The Bachelor’s Surrender

by Janelle Denison

  She drew a breath to regain her composure and inhaled the warm, clean scent that clung to him in the aftermath of his shower. Heat and unwanted desire curled low in her belly, spreading outward, making her too aware of the intimacy of the situation. Making her too aware of this man’s sex appeal and magnetism, despite his brooding attitude.

  What had she been thinking to barge into his room? In an attempt to right her wrong, she blurted, “Could we do it in the kitchen?”

  The slight curving of his lips mocked her, as did the gray eyes that leisurely drifted the length of her, lingering a tad too long, and with too much interest, on the bare legs that extended from the hem of her sleep shirt. “We can do it anywhere you like.”

  His double entendre wasn’t lost on her, or the fact that he was trying to intimidate her. But she wasn’t easily threatened by a man who seemed to be more growl than bite.

  “I mean talk,” she clarified.

  His gaze finally flickered back to hers, filled with a brash and reckless insolence. “I never thought differently,” he drawled.

  She didn’t believe the rogue for a second. For some reason, he was feeling defensive about today’s incident, and was clearly trying to provoke her into letting the entire episode pass without reconciling anything between them.

  Not a chance, Mr. Three Time PRCA Rodeo Champion, she silently challenged. She planned to ride this particular bull for the eight seconds it required to score a victory.

  With that bit of tenacity firmly established in her mind, she turned and crossed quietly through the living room where Chad was sleeping peacefully, to the kitchen.

  She flipped the light switch on the wall, and waited for her ornery bull to arrive behind her.

  Rafe followed Lauren at a slower pace, the ache in his right thigh a constant, nagging reminder of why he’d chosen the kind of solitary life he had the past year. And now, this woman was wreaking havoc with his quiet, secluded existence and dragging the townsfolk of Cedar Creek into his private business. One day, and she was turning his life upside down and provoking him in ways that he didn’t want to acknowledge or analyze, and stimulating emotions he’d thought himself no longer capable of feeling.

  He entered the kitchen, scowl in place. She wasn’t affected by his fierce expression or his boorish attitude, which annoyed him all the more, because he found her own obstinate nature a tempting challenge.

  She stood by the counter waiting patiently for him. Arms folded over her chest and features determinedly set, she looked as stubborn as she was beautiful. And she was beautiful, even with her face freshly scrubbed and wearing an old, faded sleep shirt. He’d expected silk and lace from her, but she was proving to be more substance than frills. More practical than predictable . . . another trait he found too damn appealing.

  Grabbing a chair from the table, he spun it around, straddled the seat, and rested his arms along the back. “The floor is all yours, Ms. Richmond,” he said, inviting her to speak to end the confrontation.

  Her eyes flashed a bit of fire over the impertinent way he rolled her last name on his tongue, but she kept her own irritation tamped. “I want to apologize about this afternoon, and for the gentleman from the Cedar Creek Gazette showing up like he did.”

  “I agreed to let Chad stay here for a week,” he said, unable to conceal the edge to his voice. “I didn’t agree to a field day with the local paper.”

  Her eyes widened a fraction. “You think I set up that interview?”

  He lifted a brow, implicating her with that direct look. “Didn’t you?”

  Her body stiffened indignantly, and her lips pursed. “No, I didn’t. I can’t help it if the people in town are curious about you granting a foster child’s special request. What you’re doing for Chad is unique, and certainly charitable enough to pique human interest.”

  “I don’t appreciate having my privacy invaded.”

  “Whether you believe it or not, I respect your privacy,” she shot back, her tone exasperated. “But I don’t understand what is so bad about people hearing about what you’re doing for Chad, and Bright Beginnings.”

  “It’s none of their business!” Too late, he realized his tone was too harsh, and defensive enough to prompt Lauren to regard him speculatively, her gaze searching past barriers he’d erected the past year. The urge to bolt was strong, overwhelming almost, but he remained sitting, glaring at her in an unwavering stand-off.

  After a long, drawn out moment, she sighed as if to release some tension, and dragged her fingers through her silky hair. The shimmering warmth beckoned his own fingertips, made him wonder what the luxurious mass would feel like crushed in his hands, what her hair would smell like if he got close enough to breath in that scent. He imagined the fragrance of sunshine and wildflowers, and realized how long it had been since he’d appreciated such sweet, wholesome scents . . . and how badly he craved those essential, sensual indulgences with her.

  She tilted her head, her eyes a calming shade of blue. “What are you hiding from, Rafe?” she asked softly, intuitively.

  Her perception made him uneasy, and forced him to think about a part of his life he’d left behind, the wrong choices he was ashamed of, and the many mistakes he’d made. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Standing, he headed toward the refrigerator, ignoring the stiffness that had settled in his thigh.

  “Don’t you?” She watched him grab a can of soda, open it, and take a long drink. When the silence stretched between them with no answer from him, she continued. “For the past two months, every time Chad has brought you up, he’s talked about a fun-loving, carefree cowboy who wowed the crowds with his charm and gave of himself so selflessly to his fans. Where is that man?”

  “He no longer exists,” he said, his tone as flat and emotionless as he suddenly felt.

