Sin remained at the top of the aisle. "What happened with the bossy blonde. The one with the black Arabian mare?"
How could he know about Jennifer Randall? The man must have radar. She scooped up the bottle and started back toward him. "So. You heard about that."
"Pretty hard not to. She came stomping into the kitchen in those tall boots of hers just when I got back from looking over that meadow where we talked about putting my house."
She reached him and went by on her way to the trash can by the concession counter.
He caught her arm. "Stand still a minute, will you?"
She knew that he'd only touched her in order to slow her down. Still, that touch loosed a chain of sensual reactions, like little firecrackers exploding along the waiting surface of her skin. She clutched the empty plastic bottle tighter, hoping the action would help to still her own response.
It didn't.
His face changed, his mouth going softer, his eyes kindling with heat. Those exquisite five nights they'd shared seemed to rise and shimmer in the air between them. She knew he remembered, just as she remembered—the taste of his kisses, the way he used to reach for her, his hand sliding under her hair, cupping her nape, pulling her close…
Abruptly he released her.
"Tell me about the woman," he commanded, all business once more. "The blonde with the black Arabian mare. Some problem with Caleb?"
She blinked. "How did you know?"
"She mentioned the groom when she came storming into the kitchen—and not in a flattering way. How did you work it out?"
"She's taking the horse elsewhere."
"When?"
"I gave her a few days to find another stable."
She waited for him to start criticizing Caleb and mentally braced herself to remain reasonable as she took Caleb's side.
But he surprised her. "Well, the sooner she's out of your hair, the better, the way I see it."
She opened her mouth to argue—and had to switch directions in midword. "I … completely agree with you."
"There's nothing more dangerous than a bad horsewoman who refuses to admit she doesn't know what the hell she's doing."
Unless it's a bad horseman, she thought—but decided that since they were agreeing on something, she'd better not push her luck. "Yes. That's true."
"Which reminds me of something else. How well are you insured? Not well enough, I'll bet. We'll have to look into that. Especially since you insist on bedding down the homeless in that campground of yours. I went by there today, by the way. You need to get those people to pick up their trash."
She couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes.
His eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
"What?"
"You just rolled your eyes at me."
"I did?"
"You know damn well you did."
"Well…"
"Well, what?"
"Well, Sin, I don't know—"
"Yes, you do."
She drew in a fortifying breath and started again. "I'm feeling a little overwhelmed, that's all. You're so driven about all this."
He made a low impatient sound. "There's no sense in fooling around. I have a couple more people coming tomorrow. Then I'll have all the estimates I need. I can tell you what I'm willing to invest here, you can show me your profit-and-loss statements. And we can make our decision."
She felt as if the barn's stone walls had started moving in her. "We can?"
Those black eyes never wavered. "That was the deal, wasn't it?"
"But I thought—"
"What?"
"I thought we'd have more time."
"I don't need any more time."
"But…"
"But what?"
"Well, this is all happening so fast. I just don't … I mean, don't you need to get some idea about that house you might build? Don't you need estimates there, too?"
"Sophie. I have plenty of money. I can hire a general contractor—or do the job myself. All that's required is that I make a decision—to do it or not."
She couldn't think of a thing to say to that except, "Oh."
"Sophie."
"Yes?"
"What is going on here?"
She backed up a step.
"I know this is probably a shock, coming from me, but I think it's time we got honest with each other."
"Honest?" She repeated the word as if unsure of its meaning.
He raised a sardonic brow. "Yes. Honest. As in you tell me your truth and I'll tell you mine."
She thought suddenly of little Anthea Jones, bobbing down the river in her orange life jacket—out of her depth and out of control. "I don't … what truth?"
He ran a hand back through his hair. "Look. I think you're going to have to decide just what the hell you want from me."
She retreated another step. "I … we … I mean…"
"Do you even know what you want from me?"
Her hands felt all sweaty and her throat felt so tight. "I…"
He didn't relent. "I asked you a question. Do you know what you want from me?"
She almost moved back a third step—and then somehow managed to hold her ground. "Yes. I do. I know."
"What?"
"I…"
"Say it."
And somehow she did. "I want you to come back to me. I want us to be together. The way we were before."
Oh, dear Lord, she had done it! She had gotten the words out at last…
Unfortunately Sin didn't seem very impressed. "This isn't before."
How could a man be so obtuse? "Well, I know that."
"Are you sure?"
"Well. Certainly. Yes. Of course, I'm sure."
"Listen to you." His voice was gentle, forgiving. Kind. She hated that. She was the gentle one, the kind one. Not him. "You don't sound sure. And you don't behave as if you're sure. Not by a long shot."
"I…" How could she tell him? Why did he refuse to understand? "I … came to L.A. To find you. I was hoping…"
"Hoping what?"
"That we could work things out."
"You offered me a partnership, Sophie. A business agreement."
