by Lisa Jackson
When his mouth moved slowly down her neck to pause at the shadowy valley between her breasts, she cried out his name. “Zane, please,” she whispered, begging for his touch. Thoughts of a distant past with Ellery infiltrated her mind. I couldn’t feel this way with Zane if Ellery were still alive.... I couldn’t!
In response to her plea, he unclasped the bra and removed it from her, staring at the blushing beauty of her breasts.
“What do you want, sweet Tiffany?” he asked, his slumberous gray eyes searching hers.
Her throat tightened and she closed her eyes. Her dark lashes swept invitingly downward. “I want you—all of you.”
He dipped his head and ran his tongue over one proud nipple. “Do you want me to love you?”
“Please...Zane...yes!” Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he see the love in her eyes as she opened them to search his face?
“All of you?” He kissed the other nipple, but his eyes locked with hers for an electrifying instant. His teeth gently teased the dark point, and she quivered from the deepest reaches of her soul.
“All of me,” she replied and groaned when he began to suckle hungrily at one delicious peak. His large hands held her close, pressing against her naked back and warming her exposed skin. Tiffany felt waves of heat move over her as he kissed her, caressed her, stroked her with his tongue. She cradled his head, holding him close, afraid he would leave her bereft and longing. As his mouth and tongue tasted her, drew out the love she felt, the hot void within her began to throb with desire.
“Make love to me, Zane,” she whispered when the exquisite torment was more than she could bear. “Make love to me and never let me go....”
It was the desperate cry of a woman in the throes of passion. Zane knew that Tiffany had unwittingly let her control slip. He positioned himself above her and his fingers toyed with the waistband of her jeans, slipping deliciously on her warm abdomen. She contracted her muscles, offering more of herself, wanting his touch. Her body arched upward eagerly, her physical desire overcoming rational thought.
Her fingers strayed to the button on his cords and he felt it slide easily through the buttonhole. Her hands did delightful things to him as she slid the zipper lower. He squeezed his eyes shut against his rising passion. His need of her was all-consuming, his desire throbbing wildly against his cords. His fingers dipped lower to feel the smooth skin over her buttocks, and he had to grit his teeth when she began to touch him.
“Tiffany,” he whispered raggedly, forcing himself to think straight. He remembered all too vividly that Ellery Rhodes could very well be alive. If Zane took her now, and Ellery was alive, Tiffany would never forgive him. “Wait.” His voice was hoarse. With gentle hands he restrained her fingers. She stared up at him with hungry, disappointed blue eyes.
God, what he wouldn’t give to forget all his earlier vows to himself. If he made love to her now, before the mystery surrounding Devil’s Gambit was resolved, before he had purchased the farm, she would end up hating him.
“I...had no intention...” Of what? Making love to Ellery Rhodes’s woman? As just revenge for what he did to you? “...of letting things get so out of hand.”
She read the doubts on his face and closed her eyes. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” she murmured, trying to roll away from him. “But I seem to recall a man who, this very morning, matter-of-factly insisted that we become lovers.” Tears of embarrassment flooded her eyes.
“It’s not for lack of any wanting on my part,” he replied.
That much she didn’t doubt. She’d felt the intensity of his desire, witnessed the passion in his eyes, felt the doubts that had tormented him. “Then what?” she asked, reaching for her sweater. “Are you teasing me, trying to find a way to convince me to sell the farm to you?” she accused.
He flinched as if she had physically struck him, and his entire body tensed. “You know better than that.”
“I don’t think I know you at all. I think I let my feelings get in the way of my thinking.”
His fist balled impotently at his side and his face hardened. “Would you feel better about it, if we resumed what we started and I took you right here...even though Ellery might still be alive?”
“Of course not,” she gasped. Her blood had cooled and reason returned.
He reached out and tenderly pushed her hair from her eyes. “Then wait for me,” he asked, his voice low. “I just want to make sure that you won’t regret anything that might happen.”
