by Lisa Jackson
“I’ll be here in the morning,” he stated, dropping into a chair facing the bed and cradling his drink in his hands.
“Pardon me?” she asked, understanding perfectly well what he meant.
“I’m staying—”
“You can’t! Not here—”
“I just want to check with Mac once more, and then I’ll sleep downstairs on the couch.”
Visions of him spending the night in her house made her throat dry. She couldn’t deny that he had been a help, but the thought of him there, in the same house with her, only a staircase away, made her uneasy. Her fingers trembled when she pushed them wearily through her hair. “I don’t know,” she whispered, but she could feel herself relenting.
“Come on, Tiff. It’s after two. I’m not about to drive back to San Francisco now, just to turn around and come back here in six hours.”
Tiffany managed a smile. “I don’t suppose that makes a whole lot of sense.” Her blue eyes touched his. “You don’t have to sleep in the den. There’s a guest room down the hall, the first door to the left of the stairs.”
He returned her hint of a smile and stood. For a moment she thought he was about to bend over the bed and kiss her. She swallowed with difficulty as their eyes locked.
Zane hesitated, and the brackets near the corners of his mouth deepened. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, his eyes darkening to a smoky gray before he turned out the lamp near the bed and walked out of the room.
Tiffany expelled a rush of air. “Oh, God,” she whispered, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. “I should have made him leave.” He was too close, his rugged masculinity too inviting.
Maybe he would come back to her room, or maybe he would sift through the papers in the den looking for something, anything, to prove his crazy theories. But all the important documents, the computer data disks and the checkbook were locked in the safe; even if Zane rummaged through the den, he would find nothing of value.
That’s not why you’re concerned, her tired mind teased. What scares you is your response to him. She rolled over and pushed the nagging thoughts aside. Despite all of her doubts, she was comforted that Zane was still with her. Somehow it made the tragedy of losing the foal easier to bear.
* * *
ZANE HIKED HIS quickly donned jacket around his neck and felt the welcome relief of raindrops slide under his collar. He needed time to cool off. Being around Tiffany, wanting to comfort her, feeling a need to make love to her until the fragile lines of worry around her eyes were gone, unnerved him. The last thing he had expected when he had driven to Rhodes Breeding Farm was that he would get involved with Ellery Rhodes’s widow.
He heard the roar of an engine as he started to cross the parking lot. Turning in the direction of the sound, Zane walked toward Mac’s battered truck. Mac rolled down the window as Zane approached. Twin beams from the headlights pierced the darkness, and the wipers noisily slapped the accumulation of rain from the windshield.
“Everything okay?”
“Aye,” Mac replied cautiously. “The mare’s fine.”
“Good.” Zane rammed his fists into the jacket of his coat. “What about the colt?”
“Vance will handle that.” The wiry trainer frowned in the darkness. “He’ll give us a report in a couple of days.”
“Good.” Zane stepped away from the truck and watched as Mac put the ancient Dodge pickup into gear before it rumbled down the driveway.
Wondering at the sanity of his actions, Zane unlocked his car and withdrew the canvas bag of extra clothes from the backseat. He always traveled with a change of clothes, his briefcase and his camera. He slung the bag over his shoulder and considered the briefcase. In the leather case were the papers his attorney had toiled over. According to John Morris, every document needed to purchase Rhodes Breeding Farm was now in Zane’s possession. So why didn’t owning the farm seem as important as it once had?
Zane cursed angrily and locked the briefcase in the car. Knowing that he was making a grave error, he walked back into the house, locked the doors and mounted the stairs. After throwing his bag on the guest bed, he took off his shoes and turned down the covers.
Then, on impulse, he went back to her room. He paused at the door and then strode boldly inside. His blood was thundering in his eardrums as he lowered himself into the chair near the bed. It took all of his restraint not to go to her.
Zane watched the rounded swell of her hips beneath the bedclothes, and the smoldering lust in his veins began to throb unmercifully. You’re more of a fool than you thought, Zane chastised himself silently.