She experienced an utterly childish urge to hurl the plastic bottle at him. "Because I didn't know how … to reach out to you. I didn't know what else to do."
"So, you never really wanted a partnership at all?"
"I…" Not another word came into her mind. He kept pushing. "I, what?"
She could have cried. Just sat down on the plank floor and sobbed her heart out. "Oh, Sin, I…"
"What?"
She confessed in a small voice, "I guess I just want you."
"You guess?"
Oh, this was not going the way she'd imagined at all. She'd told him that she wanted him. Didn't that count for anything at all?
Apparently not. "All right," he said grimly. "You want me. You guess you want me."
Anger, frustration, longing—they were all tangled up inside her. "I do." She forced some conviction into her voice. "I do want you."
"You want me. The way it was before."
"Yes." She clutched the empty bottle hard again. "And I have to know. Do you want me?" He was shaking his head.
She wanted to scream, stomp her foot, tear her hair. "What does that mean, shaking your head like that? Does it mean you don't want me, after all?"
He made a low noise in his throat. "I don't think that's the question."
"It is too the question!" She only realized she was shouting when the pigeon up in the rafters took flight in distress. Sophie let out a startled cry as the bird came at them, swooping past Sin and down on Sophie. She ducked. It flew on by, through the pulled-back curtains, and out the wide-open doors. Sophie stared after it, thinking of all the times she'd tried to chase it away. And now, just like that, the bird was gone.
"Sophie."
She had no choice but to face him.
"Come here."
She froze, riddled with suspicion. Torn in two w
ith yearning. So confused. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing at all. "Why?"
"Just come here."
She didn't want to go to him—and at the same time, she wanted nothing else.
She took one awful step forward. And then another. And then the one that brought her right up close to him.
"I'm here, aren't I?" he asked quietly. "Why the hell would I come here if I didn't want you?"
She had no answer for that. She had no answer for anything.
He raised a hand. She flinched.
He made a soothing sound. And then he traced the line of her hair where it fell along her cheek, a caress that sent heated shivers singing all through her. His hand moved down, over the curve of her jaw to her neck. It paused at the place where her pulse beat so fast—and then continued on to the little hollow at the base of her throat. He stroked that hollow lightly, gently. The tangle of emotions inside her shifted, resolving themselves into one dominant sensation: desire.
"I can't seem to forget the feel of you." Low and caressing, his voice curled around her. "It's kept me awake a lot of nights…"
All she could whisper was, "Yes…"
"You remember, too."
Again she murmured, "Yes."
He turned his hand over, brushed the side of her throat with the back of his index finger. "Those five nights we had together, do you want them again?"
She licked her lips and nodded.
He raised his other hand, cupped her face. And brought his mouth down on hers.
* * *
Chapter 15
« ^ »
Sophie dropped the plastic bottle. She heard it roll quietly away.
And then she forgot all about it.
Sin's mouth moved on hers, at first coaxing—then demanding her response.
She opened for him, sighing. His tongue mated with hers as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close against him.
He was hard. She moaned at the feel of him.
And then he put his hands on her shoulders. His fingers dug in, hurting her a little. He put her away from him.
"I'd say that answers your question." He dropped his arms, backed away another step.
All she wanted was his lips on hers. She swayed toward him. "Sin—"
He took her shoulders once more, steadying her. "Let's just get this whole thing clear."
"I don't—"
"You want me. I want you. I don't see wanting as the issue at all. Do you, honestly?"
Her body thrummed with yearning. Why wouldn't he simply sweep her into his arms again?
"Sophie. Answer me."
She shrugged off his hands, ordered her traitorous body to stop making a fool of her. "Yes. I mean, no. All right. We … want each other."
"Exactly. And we can be lovers, the way we were before. At least, for a while." His fine mouth twisted in a wry grin. "However, in my experience, that kind of thing never lasts all that long."
"But I—"
"You did say that you wanted it to be the way it was before."
Oh, why did he refuse to understand? "I meant that we were so close. We never argued. We were … intimate, in the best kind of way."
"Sophie. It was all based on lies. Is that what you want?"
"Of course not. You're twisting what I've said."
"No, I'm making a point."
"What point?"
"That partnership you offered, that was a good idea."
What in heaven's name was he getting at now? "It was?"
He nodded. "If we're going to be together, we're going to have to share. And I think that's our problem."
He was making no sense at all. "Sharing? Sharing is our problem?"
"Yes. Neither of us has a clue how to do it."
She could not get her mind around the utter unfairness of that statement. She shared all she had. She helped others daily. And he knew it. Wasn't he always complaining about her campground? And what about the Mountain Star itself, forever on the verge of going under because she was such a sucker for someone in need?
She told him quite proudly, "I know how to share."
He was shaking his head again. "Uh-uh. You know how to give. The two are not the same." He smiled then. A real, rueful, tender sort of smile. "I think you like what you have here, and you're not sure you want to share. And I do understand that. I felt the same way. Once upon a time."