“Are you sure you’re concerned for my feelings, or your own?”
“Oh, lady,” he whispered, forcing a sad smile. His fingers trembled slightly when he brushed a solitary tear from her eye. “Maybe a little of both.” He reached for her and his fingers wrapped possessively around her neck. Closing his eyes against the passion lingering in his blood, he kissed her sensuously on the lips. “I’ll be back....”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“THIS ISN’T THE smartest thing you’ve ever done, Missy,” Mac warned as he finished his coffee and pushed his hat onto his head. He scraped his chair back from the table and placed the empty cup on the tile counter, not far from the area where Louise was rolling dough.
“The least you could do is show a little support,” Tiffany teased. She smoothed the hem of her cream-colored linen suit and smiled at Mac’s obvious concern.
“After that newspaper article in the Clarion, I’d think you’d have more sense than agree to another interview.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Louise chimed in as she placed a batch of cinnamon rolls in the oven.
“Okay, so the interview with Rod Crawford was a mistake. This one will be different.” Tiffany leaned against the counter and attempted to look confident.
“How’s that?” Mac’s reddish brows rose skeptically on his weathered face.
“The reporter from the Times is Nancy Emerson, a roommate of mine from college.”
“Humph.” Louise was busily making the second batch of rolls and didn’t look up as she spread the cinnamon and sugar over the dough. “How do you know she won’t do the same thing that Crawford did? In my book a reporter’s a reporter. Period.”
“Nancy’s a professional.”
“So was Crawford.”
“I talked about the interview. I told her I would only do it if it didn’t turn out to be a hatchet job.”
“I bet she liked that,” Louise remarked sarcastically as she began furiously rolling the dough into a long cylinder. “It’s none of my business, mind you, but didn’t you bank on the reputation of the Clarion?”
“Yes,” Tiffany said with a sigh.
Mac noted Tiffany’s distress. “Well, if you think you can trust her—”
“I just know that she won’t print lies,” Tiffany insisted. “She’s been with the Times for over six years and written dozens of articles on horse racing in America and abroad. She’s extremely knowledgeable and I figured she’d give an unbiased, honest report.” Tiffany lifted her palms in her own defense. “Look, I had to grant an interview with someone. I’ve had over a dozen calls from reporters in the past three days.”
“I can vouch for that,” Louise agreed as she sliced the rolls and arranged them in a pan.
Louise had insisted on working at the farm every day since Zane had left and Tiffany was grateful for the housekeeper’s support. Life on the farm had been hectic in the past few—had it only been four?—days. It seemed like a lifetime since she’d been with Zane.
“Well, I guess you had no choice,” Mac allowed.
“None. The longer I stall, the more it seems as if we’re hiding something here.”
“Aye. I suppose it does,” Mac mumbled as he sauntered to the back door. “I’ll be in the broodmare barn if you need me.” He paused as his fingers gripped the doorknob, glanced back at Tiffany and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “It looks like Alexander’s Lady’s time has come.”
Tiffany felt her heart fall to the floor. Alexander’s Lady was p
regnant with Moon Shadow’s foal. Tiffany closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the table. Louise stopped working at the counter.
“Oh, Lord,” the large cook muttered, quickly making a sign of the cross over her ample bosom. Then, with a knowing eye in Tiffany’s direction, she smiled kindly. “This one will be all right, honey...I feel it in my bones.”
“I hope to God you’re right,” Tiffany whispered.
“It’s in His hands now, you know. Not much you can do ’bout it,” Mac advised with a scowl. “Worryin’ ain’t gonna help.”
Tiffany studied Mac’s wrinkled brow. “Then maybe you should take your own advice.”
“Naw—I’m too old and set in my ways to stop now. Anyway, worryin’s what I do best.” The trainer raised his hand in the air as a salute of goodbye and opened the door to the back porch, just as the doorbell chimed. Mac’s frown deepened. “Looks like your friend is here.”
Tiffany managed a thin smile. “Good. We may as well get this over with.”
