by Rebecca York
She stared at the elegantly set table, impressed with the sophistication of the Little Switzerland operation.
“I would have ordered wine,’’ Matt said, “but I figured you wouldn’t want to drink it because of the baby.’’
“That’s right.’’
“Well, sit down, and I’ll serve you.’’
She followed orders, then saw that he was limping. “Your leg still hurts.’’
“I’ll get off it in a minute,’’ he answered, removing the silver dome from a plate and setting it in front of her.
Immediately a heavenly aroma wafted toward her.
“It’s hunter stew,’’ he told her. “I hope you like it.’’
“It smells delicious.’’
Matt brought an identical plate to his place. Then two salads with spinach, mandarin-orange slices and slivered almonds.
She forked up some of the stew. It was as good as she’d expected. And she knew she shouldn’t spoil the occasion, but she couldn’t keep her mind off the computer disk—or the question that had been tearing at her since Matt had showed up at the Double B Ranch almost a month ago.
“Did you find out if Colin really…uh…donated to the Highton clinic?’’ she asked.
Matt’s fork stopped in midair. “I’d like to enjoy my dinner. Can’t you think of another topic of conversation?’’
“I’m sorry. The answer is important to me. If you don’t know that then…’’
“Then what?’’
“Then you’re only pretending to be sensitive to my feelings.’’
He sighed, leaned back in his chair and stared at her. “If I’d found out that Colin couldn’t be the father of your baby, then I would have told you the good news as soon as we got rid of your friend Stanton.’’
“So you found out Logan’s information is correct?’’
“I found out the clinic used an elaborate coded system to protect the privacy of their donors. So far I can’t crack the code. I don’t know if Francetti is a better cryptographer than I am, or if he got some inside information, or if he was lying to Roy Logan because he knew he wouldn’t get caught. So I don’t know any more about Colin’s role in your pregnancy than I did a month ago. Does that answer satisfy you? Or would you like to check the disk?’’
“I’ll take your word for it,’’ she answered in a small voice.
“Thank you. Now eat your dinner,’’ he said, attacking his stew as if he were afraid somebody was going to whisk the plate away in the next few seconds.
She bent her head and managed a few more bites of the meal. Moments ago it had smelled wonderful. Now she might as well have been eating a bowl of wheat bran.
Matt gave her a long look, but she refused to lift her head.
“Amanda, don’t do this,’’ he said.
“Do what?’’ she managed to say.
“Put distance between us.’’
“I’m not the one who’s doing anything.’’
He sighed. “Okay. Whatever you say.’’ Pushing his salad away, he stood up and went back to the couch, picked up the computer and touched the keyboard, all his concentration focused on the screen.
Unable to stay where she was, she scraped her chair back, turned and rushed down the hall to the bedroom. Closing the door, she stood with her shoulders pressed to the wood, her body trembling.
Chapter Ten
Amanda squeezed her hand into a fist and pressed it against her mouth.
You will not stand here and start to bawl, she told herself. You will not. It took several repetitions of the order, but finally she managed to hold back the tears that brimmed her eyes.
Damn him. Damn the man for acting as if she didn’t have a right to know about the father of her child. She sniffed, then went rigid as she heard him get up. He’d better not be coming in here!
But he only crossed to the kitchen and opened a cabinet. Then she heard a glass clank against the counter before he walked back into the living room. This time there were two clanks. The glass and something else.
She focused all her attention on the living room, but she could hear no more sounds from where she stood.
Still angry, she started toward the king-size bed, thinking that she might as well lie down. In the dim light coming from the bathroom, one of the pillows looked wrinkled or lumpy. As she moved closer, the wrinkle took on shape and form—the shape and form of a long-stem red rose.
She stared at the elegant flower, pretty sure it hadn’t been provided by the management of Little Switzerland.
It must have been Matt who had put that rose there, because he had been planning to bring her in here and make love to her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back fresh tears, but they gathered in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Sinking to the edge of the mattress, she cradled her head in her hands.
Lord, she’d accused him of not considering her feelings. But he’d been considering them all evening. He’d brought her to this place because he could see it was charming. He’d given her a sexy gown, he’d ordered a dinner he thought she’d like, he’d put a rose on her pillow and he’d tried to keep the conversation away from Colin Logan. Because he hadn’t wanted any talk of Colin to interfere with what he had planned for the two of them. The realization brought more tears.
She’d told him he was being insensitive. She should have leveled the accusation at herself, since she’d plowed ahead with a subject he’d wanted to avoid this evening at all cost, then run away when he’d reacted to her bullheaded insistence.
She sucked in several breaths, letting them out in little gasps. What was wrong with her? Why did she always have to push—to challenge—to use her sharp tongue, when deep down she wasn’t as hard and tough as she pretended? Why did she always have to prove to herself and everyone else that she could hold her own?
Now that she understood what she’d done, it was tempting to stay hidden in the bedroom where she wouldn’t have to face Matt again. Instead she pushed herself up, crossed to the small bathroom and washed her face.
