liar!” This time he reached forward so quickly she gasped. Strong fingers surrounded her arm.
“Obviously we need to talk a little more,” he said, pressing his face so close to hers she noticed the furious dilation of his pupils, felt the warmth of his breath on her already-hot skin. Determination glinted in his eyes.
“I don’t think so.”
“There are things you don’t know.”
She tried to hold on to her rapidly disintegrating composure and yank her arm away, but his steely grip only tightened. Her heart began to thump so wildly she could scarcely breathe. “I’m sure there are, but I’m not interested in ancient history, Mason.”
“Then let’s talk about now.”
“What about now?”
His gaze lowered to her lips and her breath stilled. A dozen memories, erotic and forbidden, waltzed slowly and provocatively through her mind. Her pulse ran rampant. Swallowing against a suddenly tight throat, she said, “Let me go.”
“I made that mistake once before.”
She yanked hard on her arms, but his hand only gripped tighter, his eyes glinting with sheer male persistence. “As I said, I think we should talk about us.”
Her laugh was brittle. “Us. Now? You and me? You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” he said, though there were doubts in his eyes, as if he, too, remembered the pain and the lies. He pulled her closer to him and she knew in an instant that he was going to kiss her.
“This—this is a mistake.”
“A big one,” he agreed, his breath whispering across her face before his lips found hers in a kiss that questioned and demanded, that was fragile yet firm. A kiss that stole the very breath from her lungs and caused her heart to trip-hammer madly.
Every instinct told her to stop this madness, to pull away; but another part of her, that silly, romantic, feminine part of her, wanted more. Her lips parted and his tongue slid quickly between her teeth, touching and tasting, dancing with her own.
Strong arms surrounded her and his hands splayed possessively over her back. She thought she heard a disturbance somewhere behind her but discarded the sound as part of the rush of blood through her brain. Mason didn’t stop kissing her and Bliss’s heart, damn it, thundered in her chest.
Stop this lunacy now, rational thought insisted.
Don’t ever let him go, her heart replied.
She heard a soft wanting sound and realized it had come from her own throat. It had been so long, so damned long…and she wanted, needed, so much more.
“It’s always been this way with you,” he said as if disappointed, and she realized that their kiss had been a test, to see if he, like her, would respond.
“And it can’t be.” Though her breathing was as ragged as his, she was angry with herself for falling into his trap, for letting her body dictate to her mind. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let this happen again. “It…just can’t.”
Slowly he let go of her. Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Of course you did,” she retorted. “You just didn’t expect to be affected.”
“So now you’re a shrink?”
“Well?”
A muscle worked his jaw. “I was curious.”
“So was I.” She took a step even closer to him and tossed her hair over her sh
oulder. “But anyone can get caught up in lust. We did before, remember?” The words as they passed her lips stung. She’d always thought she loved him, but she had to stop this destructive urge right now, because she wasn’t about to take a chance on letting this man hurt her again. “And just for future reference, cowboy,” she continued, “that kind of Neanderthal tactic might work on some of the women around here, but with me—”
“I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. Never had this man apologized to her. “What?”
“I came on too strong. You made me see red and then all of a sudden…” He leaned against the wall, sighed loudly, then before her eyes drew himself upright. “It won’t happen again.”
“You bet it won’t!” she said, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Her pulse was still beating erratically and the taste of him lingered on her lips. “And as for my dad, just leave him alone, okay?”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t know that I can.”
“Why not? What makes you want his place so badly?”
Mason shrugged as he held open the door and she passed through. “It’s the right time.”
“The right time for whom?”
“Brynnie, to begin with, and, yes, me. I need a place down here. Cawthorne Acres has everything I want.”
“Except a for-sale sign on the front door.” She reached into her purse for her keys and, as she extracted the ring, cut herself on a pair of nail scissors tucked into an inner pocket. “Ouch. Oh, damn.” A drop of blood oozed from the tip of her forefinger and before she could do anything, Mason took her hand in his and eyed the wound.
“Let’s see.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Maybe.”
“I said, it’s…” Her voice faded as he slowly placed her finger to his lips. “Oh, no, don’t—”
But his lips were warm, and the flow of blood was quickly stanched, the inside of his mouth so slick and seductive Bliss could scarcely breathe. Why, oh, why did this one man still get to her? What was it about him she found so damned irresistible?
“I’m okay,” she said, retrieving her hand.
“I know.” He rocked back on the heels of his boots and had the decency to look uncomfortable. “I, uh, don’t know what came over me.”
He actually looked perplexed for an instant.
“Listen, Bliss,” he said, clearing his throat and walking to the fireplace, where he leaned against the mantel, as if he, too, finally realized the need for distance between them. “You’d be doing your father and Brynnie both a big favor by suggesting he sell the rest of his property.”
“I think that’s his decision. And now I have some advice for you. Just leave Dad and Brynnie alone. They have enough problems without having to deal with you.”
“And what about you, Bliss?” he asked.
“What about me?”
“Should I leave you alone, too?”
“Absolutely.” She tried not to notice the way his jeans settled low over his hips and the play of muscles in his forearms as he moved. Dark gold chest hair sprang from the V of his neckline, and she remembered exploring the springing curls that covered his nipples with young, interested fingers.
“I think you’re afraid of me.”
She laughed and shook her head as she headed for the door again. “Don’t flatter yourself, Lafferty. You don’t scare me.”
“Maybe I ought to.”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “But you don’t.” The lie hovered between them in the air for a few seconds until she turned and shoved open the door, only to find a young girl, somewhere between eight and nine, hovering on the landing. “Oh.”
“Dad?” the child asked, looking over Bliss’s shoulder.