“Good luck,” Louise muttered, once again hastily making the sign of the cross with her flour-dusted hands as Tiffany walked out of the kitchen.
“Tiffany! You look great,” Nancy said with heartfelt enthusiasm as Tiffany opened the door.
The slim, dark-haired woman with the bright hazel eyes appeared no different than she had six years ago. Dressed in navy-blue slacks and a crisp red blouse and white jacket, Nancy looked the picture of efficiency. Short dark-brown curls framed a pixielike face filled with freckles and smiles.
“It’s good to see you, Nance. Come in.” Tiffany’s grin was genuine as she hugged her friend. It had been years since she’d seen Nancy. Too many years. The two women had parted ways right after college. Tiffany’s father had died, and Nancy had moved to Oregon to marry her high school boyfriend.
“And what a beautiful house,” Nancy continued, her expressive hazel eyes roving over the sweeping green hills surrounding the white-clapboard and brick home. “This is something right out of Gone with the Wind!”
“Not quite, I don’t think.”
“All you need is a couple of mint juleps, a porch swing and—”
“Rhett Butler.”
Nancy laughed. “I suppose you’re right. But, God, Tiff, this is fabulous!”
“The house was Ellery’s idea,” Tiffany admitted as Nancy’s eager eyes traveled up the polished oak banister and marble stairs to linger on the crystal chandelier. “He thought the farm would appear more genuine if it had a Southern atmosphere.”
“This is beyond atmosphere, Tiffany, this is flair!”
Tiffany blushed a little under Nancy’s heartfelt praise. She’d forgotten what it was like to be around the exuberant woman. Though Nancy had to be thirty, she didn’t look a day over twenty-five, and part of her youthful appearance was due to her enthusiasm for life.
Tiffany showed Nancy the house and grounds of the farm. “This is heaven,” Nancy insisted as she leaned against a redwood tree and watched the foals romp in the late-morning sun.
“I like it.”
“Who wouldn’t? Let me tell you, I’d give an arm and a leg to live in a place like this.”
Tiffany laughed. “And what would you do? You’re a city girl by nature, Nance.”
Nancy nodded in agreement. “I suppose you’re right.”
“You’d miss San Francisco within the week.”
“Maybe so, but sometimes sharing a two-bedroom apartment with two kids and a cat can drive me up the wall. The girls are five and four, and you wouldn’t believe how much energy they have.”
“They probably get it from their mother. Genetics, you know.”
“Right. Genetics. The reason I’m here.”
Tiffany ignored the comment for now. “So why don’t you bring the kids out here for a weekend sometime?”
Nancy’s bright eyes softened. “You mean it?”
“Of course.”
“They’re a handful,” the sprightly reporter warned.
“But they’d love it here, and I adore kids.”
Nancy was thoughtful as she stared at the horses frolicking in the lush grass of the paddock. “So why didn’t you have any?”
Tiffany shrugged. “Too busy, I guess. Ellery wasn’t all that keen on being a father.”
“And you?”
“It takes two.”
Nancy sighed and lit a cigarette. A small puff of blue smoke filtered toward the cloudless sky. “Boy, does it. Raising the kids alone is no picnic. Ralph has them every other weekend, of course, but sometimes... Oh, well. Look, I’m here for an interview, right? Tell me what you’ve been doing since you took over the farm.”
Nancy took a tape recorder from her purse and switched it on. For the next hour and a half Tiffany answered Nancy’s questions about the farm—the problems and the joys.
“So what’s all this ruckus over Moon Shadow?” Nancy asked, her hazel eyes questioning.
“Hype.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.” Tiffany led Nancy to the stallion barn and Moon Shadow’s stall. Moon Shadow poked his ebony head out of the stall, held it regally high and flattened his ears backward at the sight of the stranger. “Here he is, in the flesh, the stallion who’s been getting a lot of bad press.”
“What you referred to as ‘hype’?”
“Yes. He’s fathered over a hundred Thoroughbreds in the past eight years, several who have become champions.”