He noticed the regular rhythm of her breathing and realized that she had fallen asleep. The urge to strip off his clothes and lie with her burned in his mind. He fantasized about her response, the feel of her warm, sleepy body fitted to his, the agonizing glory of her silken fingers as they traced an invisible path down his abdomen....
A hard tightening in his loins warned him that his thoughts were dangerous; still he couldn’t help but think of slowly peeling off her bedclothes and letting the shimmery nightgown peeking from the edges of her robe fall silently to the floor. He wanted to touch all of her, run his tongue over the gentle feminine curves of her body, drink in the smell of her perfume as he touched her swollen breasts....
Quietly he placed his drink on the table and walked over to the bed.
Tiffany moaned in her sleep and turned onto her back. In the dim light from the security lamps, with the rain softly pelting against the windows, Zane looked down at her. How incredibly soft and alluring she appeared in slumber. All traces of anxiety had left the perfect oval of her face. Her still-damp hair curled in golden-brown tangles around her shoulders and neck.
The scarlet robe had gaped open to display the silvery fabric of a gossamer gown and the soft texture of her breasts beneath. Tiffany shifted slightly and the hint of a dark nipple shadowed the silvery lace covering it.
Zane clenched his teeth in self-restraint. Never had he wanted a woman more, and he told himself that she was there for the taking. Hadn’t he seen her vulnerability? Hadn’t he witnessed the way she stared at him? Deep within her, there was a need to be taken by him; he could sense it.
He closed his eyes against the pain throbbing in his loins and dropped to his knees by the bed. “What have you done to me?” he whispered as he lovingly brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.
This woman was once the wife of Ellery Rhodes, a person he had intended to destroy. Zane couldn’t help but wonder, as he stared into the sleep-softened face of Ellery Rhodes’s widow, if just the opposite were true.
Would he be able to carry forth his plans of retribution, or would Ellery Rhodes’s wife reap her sweet vengeance on him?
CHAPTER FIVE
WHEN TIFFANY OPENED her eyes she noticed that the first purple light of dawn had begun to filter into the room. With a muted groan, she stretched between the cool sheets and rolled over, intent on returning to sleep.
Her cloudy vision rested on the chair near the bed and her breath got lost somewhere in her throat.
Zane was in the room. The realization was like an electric current pulsing through her body, bringing her instantly awake. What was he doing here?
He was slumped back in the chair, his head cocked at an uncomfortable angle, his stocking feet propped against the foot of the bed. He had thrown a spare blanket over himself, but it had slipped to the floor. His unfinished drink sat neglected on the bedside table.
“You wonderful bastard,” she whispered quietly, before a silent rage began to take hold of her. Why hadn’t he left as he had promised? Why had he decided to stay here—in her bedroom? Conflicting emotions battled within her. On the one hand, she was pleased to see him. It was comforting to watch his beard-darkened face relaxed in quiet slumber. There was something slightly chivalrous in the fact that he had stayed with her on the pretense of caring for her. She supposed that in all honesty she should consider his actions a compliment, an indication that he care
d for her—if only a little.
On the other hand, she was quietly furious that he would force himself so boldly into her life. Whatever it was that he wanted at Rhodes Breeding Farm, he obviously wanted very badly. Badly enough to pretend interest in Tiffany and her horses.
The smile that had touched the corners of her mouth began to fade. Zane stirred in the chair, and Tiffany knew that he would soon be awake. No better time than the present to take the bull by the horns! She slipped out of the bed and cinched her robe tightly under her breasts before planting herself in front of his chair.
“Liar!” she whispered loudly enough to disturb him.
The muscles in Zane’s broad shoulders stiffened slightly. He grumbled something indistinguishable and his feet dropped to the floor as he tried to roll over.
“What the hell?” he mumbled, before opening his eyes. He awoke to find himself staring up at Tiffany’s indignant blue gaze. Stretching in the uncomfortable chair, he tried to rub the stiffness from his neck and cramped shoulders. “What’re you going on about?” he asked.