Trying to keep her hands from trembling, she retraced her steps down the hall. Matt was sitting where she’d left him. Only now there was a bottle of bourbon on the table and a half-full glass of amber liquid beside it.
He glanced up, noted her presence, then flicked his gaze back to the computer screen.
Without looking at her again, he asked, “Did you come out for the full report? Well, I have a lot more interesting information on Colin. I may not be able to prove that he donated sperm to the Highton clinic and that the donation was used to impregnate you. But I do have some juicy information on his activities in Los Angeles and Las Vegas. In L.A. he helped finance a lab that was making a potent designer drug. And in Las Vegas, he—’’
“Stop!’’
He looked up inquiringly. “If you don’t like my executive summary, you can read it in the privacy of the bedroom. You can take the computer back there and scroll through Francetti’s report.’’
The man she’d bullied and insulted a few minutes ago was only twelve feet away, but it felt as if the whole continental United States was separating them. Putting one foot in front of the other, she crossed the distance, then sank onto the couch—close enough to touch him if she stretched out her arm. Instead she pressed her hands against the sofa cushions to keep them from shaking. “I didn’t come out here to talk about Colin,’’ she answered.
“Funny, that’s all you wanted to talk about a little while ago.’’
She felt as if a giant weight were crushing her chest, but she managed to say, “Yes, well, I warned you that I don’t know much about…about how to get along with…people.’’
When he said nothing, she felt the weight grow heavier. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have insisted,’’ she whispered, unable to manage more volume.
“I understand why it’s been on your mind,’’ he answered, his voice neutral as he set the computer on the coffee table.
“You’ve bee
n on my mind, too.’’ She wanted to raise her eyes to his, but she knew her tears would start to flow again if she did. So she kept her gaze focused on her knees. “I missed you so much. Then when I got you back, I went right into my old behavior patterns—making sure you couldn’t get close to me.’’
She saw his Adam’s apple bob.
“See, you’re unlucky enough to have gotten hooked up with a woman who’s afraid of intimacy. I don’t mean the sex part.’’ She stopped. “Well, I’m kind of worried about that, too. But the main problem is letting somebody I care about get a chance to hurt me. So I make sure he backs off first. Even when that’s not really what I want.’’ Her voice went high and quavery as she twisted toward him, risking the rejection she feared by slinging her arms around him and pulling herself against him. Pressing her face against the side of his neck, she waited with the breath frozen in her lungs.
When his arms came up to cradle her, she breathed out a little sigh.
“Matt, I’m sorry. I’m the one who should have been more sensitive.’’ She ended the apology by raising her head and finding his mouth with hers. There was a moment of resistance, then his lips softened against hers. His response was both tender and hungry. He tasted of whiskey and warmth and of all the things she craved—all the things she feared. She damped down the fear and concentrated on the warmth and the need—his and hers.
When he lifted his head, she could hear his rapid breathing, feel the pounding of her own heart.
His eyes were fierce as they gazed down into hers. “I told you the last time we had breakfast together that you don’t have to do stuff because you figure it’s what I want.’’
“Is that why you think I left the safety of the bedroom?’’ she managed to ask.
“I don’t honestly know.’’
The words stung. But she understood why he’d spoken them, and she knew what kind of answer she had to give him. “Let’s be logical here,’’ she murmured. “I’m almost five months’ pregnant. I’ve never made love with a guy, and I’m nervous about starting now. I’m embarrassed about how fat I look. I know you’re…upset about my spoiling the dinner you planned for us.’’ She heaved a sigh. “But I came out here because I missed you like crazy when you were away. And instead of us fighting, I want to get as close to you as I can. That’s about as direct as I can be.’’
“That’s pretty direct, all right,’’ he conceded. His voice was grave, but the harsh lines of his features had softened considerably.
“Can you deal with all that?’’ she whispered.
“Yeah. I can deal with it,’’ he answered, bending to her, his mouth playing with hers, stirring hot currents within her. She wanted more, so she pressed her lips more tightly against his, a needy sound rising in her throat.
He gave her exactly what she craved, his lips moving on hers, changing the pressure, changing the texture, changing the level of heat. And when his tongue began to play with hers, she felt the flames licking at the core of her.
She tried the same thing with him, gratified by the sound he made deep in his chest.
“I want you,’’ he breathed when the kiss finally broke.
“Good,’’ she answered with more boldness than she felt.
“But—’’
“No buts.’’
“It doesn’t have to be tonight,’’ he finished. “I mean, if things start going too fast for you, we can slow down.’’
He was offering her a safety net. And she was touched by the chivalry, but she wasn’t planning to bail out.
She wanted to tell him as much. She wanted to tell him that she’d fallen in love with him. But she was afraid to make the declaration.
So instead of answering with words, she drew back a little and unbuttoned the robe, pulling her arms out of the sleeves and lifting her hips so she could toss the garment onto the arm of the couch.
