by Lisa Jackson
“This conversation isn’t getting us anywhere,” she whispered, her voice becoming thick as her eyes lingered in the smoky depths of his. “I...I’m going to clean up and get dressed and then I’ll fix you that cup of coffee. It’s the least I can do since you helped out here last night...and were such a gentleman in the bargain.” She motioned with a suddenly heavy hand toward the door of the room. “There’s a bath down the hall, if you’d like to shave or change....”
He noticed her hesitation. “I brought a change of clothes.”
“You did? Why?” Tiffany demanded. Had he intended to spend the night? Was he using her? If so, then why hadn’t he tried to force himself upon her last night? Surely he had sensed her attraction to him. Zane Sheridan was a very fascinating man, and it had been a long time since she had been with a man...so very long.
“I thought I was going straight to the airport from here,” he replied, abruptly bringing her back to the present.
She flushed from her wanton thoughts and smiled. “I see. Then I’ll meet you downstairs later.”
Without any further protests, Zane left the room. Tiffany waited until she heard him on the stairs, then she slowly closed the door to the bedroom and locked it.
A few minutes later she heard water running in the guest bathroom at the other end of the hall, and she smiled. “You’re a fool,” she whispered to herself as she stripped off the vibrant red robe, flung it carelessly on the foot of the bed and walked into her private bathroom. “A stranger just spent the night in your room, and if you had your way, he would be back here in a minute making furious, passion-filled love to you.”
After turning on the shower, she shook her head and smiled at her unfamiliar and traitorous thoughts. “Tiffany, my friend,” she warned her reflection in the steamy mirror, “this fascination with Zane Sheridan can only spell trouble.”
Dropping her silvery nightgown on the floor, she stepped into the hot spray of water.
* * *
AFTER BRAIDING HER hair into a single plait, applying just a little makeup and dressing in her favorite pair of faded jeans and a loose sweater, Tiffany headed downstairs to the kitchen. The airy room was bright with copper pots and pans suspended over the stove, plants arranged strategically on the gleaming tile counters, and oversized windows offering a view of the pasture near the broodmare barn.
The coffee was perking, muffins were baking in the oven and the previous night’s dishes had been placed in the dishwasher before she heard Zane on the stairs. The inviting aromas of baking bread, coffee and cured ham wafted through the large kitchen.
“Efficient, aren’t you?” he stated, offering her a lazy grin.
“I try to be.” She glanced over her shoulder and felt her heart begin to pound irregularly as her eyes were caught in the silvery web of his gaze. Zane’s black hair was still wet from his shower, his shadow of a beard had been shaved off to reveal the hard angle of his jaw and he was dressed casually in tan cords and a teal-blue sweater. Without his formal attire, he appeared more rakishly handsome than ever. Looking at him caused an uneasy fluttering in Tiffany’s stomach.
He leaned against the counter, seemingly content to watch her work. Turning back to the coffee, she poured a cup and tried to hide the fact that her hands were unsteady.
“Cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine.” He took an experimental sip, all the while observing Tiffany over the rim of the stoneware mug. “What happened to your cook?”
“She doesn’t come in every day—remember? Only a couple of days a week to keep the house up, and on special occasions.”
Zane observed her sure movements. God, she wasn’t what he’d expected in Ellery Rhodes’s wife. “You’re a bit of a mystery,” he thought aloud as his eyes wandered from her braid, past her slim waist to the inviting swell of her jean-clad hips.
“Ha. And what about you? Appearing on my doorstep with an offer on the farm and a wild tale about Devil’s Gambit being kidnapped by Ellery....” She let her voice trail off. She couldn’t think that Ellery was alive, couldn’t deal with it now. Ellery wouldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. Not when he knew that she would think he was dead! Though their marriage had been less than ideal, certainly Ellery cared for her in his own, distant way. He wouldn’t have put her through the pain of the funeral, the adjustment to widowhood, the problems of running the farm alone....