“You said you’d sleep downstairs or in the guest room.”
A devilish grin stole across his features. “So I did.”
Her blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t you have any shame?”
“None.” He pulled himself out of the chair and stretched his aching muscles. God, he hurt all over. It had been years since he’d slept sitting up; and never in his thirty-six years had he kept vigil on a beautiful woman, a woman who obviously didn’t appreciate his efforts.
“I should have known.”
“Known what?” He rubbed his hands over the stubble of his beard and then threw his head back and rotated his neck to relieve the tension at the base of his skull. “Don’t you have any coffee around here?” he asked once he’d stretched.
Tiffany crossed her arms self-righteously over her breasts and glared up at her unwelcome visitor. She was still wearing her robe, Zane noticed, though the gap of the lapels had been pulled together when she had tied the belt around her small waist. “Known you’d end up here.”
“It’s too early in the morning for this outraged virgin routine, Tiff,” he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “We’re both adults.”
Her lips pressed together in anger. “Virginity isn’t the issue.”
He raised a brow in overt disbelief. “Then what is? Morality?”
“Sanity,” she shot back. “Your being in here borders on the insane. I don’t know who you are, what you want, where you live, why you’re here in the first place.... God, Zane, for all I know you could be married with a dozen kids.”
His dark glare silenced her. “I’m not married,” he said gruffly.
“Good. Because I certainly wouldn’t want some outraged wife calling me and demanding to talk to her husband.” He looked as if she had slapped him.
“I came in here to check on you last night and you’re acting as if I’m some kind of criminal, for God’s sake.”
She let out a ragged breath and her hands dropped to her sides. “It’s just that I don’t really know you,” she said softly.
“Sure you do,” he cajoled, his slate-colored eyes warming slightly when he noticed the flush of indignation on her cheeks.
Tiffany attempted to remain angry, but it was nearly impossible as she stared into Zane’s incredible gray eyes. They were a reflection of the man himself, sometimes dark with anger, other times filled with a compelling intimacy that touched her heart and caused her pulse to jump. Slowly, by calculated inches, this man was working his way into her heart. She felt more vulnerable and naked than she had in years. The emotions beginning to blossom within her had to be pushed aside. She couldn’t chance an involvement with him; it was far too dangerous.
Zane rubbed his eyes and stretched before smiling lazily. “Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?”
“Dozens,” she returned sarcastically.
“Or that you’re gorgeous when you wake up?”
Tiffany swallowed back a lump in her throat. “Not quite as many.” She ran her long fingers through her knotted hair and slowly expelled a sigh. Arguing with him would get her nowhere. “I guess I haven’t been very hospitable this morning,” she conceded, lowering herself to a corner of the bed.
“Some people wake up in a bad mood.”
“Especially if they find a stranger in their room?”
His gray eyes touched hers and his voice lowered to an intimate whisper. “We’re not strangers.”
Her elegant brows arched skeptically. “No?”
“No.” He shook his head and frowned decisively.
“Then tell me,” she suggested as one long, nervous finger began tracing the line of delicate stitching on the hand-pieced quilt. “Just how would you describe our relationship?”
A mischievous light gleamed in his eyes and his voice lowered suggestively. “How about two strong-willed people thrown mercilessly together by the cruel tides of fate?”
Tiffany couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously—”
“Seriously?” He sobered instantly. “Why don’t we start as friends?”
She nodded silently to herself as if agreeing with an earlier-drawn conclusion. “Ah. Friends.” Looking up, she found Zane staring intensely at her. “Friendship isn’t formed in one night. Not when one of the ‘friends’ doesn’t know anything about the other.”
“Or suspects that he’s holding out on her?”
She stiffened slightly. “Right.” Folding her hands in her lap, she forced her eyes to meet the stormy gray of his. “You came here yesterday and announced that you intended to buy this farm. You also insisted that Devil’s Gambit was alive. These aren’t the usual kinds of statements to kick off an amiable relationship.”