  “Is that why there isn’t a trace of that three time PRCA Bull Riding Champion in this house?” she asked, slowly closing the distance between them. “There’s no trophies, no plaques, nothing to indicate that you led an invigorating, exciting life before your accident.”

  “None of those material things matter.” Not when he weighed them against what he’d lost, the years he’d sacrificed, the hope that one more trophy, one more win, would satisfy his father, which it never did. He’d paid a price for the greed and aggression his father had instilled in him. He didn’t want, or need, visual reminders of the guilt he lived with on a daily basis.

  She frowned, as if she didn’t understand. “Those things are a part of your past, and who you are.”

  He laughed, the sound harsh and humorless. “This is who I am, Lauren. A simple cowboy who raises Quarter Horses and doesn’t like the fact that his life has been pried open for public speculation.”

  “Why?” she persisted. “Are you afraid that people are going to see a caring side to you, which is going to totally shatter their illusion of the surly man you pretend to be so no one will try to get too close?”

  “Leave it alone, Lauren.” Finished with his drink, and more than through with their conversation, he crushed the aluminum can, tossed it into the recycle bin, and moved around her.

  “I have no idea why you’re so bitter, or why you chose to alienate yourself from the people of Cedar Creek, but don’t expect me to cater to that illusion,” she said, stopping him in his slow progress toward the kitchen door leading to the living room. She waited for him to turn around, then allowed a satisfied smile to curve her lips. “I call the shots as I see them, Rafe, and even though you want everyone to believe you’ve become this awful person, I know you’re a good, kind man.”

  He pointed a finger at her, fury mixing with an inexplicable need to believe her words. He embraced the first emotion, which was easier for him to accept. “You know nothing about me.”

  Her chin jutted out mutinously. “I know you’re a hero who feels burdened by the honorary title, resents it even.”

  He bristled, and it took monumental effort for him to keep his voice from exploding
with the anger that gripped him. “I never asked to be a hero, and I certainly didn’t do anything to deserve the title!”

  “Except save another person’s life,” she retorted with dry sarcasm. “That’s about as heroic as it gets.”

  His insides twisted relentlessly, the truth burning in his stomach like acid. If she only knew just how responsible he’d been for the tragedy that had taken place, she wouldn’t be so staunch in supporting him. But for as much as he knew the truth would shock her and serve as the barrier he needed to distance himself from this woman, he couldn’t bring himself to say the incriminating words out loud.

  Frustrated at her zealous quest to portray him as a kind, compassionate man when he wanted no part of her fanciful notions, he grabbed her arm and tugged her close, intending to frighten her enough that she’d back off and leave him alone. The unexpected move threw her off balance, and she stumbled forward. Her hands automatically shot out to catch herself and landed on his chest. Her cool palms on his tight, heated skin sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire through him.

  She appeared startled, but not at all alarmed by his rough handling, which only served to spike his temper another notch. He leaned close, so his face was inches from hers . . . so close that the feminine scent he’d imagined only moments before turned to drugging reality, so close that he witnessed the darkening of her eyes, the unconscious parting of her lips.

  “You think I’m heroic?” he asked in a low, ferocious growl that rumbled in his chest. “Just for the record, darlin’, I don’t have a chivalrous bone in my entire body. I don’t give a damn about anything, or anyone, but myself.”

  She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue, her eyes locked on his. Her body relaxed, flowing toward his until her thighs brushed sensually against his, and the tips of her breasts grazed his chest, beckoning to baser male temptation. Slowly, she stroked a hand upward, trailing her fingers over his shoulder, then settled them along the curve of his neck. An impudent light entered her gaze, and she smiled, of all things!

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispered.

  His jaw tightened at the gentleness of her touch; his heart rebelled from the care in her eyes—neither of which he’d asked for, nor wanted.

  “You don’t believe I’m the worst kind of bastard?” She didn’t openly respond to his challenge, but the dare in her eyes spoke volumes, silently rebuking his judgmental claim, candidly inviting the trouble that brewed between them with the intensity of a summer storm.

  The raging tempest within him gathered momentum, clashing with the tenderness she offered and the self-recriminations he’d cloaked himself in the past year. Refusing to allow this woman to breach those boundaries, and unwilling to let her think he was in any way virtuous or benevolent, he clung to the black reputation he’d earned.

  In a quick, dizzying movement, he maneuvered her back three steps, until her spine flattened against the cool enamel refrigerator door and his hard, muscular body pressed intimately into her soft, lush curves. His chest crushed her full breasts, his belly aligned with hers, and one hard, hair-roughened thigh slipped between her slender, smooth legs. He trapped her with his superior strength, surrounding them both in a heat greater than pure fire. She sucked in a surprised breath, but didn’t attempt to push him away or struggle . . . didn’t even issue a token protest.

  He buried his hands into her sleek hair, unable to resist the feel of those silken strands twining around his fingers, tormenting himself with what he knew he’d never have for more than this moment in time. He tilted her face up toward his, tried desperately not to lose himself in her soft, beguiling gaze, and summoned the gruffest voice he could manage.