“Not to mention dead husbands,” he offered, as if reading her thoughts.
Tiffany’s shoulders flexed, and she held back the hot retort forming on her tongue. It wouldn’t be wise to anger him, not yet. She had to find out what he wanted, what kind of game he was playing with her. With an effort, she turned her attention to the boiling water on the stove. Carefully she cracked and added the eggs.
“My husband isn’t alive,” Tiffany whispered, as if to convince herself.
“You’re sure?”
She didn’t answer him right away. She removed the muffins from the oven, and, when they were cooked, spooned the poached eggs from the pan. Only then did she say, “Ellery wouldn’t let me think he was dead—he wouldn’t put me through that kind of pain,” she insisted, her quiet dignity steadfastly in place.
“Ellery Rhodes was a bastard.” Zane’s words were soft, but they seemed to thunder in the small kitchen.
“Your opinion.”
“Granted, but correct nonetheless.”
“And one I think you should keep to yourself!”
His bitter smile grew slowly from one side of his arrogant face to the other. He took a long swig of his coffee and noticed that Tiffany had paled. “Did you love him so much?”
“I don’t understand,” she began, but under his direct gaze, she changed the course of her thoughts. “Of course I loved him.”
“Enough to cover up for him?”
Her simmering anger ignited, and pride took control of her tongue. “Wait a minute, Sheridan. You’re way out of line.”
He studied the honesty in her deep blue eyes and frowned into his mug. “My apologies,” he muttered, before downing the rest of his coffee.
“If I had any brains at all, I’d throw you and your outlandish stories out of this place—”
“But you can’t.”
“Why not?”
He settled into the cane-backed chair he had occupied at the table the night before and flashed her a devastating smile that seemed to touch the darkest corners of her soul. “Because you believe me—” She raised her hands as if to protest and he silenced her with a knowing glare. “At least you believe a little.”
Tiffany’s chest was incredibly tight. She found it difficult to breathe. “I think, Mr. Sheridan, the only reasons I haven’t asked you to leave are, one, because we didn’t finish our discussion last night—a discussion that I have to admit piqued my curiosity about you—and two, because you helped out here last night when I was desperate.” And because I find you the most incredibly interesting man I’ve ever met, she added silently to herself as she put the muffins in a basket and set them on the table next to the platter of ham and eggs. The attraction she felt to him was as crazy as the stories he spun about Devil’s Gambit, and yet she couldn’t fight it.
They ate in silence, neither breaking the unspoken truce while they consumed the hearty breakfast Tiffany had prepared.
After the table had been cleared, Tiffany heard Mac’s footsteps on the back porch. Automatically she reached for the pot of coffee and poured a large mug of the dark liquid before adding both sugar and cream to the cup.
“Mornin’,” Mac grumbled as he accepted the mug Tiffany offered. He took off his hat and placed it on top of the refrigerator. His eyes swept the interior of the kitchen and rested on Zane. The frown that began on Mac’s crowlike features was quickly disguised as he took a long swallow of coffee.
So Sheridan had spent the night, Mac thought. He didn’t much like the idea, didn’t trust the Irishman. But Tiffany did what suited her, and if Zane Sheridan suited her, then it was
none of Mac’s business what went on between them. Tiffany had been alone too long as it was, and if he was uncomfortable in the Irishman’s presence, Mac silently told himself it was his own problem.
“It’s late for you to be getting in,” Tiffany teased the ex-jockey with a warm grin.
“Not after a night that ended at three this morning.”
Winking fondly at Mac, Tiffany moved toward the stove. “How about some breakfast?”
“Thanks much, but no.” Mac eyed the leftover blueberry muffins but shook his head. “The missus, she made me eat before I left.” He patted his lean stomach. “Couldn’t hold anything else.” He propped an elbow against the pantry door, finished his coffee and fidgeted. “I checked Ebony Wine this morning.”
“I was about to go out there myself.”