She was wearing only the gown he’d bought her now. And she heard his breath catch in his throat, felt his eyes go to the deep V of the bodice. “I knew that would look fantastic on you,’’ he said in a thick voice. “I didn’t know just how fantastic.’’ With one finger he traced the edge of the V, starting at one top edge, following the fabric down to the point a few inches from her navel, skimming the roundness of her abdomen, the sides of her breasts, then tracing up the other side, scorching her flesh as he went.
His touch was light, but it was enough to tighten her nipples, to make them bead against the thin fabric. She knew he saw the reaction because his eyes were riveted to her front.
“Almost as fantastic looking as the woman who’s wearing it,’’ he added huskily, bending to press his face into the V, turning first one way and then the other, his mouth and tongue playing with the sides of her breasts, making her feel as if she were going to melt under his scorching touch.
He nudged the fabric aside far enough to swirl his tongue around one aching nipple, then sucked it gently into his mouth, and she felt an answering response deep inside her body.
“I think maybe it’s time to retire to the bedroom,’’ he said, his voice a shade more raspy.
When he saw her eyes flick to the glass of bourbon on the table, he gave her a questioning look.
“How much of that did you drink?’’ she asked.
“Why do you want to know?’’
She looked down into her lap. “Because I’ve heard that…uh…that guys who drink too much want to make love, but then…they can’t.’’
He laughed. “Oh, is that what you’re worried about?’’ Reaching for her hand, he pressed it against the erection straining at the front of his jeans. “I think we have the essential ingredient here.’’
“Oh.’’ Her hand jerked, and he let her pull away.
“You caught me before I had more than two sips,’’ He said. “So I’m operating on full power.’’
Before she had time to worry about anything else, he led her down the hall and into the bedroom where the light from the bathroom was enough for her to see him, but still dark enough to make her feel comfortable.
Turning her toward him, he held her captive in his arms, but not tightly. He was still giving her time to slip away.
“I’ve had fantasies about this ever since I left you,’’ he said. “And when I saw the gown, I wanted to see you wearing it. Thank you for putting it on tonight.’’
“You didn’t act like it was any big deal when you first saw me,’’ she answered, and mentally kicked herself.
“Well, I didn’t want you ducking back into the bathroom and grabbing a pair of slacks and a top. No, I wanted you just like this.’’ He stepped away from her and picked up the rose from the pillow, holding it toward her, tracing the V that barely covered her breasts.
She wasn’t sure which was more erotic, the velvety touch of the petals or the very idea of being stroked that way.
“Was this part of the fantasy, too?’’ she managed to ask.
“Not until I went into the restaurant to order dinner. They give the flowers to their female guests at the end of the meal. So I asked for one,’’ he answered, pushing the shoulders of the gown onto her arms, baring a little more of her flesh and stroking the newly exposed skin with the flower. When she felt the soft rose petals circle one nipple, she drew in a whimpering breath.
“Lord, that’s beautiful. The red rose against your skin,’’ Matt whispered, pushing the fabric farther off her shoulders, trapping her arms while he played the flower over her breasts, alternating the touch with his mouth, making her dizzy with desire.
Her eyes drifted closed so that she didn’t see him pull off his shirt. But she opened her eyes as she felt the gown being swept over her head. Before she had time to worry about being naked, he pulled her into his arms, rubbing her breasts against his chest, drawing a gasp as the crisp hairs on his chest abraded her sensitized nipples.
“You like that?’’
“Mmm.’’
As she twisted against him, his hands moved up and down her back, o
ver her hips.
His mouth nuzzled her ear. “Sweetheart, I’ve got a little problem here. These jeans are killing me, but I don’t want to turn you loose to get out of them. So could you give me a hand?’’
She nodded, then fumbled for the snap at his waistband. The zipper was more difficult because she could feel his erection on the other side of the fabric. But she managed that, too, then slipped her hands inside—under his shorts as well as the jeans. Without giving herself time to be embarrassed, she pushed the fabric down, her fingers sliding over his narrow hips.
When she reached his right thigh, she gasped, and her eyes flew open. “Matt!’’
“It’s okay. Just help me get these pants off.’’
Instead she looked at the long, cruel scar that her fingers had exposed. Somebody had done a pretty rough job of stitching it closed. “Matt, you said he cut you. You didn’t say he damn near butchered your leg.’’
When she started to bend to give herself a better look, he put his hands on her elbows and held her in place. “You can inspect it later, because we’ve got better things to do now.’’
She felt the words of protest bubbling in her throat, but she held them back. Because that was what he wanted, what she wanted too, if she just had enough sense not to argue with him.
Still, she couldn’t help looking at the angry, half-healed flesh as he kicked off his pants. Then he took her mind off the scar by pulling her naked body against his, as his hands cupped her buttocks and his mouth devoured hers.
The impact of his naked flesh pressed to hers made her knees wobble.
“I think it’s about time to get you off your feet,’’ he murmured.
She thought he was going to bring her to the bed, but instead she saw him swing around and pull out the desk chair before seating himself and pulling her gently down so that she was straddling his lap, facing him, her feet on either side of the chair and her sex pressed intimately to his.