“Like Devil’s Gambit?”
Tiffany’s heart seemed to miss a beat. She didn’t want to discuss Devil’s Gambit with anyone, including Nancy. “Yes, as well as Journey’s End.”
“Rhodes Breeding Farm’s latest contender. He promises to be the next Devil’s Gambit,” Nancy observed.
“We hope so.”
Moon Shadow’s large brown eyes wandered from Tiffany to the reporter and back again. Tiffany reached into the pocket of her skirt and withdrew a piece of carrot. The proud stallion nickered softly and took the carrot from Tiffany’s hand.
“He’s been a good stud,” Tiffany emphasized while rubbing the velvet-soft black muzzle.
Tiffany continued to talk about Moon Shadow’s qualities and the unfortunate incidents with the dead foals. Whenever Nancy posed a particularly pointed question, Tiffany was able to defend herself and her stallion by pointing to his winning sons and daughters.
Nancy had snapped off her tape recorder and stayed through lunch. Tiffany felt more relaxed than she had in days when she and Nancy reminisced about college.
“So what happened between you and Ralph?” Tiffany asked, as they drank a cup of coffee after the meal.
Nancy shrugged. “I don’t really know—it just seemed that we grew in different directions. I thought that the kids would make a difference, but I was wrong.” When she saw the horrified look in Tiffany’s eyes, she held up her hand. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Tiff. It wasn’t that Ralph wasn’t a good father—” she shrugged her shoulders slightly “—he just wasn’t comfortable in the role of breadwinner. Too much responsibility, I suppose. Anyway, it’s worked out for the best. He’s remarried, and I’m dating a wonderful man.”
“And the girls?”
Nancy sighed and lit a cigarette. “It was rough on them at first, but they seem to be handling it okay now.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“It’s hard to explain,” Nancy said softly. “It just seemed that the longer we lived together, the less we knew each other or cared....”
“That happens,” Tiffany said. Hadn’t she felt the same doubts when Ellery was alive? Hadn’t there always been a distance she was unable to bridge?
“Yeah, well...” Nancy stubbed out her cigarette. “As I said, I think it’s for the best. Oh, God, look at the time! I’ve got to get out of here.”
Tiffany watched as Nancy gathered her things, and then she walked her friend to the car. “I was serious when I told you to bring the kids out for a weekend. Ju
st give me a call.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
Tiffany laughed. “Sure I do. It’ll be fun. Come on, Nance, those girls could use a little fresh country air, and they’d love being around the horses.”
Nancy eyed the rolling hills of the farm wistfully. “Be careful, Tiff, or I just might take you up on your offer.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Nancy’s car was parked in the shade of a tall maple tree near the back of the house. When they reached the car, Nancy turned and faced Tiffany. “This has been great,” she said. “The best interview I’ve done in years.”
“Do you do many stories about Thoroughbreds?” Tiffany asked.
“Some—mainly from the woman’s angle,” Nancy replied. “Most of the time I write human interest stories—again, from the woman’s perspective. The reason I got this assignment is that I read the article in the Clarion and stormed into my editor’s office, insisting that since I knew you, I would be the logical person to write a more in-depth article for the Times. He really couldn’t argue too much, since I used to cover all the local and national races.” Her hazel eyes saddened a little. “I think you, and not your horse, were the victim of bad press, my friend.”
Tiffany shrugged, but smiled. “Maybe.” A question formed in her mind, and she had to ask. “When you were working on the races, did you ever hear of a stallion named King’s Ransom?”
“Sure. But he wasn’t much of a champion, not until recently. From what I understand his services as a stud are the most sought-after in Ireland.”
“Who owns him?”
Nancy smiled. “That’s the interesting part. It’s kind of a mystery. He’s syndicated of course, but the largest percentage of the stallion is owned by Emerald Enterprises.” Tiffany’s heart felt as if it had turned to stone. Zane had been telling the truth!
“Which is?”