A thousand arguments scrolled through her head at once, but not one of them found its way out her mouth.
He had more to say. "Do you want a lover, Sophie? Is that all you want from me? I would be that for you. For a while. As a matter of fact, I'm kind of at loose ends now. Considering a career change, considering a lot of changes. I wouldn't mind a little … diversion. Something to pass the time while I figure out what to do with the rest of my life."
"A … diversion?"
He lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "Why not? I find you extremely … diverting." His gaze traveled over her, searing where it touched. "Is that what you're really after here? Just a little diversion?"
"I … no, of course not."
"Well, then, I'll get my estimates together. By tomorrow evening, how's that?"
She swallowed and somehow managed a reply. "All right."
Without another word, he brushed past her. She turned and watched him vanish the same way the bird had gone—through the curtains and out the doors.
That night, Sin didn't appear for dinner at six-thirty with the rest of the guests. Instead, he showed up in the kitchen an hour later, just as Myra and Sophie were about to sit down.
"I wonder, Myra—have you got an extra plate for me?"
Myra folded her freckled arms and gave him a slow once-over. "I imagine I could dig one up."
"I would appreciate it."
Myra got down another plate, a set of flatware and a fresh napkin. She set him a place. "Thank you," he said.
The cook cast a fretful glance toward Caleb's empty chair. "Now, where is Caleb?"
"He'll be in," said Sophie, picking up her napkin, trying not to let her gaze collide with Sin's. Since he'd left her in the barn that afternoon, she hadn't been able to stop thinking of the hungry way he'd kissed her—not to mention the hard things he'd said. The more she dwelled on his words, the more disturbing truth she found in them.
She didn't want to share the Mountain Star. It was hers, she had created it to be just what it was. And she feared that Sin wanted to make it into something else altogether.
She shuddered every time she thought of what it might become, with phones and fax machines in every room and busy, impatient executive types running in and out. Everything new and shining and … antiseptic. A place where neither her campground nor her theater would really fit in. She didn't want that. Not on her life.
But, oh, she did want Sin. And she knew that to have him more than temporarily, some kind of compromise would have to be reached.
Tomorrow night.
Too soon.
Much too soon.
"Sophie B.," Myra said.
"Um, yes?"
"Mr. Riker just asked you to pass the rice."
"Oh. Yes. Of course." She picked up the bowl and tried not to look directly at him as she handed it to him.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Sophie heard the back door open. That would be Caleb. She steeled herself for the surly attitude he'd assume as soon as he saw who had joined them for dinner.
But Caleb hardly glanced at Sin. He came and stood by his chair, where he shifted from foot to foot the way he always did when something upset him.
"Sit down," commanded Myra. "Eat."
Caleb spoke to Sophie. "That Randall woman never did come back today. And I'm gettin' real worried. It'll be dark soon."
Sophie set down her fork. "Do you know which way she went?"
Caleb nodded. "That trail that heads northeast, up into the mountains."
Sophie tucked her napkin beside her plate and stood. "Come on,
then. We'd better go and find her."
Sin's chair scraped the floor. "I'm going, too."
Caleb grunted and cast Sin a dismissing look. "We can handle this ourselves."
Sin swore. "Look. That woman has gone and gotten herself lost on my land. There's no way I'm staying behind."
By ten of eight, with perhaps a half an hour of daylight left, Sin, Sophie and Caleb were mounted, armed with electric lanterns and on their way.
The wind had come up. It blew at their backs as they headed out. Caleb led them on the path he'd seen the woman take, around east of the cottage, and then to the north across the meadow of wild roses.
Once beyond the meadow, they started climbing up into the mountains. The face of the full moon grew brighter above them as the sun sank behind the western hills. The wind blew harder, making the trees rustle and sway.
It was full dark when they found Black Angel, peacefully nibbling grass in a clear spot between two huge, old cedar trees, her ebony mane swirling. Caleb dismounted and approached her. She looked up, whinnied in recognition, and came right to him.
He patted her neck and murmured in her ear. Then he turned to Sin and Sophie. "The rein's broken, leather sawed clean through." He shook his head. "I warned that damn woman…"
A really strong gust of wind blew by them, stirring the horses, making them dance. Sin looked up at the moon. "We can't search much longer. It's getting too late. We should bring the sheriff in on this."
Caleb suggested, "It'll be another hour before they can get their people mobilized. Let's go on a little ways."
Sin frowned. "But not far."
"All right."
They hobbled Black Angel so she wouldn't wander off and rode on through the trees that seemed to close in around them, blocking out the pale glow of the moon. Soon enough, they had to switch on the big lantern flashlights to see the trail ahead.
Caleb spotted the little riding hat, blown against a tree trunk, about a half mile from where they'd come upon Black Angel. The groom swung down from the spotted gelding he rode and grabbed it up. "It's hers." The three shared a look.
Christine Rimmer - A Hero for Sophie Jones Page 16