“No need. She’s fine.” Mac stared out the window toward the foaling shed and scowled. “She wasn’t much of a mother the last time she foaled, so I don’t reckon she’ll miss this one much....” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and set his empty cup on the blue tiles. “She should go into foal heat soon—next week, maybe. You plan on breeding her when she does?”
“If Vance says she’s all right,” Tiffany replied.
“To Moon Shadow?” Mac asked, and at the look on Tiffany’s face he knew he’d made a monumental mistake saying anything in front of Zane Sheridan. He could have kicked himself for his lack of tact, but then he’d supposed that Sheridan knew what was going on. Apparently Tiffany hadn’t confided in Sheridan, and Mac had let the cat out of the bag. Damn it all to hell anyway. Moving his slim shoulders in a gesture of indifference, Mac tried to undo the damage he’d caused before it was too late. “No reason to worry about it now, we’ve got a few days.”
“I...I think I’ll look in on Ebony Wine,” Tiffany stated, wiping her hands on a towel hanging near the stove and steering the conversation toward safer ground. “She had a rough night.”
“Didn’t we all?” Mac frowned but a good-natured twinkle lighted his faded eyes. In his opinion, Tiffany Rhodes was as smart as she was pretty. “I’ve got to go into town—check with a guy about some alfalfa. Need anything else?”
“Just a few groceries, but I can get them later.”
“Suit yourself.” He nodded in Zane’s direction, forced his rumpled fedora back onto his head and walked out the door.
Zane’s silvery eyes rested on Tiffany’s face. The near-perfect features were slightly disturbed. Obviously something the old man said bothered her. It was as if she was hiding something from him. Zane had experienced that same sensation yesterday morning when the reporter was at the house, and again last night while attending to the stillborn colt. Something was bothering Tiffany Rhodes, and Zane suspected that it was more than his remarks about Devil’s Gambit.
“Are you coming with me?” Tiffany asked as she walked down the short hallway to the den, slipped on her boots and pulled a worn suede jacket from the wooden hook near the French doors.
“Nothing better to do,” Zane admitted, striding with her.
“Good.” She scooped some envelopes from the top drawer of the desk, stuffed them into her pocket and headed outside. “I just want to drop these in the mail and pick up the paper before I go back to the foaling shed.” She unlocked the French doors and stepped outside into the brisk morning air.
The world smelled fresh and new from the morning rain. Birds twittered in the trees, and the fog had begun to lift. Though the drizzle had let up, raindrops still clung tenaciously to the branches of the maple trees lining the drive. Shallow pools of water rested on the uneven surface of the asphalt.
Despite the problems with the foals and Zane’s outlandish remarks about Devil’s Gambit, Tiffany felt refreshed, as if the gentle morning rain had washed away the fears of the night. She noticed the dewy, crystallike web of a spider in the rhododendrons, and the woodsy scent of the earth beginning to warm from the first rays of a partially hidden sun.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world when Zane’s fingers linked with hers, warming her hand. When he pulled on her hand, forcing her to stop near a thicket of oaks close to the end of the drive, she turned to face him and offered a smile. “What?”
“You don’t know that you’re driving me crazy, do you?” he asked gently, his gray gaze probing the vibrant blue depths of her eyes.
“And all the while I thought your wild stories and insane ideas about Devil’s Gambit were genetic. Now it’s my fault.” Her blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight.
“Be serious,” he suggested, his voice low and raspy. “I’ve wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you.”
Tiffany laughed softly. “Now it’s time for you to be serious.”
“I am.”
“You don’t even know me—”
“I know you well enough to realize that we’re good together.”
“In what way?”
“All ways.”
“Just because you helped Ebony Wine and you...saw to it that I fell asleep last night, it isn’t enough to—”
“Shh.” He tugged on her arm, forcing her closer. As he looked down upon her she felt as if he were stripping her of the barriers she had so carefully placed around herself, around her heart. She smelled the clean, masculine scent of him, felt the warmth of his body, knew in a minute that he intended to kiss her and that she wouldn’t do a damn thing about it.