  “If you don’t believe I’m the worst kind of bastard, then let me prove it.”

  He dropped his mouth over hers, bypassing any of the cajoling, tender preliminaries of a first kiss and going straight to the heart of the matter. His lips melded with hers, hot and insistent. His tongue was just as relentless, gaining entrance and gliding deeply, more possessively than he’d ever branded a woman.

  He expected outrage for his audacity, at the very least her resistance. He certainly deserved a severe lash of fury for being so brazen. But instead of shoving him away like he half-wished she would, she tentatively slid her palm around the nape of his neck and pulled him closer, if that was even possible.

  Oh, yeah, it was possible. Her fingers sieved through his still damp hair, and her spine curved toward his, until it was impossible to distinguish where his body ended and hers began. Her mouth was warm and giving beneath the onslaught of his, and so damned tempting he lost track of his original purpose. And since it had been forever since he’d kissed a woman, and never one quite so guileless and trusting, he greedily took what she so selflessly offered—salvation.

  She moaned softly, sweetly, and stroked her tongue along his. Her breasts swelled, and he could feel her nipples tighten against his chest through her thin cotton nightshirt. Her response was inherently honest and real, and that open vulnerability completely unraveled him.

  What had begun as a punishment, she turned into a seduction of wills. Anger melted into a hunger and need he’d denied himself for far too long. Pain turned to undeniable pleasure. With a touch, a kiss, she awakened the primal male animal in him, made him feel alive and whole.

  A heavy, aching desire rushed through his veins, warning him where this interlude was headed if he didn’t cut it off at the pass—and fast. Lauren didn’t seem to fear any repercussions, or maybe she trusted him to halt their tryst before it spiraled out of control . . . the little fool. If only she knew he was seconds away from hauling her over his shoulder and carrying her off to his bed so he could lose himself in the softness of her body, the all-consuming redemption of her touch.

  Furious with himself for letting things go so far, equally incensed at her for making him feel, he lifted his mouth from hers and took a step back, away from her alluring body, her bewitching stare.

  She leaned against the refrigerator, her hands pressed to the sides as if for support. Her breathing was just as ragged as his own, her lips wet and swollen, her blue eyes dazed and smoky with desire.

  So much for scaring her off, he thought irritably.

  And then, as he watched, an intuitive, womanly smile flirted around the corners of her mouth until it fully developed. “The only thing you proved is that you’re an incredible kisser,” she said with husky assurance, “and a man who needs a little tenderness and understanding.”

  Anger swept through him once more, and he narrowed his gaze on her, holding fast to mockery. “And you think you’re that person?”

  She didn’t answer his question, but he didn’t need a verbal response to validate the astute patience and feminine wisdom glimmering in her eyes—a keen knowledge that shook him to the core, especially after what had just transpired between them.

  “Don’t fool yourself, Lauren,” he replied with a forced calm he was far from experiencing. “I’m not a man you can depend on, and I don’t offer commitments and promises in exchange for a little tenderness and understanding. Save it for the foster kids you work with, because they need it more than I do.”

  Before he said or did something else he regretted, Rafe left the kitchen, and Lauren, and returned to his bedroom alone.

  Sleep was a long time coming.

  Chapter Four

  Warm streams of sunshine filtered through the bedroom window, touching Lauren’s face, gently beckoning her to awaken. She resisted, indulging in the languor infusing her limbs, and the wonderful dreams wisping through her mind—visions of a man with dark hair, striking gray eyes, and the ability to make her body and soul come alive with a kiss . . .

  The image faded, and as much as she struggled to hold on to it, reality insisted on rudely intruding, forcing her to awaken. Opening her eyes, she stretched lazily, then reached for the watch she’d put on the night stand the night before. She was shocked to discover it was after 11 am Wyoming time. Usually her in
ternal alarm clock woke her at six her time, and she was dressed and ready to face the day by seven. Then again, she usually slept restfully, whereas last night she’d tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning, compliments of one moody, temperamental cowboy.

  Never had a man totally consumed her thoughts, her dreams. Then again, no other man had ever awakened such deep desires as Rafe had with such an emotional, needy embrace—one she herself found both scary and exhilarating.

  Unfortunately, he refused to acknowledge the same awesome need, choosing instead to cling to whatever dark demons drove him. His gruff, intimidating act didn’t fool her—she’d tasted the raw hunger in his kiss, had witnessed the torment in his eyes, and knew he’d struggled to fight the awareness between them, the craving for a deeper union, and most especially the tenderness and care she’d offered.

  Stubborn, cantankerous man!

  Sighing softly and admitting temporary defeat, she lay back down on the mattress and listened for any sounds in the house. Hearing none, she surmised both Chad and Rafe had awakened hours ago and were most likely out on the ranch somewhere. And since she’d nearly slept half the day away, she needed to get up and join them—despite her host’s attempt to keep his distance from her. First and foremost, she had a client to chaperone, and she was determined to ensure Chad had a good time during his vacation.

  Half an hour later, after changing into a pair of jeans and a ribbed t-shirt, and eating a quick breakfast of orange juice and a bran muffin, she ventured outside.