“Dee Dee.” Bliss heard the smile in his voice and realized that she was staring at his daughter. With a fringe of brown hair and freckles bridging a tiny nose, Dee Dee looked from Bliss to Mason and back again.
“Bliss Cawthorne, this is my daughter, Deanna.”
“Glad to meet you,” Bliss said automatically, though she felt a stab of deep regret for the child she’d never had, had never had the chance to conceive with Mason.
“Yeah.” Dee Dee chewed on her lower lip for a second. “Mom just dropped me off.”
“And didn’t stick around. Figures,” Mason said, eyeing the street as if looking for Terri’s car. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved. Can we go to McDonald’s?” Dee Dee asked, her eyes suddenly bright with anticipation.
“Sure. You game?” he asked Bliss and she saw the girl’s shoulders droop a bit.
“No…uh, no thanks,” she said, not wanting to intrude on father and daughter. “Another time.” She hurried down the stairs and offered a pathetic excuse of a wave. It wasn’t Dee Dee’s fault that she’d been conceived when Mason was dating Bliss, and yet Bliss didn’t want to be reminded of the man’s faithlessness.
She skirted the main house and made it to her car without looking over her shoulder. As she slid behind the wheel, she told herself it didn’t matter that Mason had cheated on her, that he’d gotten another woman pregnant while he’d been seeing her, that he’d never loved her. He had an ex-wife and a daughter, and Bliss had her own life to lead—without him.
* * *
That night Bliss threw off the covers and glared at the digital readout on the clock near the bed. Two forty-five. Great. She’d been in bed since eleven and hadn’t slept a wink. Ever since returning to Bittersweet, she couldn’t wrench Mason out of her mind. Seeing him with his daughter hadn’t helped. She’d been reminded of just how he’d betrayed her, how much she wanted a child of her own.
Outside, rain fell steadily from the sky, fat, heavy drops pummeling the roof, splashing in the gutters and dripping from the leaves and branches of the old oak tree that stood near her window.
Why hadn’t he told her about Terri Fremont years ago when Bliss was falling in love with him? What was the reason he’d left Bittersweet without even stopping to say goodbye to her? Why was he back now and why was it so important that he buy her father’s place? And why, oh, please, God, why, was she still thinking about him, wondering at her response to his kiss while hating herself for caring?
“Stop it!” she muttered, punching her pillow in frustration. She reminded herself for the millionth time that Mason Lafferty was nothing to her. Nothing!
So why was she thinking of him? Why? Why? Why? “Because you’re an idiot,” she told herself.
Knowing that sleep was impossible, she slid her arms through the sleeves of her robe and stepped into her slippers. Oscar, who had been curled up beside her, was already on his feet, stretching and yawning. He followed her into the kitchen and waited at the pantry door until she reached inside and tossed him a biscuit. While he crunched on his snack, she heated cocoa in the microwave.
Mason was a problem, but not one she could solve tonight. She needed to forget him and return to Seattle as she’d planned. Her father was recuperating at a rapid pace, and if he and Brynnie could quit fighting long enough to walk down the aisle and say their vows, then Bliss would leave Oregon and get back to her old life.
Her old, peaceful and somewhat boring life.
Sliding into a chair, Bliss cradled the warm cup in her hands and let the chocolate-scented steam fill her nostrils and whisper over her cheeks. She’d told herself again and again that she was over—make that long over—Mason, but tonight, while the sky was thick with clouds and the outside air dense with rain, she wasn’t so sure of her feelings.
Seeing Mason, touching Mason and kissing Mason had brought back memories, painful and tarnished. She’d spent ten years repressing her thoughts about him, trying not to compare him to other men she’d dated, hoping against hope that someday she’d never think of him at all, believing that he was just a summer fling—a schoolgirl crush. Nothing more.
Now she was ready to second-guess herself. “Fool,” she exclaimed, and when Oscar gave out a disgruntled “Woof,” she l
aughed without any sense of satisfaction. “That’s right, dog, your mistress is a first-class, A-one moron, I’m afraid.”
Old feelings—excitement, anger, hurt and even a trace of first love—resurfaced. She remembered the tumbling, breathless feeling of hearing his voice or kissing him or swimming nude in the nearby river with him. “Oh, Bliss,” she whispered, stirring the hot chocolate and creating a small whirlpool in her cup, “I thought you were smarter than this.”
The memory of the first time she’d seen him, tall and lean, covered in dust as he’d offered to lift her suitcases and trunk from the back of her father’s truck, haunted her. And tonight, alone in the kitchen of the ranch house, with only the rain and Oscar to keep her company, that memory stretched out vividly before her. It had been ten years ago, but tonight it seemed as real as if that summer had happened yesterday…
CHAPTER SIX
Bliss sipped her cocoa and remembered that sultry afternoon when she had come to her father’s ranch that summer. The housekeeper had called to John Cawthorne as he’d climbed out of his truck.
“Phone call for you, in the den,” she’d said, standing in the doorway of the house and pushing aside clumps of dry dirt left from boots with her broom.
John, swearing under his breath, had dashed toward the front door and had left Bliss standing alone by the truck in the blistering sunlight. As she stood in the dusty gravel parking area near the garage, harsh, unforgiving rays pounded down on her crown and shoulders. She felt totally alone, a city girl plucked out of her nest and tossed here with a father who usually ignored her. As she reached into the bed of the truck for one of her bags, she silently wished, as she had since she could remember, that she had a sister or brother with whom she could share her misery.
“You must be John’s daughter,” a rawboned, slightly intimidating cowboy drawled. He was tanned from long hours of hard work under the glare of the sun and his eyes, staring at her from the shade beneath the brim of his Stetson, were a light golden brown. Intense and unblinking, they stared at her in an uncompromising appraisal that caused her breath to catch and warned her that she should run now while she had the chance.