When his lips touched hers, she closed her eyes and couldn’t withhold the moan that came from her throat. Both of his hands reached upward to cup her face. Strong fingers held her cheeks while his lips moved slowly, provocatively over her mouth. He touched the underside of her jaw, gently stroking the delicate pulse in her neck. When he lifted his head, his eyes had grown dark with unspoken passion.
Tiffany swallowed with difficulty, and her blood began to throb wildly in her veins. Feminine urges, long dormant, began to heat and swirl within her, captivating her mind as well as her body.
“Tiffany,” he whispered hoarsely against the shell of her ear as his hand slowly found and removed the band at the end of her braid of hair. His fingers worked the shimmery golden-brown strands until her hair tumbled free of its bond to frame her face in soft brown curls.
Her arms wound around his waist as his mouth dipped once again to the invitation of her parted lips. This time the kiss deepened, and Tiffany felt the thrill of his tongue as it sought out and mated with hers.
Liquid fire seemed to engulf her as desire flooded her veins and throbbed in her ears. I can’t want this man, she reasoned with herself, but logic seemed to slip away. He’s using me.... But she found that she didn’t care.
Beneath the still-naked branches of the towering oaks, she returned his passionate kiss and sighed in contentment when he pressed up against her and the evidence of his desire strained against the fabric of his cords.
Dear God, I don’t want to love you, she thought as his arms encircled her and held her tightly to him. I can’t let myself fall for you.... I don’t even know who you are or what you want from me. Is this moment just a diversion, an intricate part of your plan, or are your feelings real?
Logic began to cool her blood, and he felt her withdrawing from him. “Let me love you,” he whispered, refusing to let her go, his powerful arms holding her a willing captive.
She shook her head and tried to deny the traitorous feelings burning in her breast. “I can’t...I just...can’t.”
“Because you still love your husband.” His voice was low and damning. Dark fire smoldered in his eyes.
Her clear eyes clouded and her teeth sunk into her lower lip. When she shook her head, sunlight caught in the honeyed strands of her hair. “Because I don’t know you well enough,” she countered.
“You never will, unless you take a chance.”
“I am. Right here. Right now. With you. Please...try to understand.”
His arms dropped. “Understand what? That you don’t know me?” He stepped away from h
er, granting a small distance between their bodies. “Or is it that you’re suspicious of my motives?” His dark eyes searched her face. “Or maybe it’s because you think I might be just slightly off my rocker.”
She laughed despite the tension in the crisp morning air. “That just about says it all,” Tiffany admitted, tossing her tangled hair away from her face. “Except that I think things are moving a little too fast for me,” she said, her breathing still irregular. “Yesterday we were strangers, earlier this morning, ‘friends,’ and now you’re suggesting that we become lovers. I’m not ready for all of this—not yet.”
“Don’t play games with me.”
“It takes two to play,” she reminded him, holding her head high, her gaze steady.
“You’re a mature woman, Tiffany, not some seventeen-year-old girl. You’ve been married—”
“And I don’t have casual affairs.”
“There’s nothing casual about what I feel for you.” His arms encircled her waist, his warm hands splaying naturally against the small of her back.
“Give it time, Zane,” she pleaded in a raspy whisper. He was so near she could feel the warmth of his breath in her hair, sense the desire heating his veins, witness the burning passion in his eyes. Her expression clouded with the indecision tormenting her mind. How easy it would be to lie naked with him in the morning sun....
With a sound of frustration he released her and leaned against the scaly trunk of one of the larger oaks in the thicket. Lethargic raindrops fell from the branches of the tree and glistened in his dark hair. He cocked his head to the side and forced a ragged but devastating smile. “Okay—so why not give me a chance to prove myself?”
“I am. You’re still here, aren’t you?”