Before he could respond, she pointed an accusing finger up at him and continued, “And there’s more to it than you’ve told me. I get the distinct impression you’re here for other reasons, that you were probably involved with Ellery in the past and you’re holding a grudge against him...or what used to be his before he died....”
Zane didn’t deny it, but the mention of Ellery’s name caused his face to harden. An unspoken challenge flashed from his eyes.
“My husband is dead—”
“You think.” He rammed his fists into his pockets and walked over to one of the tall, paned windows. Leaning one shoulder against the window frame, he surveyed the farm. From his vantage point he could look past the white buildings near the house to the gently rolling hills in the distance. It was barely dawn. A gentle drizzle was falling, and wisps of fog had settled in the pockets between the hills to color the lush green meadows a hazy shade of blue.
Standing apart from the main buildings, its shape barely visible in the clinging fog, was the sagging skeleton of an old weather-beaten barn, the one structure on the farm that was in sharp contrast to the rest of the modern facilities. The old relic was out of sync with the times. Why had Ellery kept it?
Tiffany watched Zane with new fear taking hold of her heart. What was he saying? Did he really believe that Ellery could still be alive after all these years?
Her voice was suddenly hoarse and she was forced to clear her throat. “Look...”
He continued to stare at the rain-washed countryside.
“If you think that Ellery is alive, I want to know about it and I want to know now. This minute. No more stalls.”
Zane lifted his hands dismissively. “I don’t really know. The only thing I’m certain about is the horse.”
“But you said—”
He whirled to face her, his burning hatred resurfacing in his eyes. “What I said was that I don’t know what happened to your husband, but I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that he could very well be alive and hiding out somewhere.”
Tiffany’s dark brows drew together, and she shook her head as if she could physically deny the doubts and fears beginning to plague her. “That doesn’t make any sense!”
Zane�
��s scathing eyes slowly traveled up her body to rest on her troubled face. He shook his head as if he couldn’t begin to understand what was happening between himself and Ellery Rhodes’s wife. “If your husband did leave you, then he’s not only a crooked bastard, he’s crazy to boot.”
“You didn’t much like him, did you?”
“I didn’t like him at all.” Zane uttered the words without any trace of emotion, as if he were simply stating a fact. He noticed the worry clouding her gaze, the weariness in the slump of her shoulders, and he silently wondered how such a beautiful woman could have linked up with the likes of Ellery Rhodes. Stasia’s passion for money was understandable, but Tiffany? The bitter thought of Stasia heightened his curiosity and got the better of him. “Tell me, what kind of a marriage did you have?”
“Pardon me?”
“How was your relationship with Ellery?”
Searching gray eyes probed hers and seemed to pierce her soul. Just how much did this man want from her? “I don’t think this is the time or the place—”
“Cut the bull, Tiffany.”
“It’s really none of your business—”
“Like hell! I just spent the night with you, lady, and I think that counts for something.” His skin tightened over his cheekbones and his jaw hardened. An unspoken challenge flared in his intense gaze.
“Wait a minute. You didn’t ‘spend the night’ with me. You merely sat in a chair in my room.”
“Tell that to the rest of the people on the farm.”
“I really don’t give a rip what anyone else thinks, Zane,” she replied, coloring only slightly. “What I do with my life is my own business.”
He quirked a disbelieving brow.
“By the same token, I expect that you wouldn’t go around to the workers and brag that you slept in the boss lady’s room.” Her heart was pounding wildly, but she managed to keep her voice steady.
Zane rammed fingers through his dark hair. “But I did.”
“No reason to brag about it, especially since nothing happened.”
“Not for any lack of wanting on my part,” he admitted with a sigh of frustration. His eyes had darkened, and a tiny muscle worked furiously in the corner of his jaw. The tension that sleep had drained from his body resurfaced, and Tiffany realized for the first time just how badly this man wanted her. Her pulse jumped, and she had to force herself to stand and face him. Things were moving too rapidly, and she couldn’t begin to deal with the bold desire written on Zane’s rugged features.