"No doubt," he answered in a hoarse whisper.
"Maybe you should give in to it." She flattened her palm against his zipper, reassured to find him aroused.
He shook his head, taking her errant hand in his and kissing the backs of her fingers. Pulling her into his arms, he held her tight. The unbuttoned shirt allowed her access to his bare skin, and she returned his fierce hug, loving the way his hair-dusted chest felt against her. This was, she remembered with a thrill that chased through her stomach, how their lovemaking had begun last night. She nuzzled his neck, encouraging him to lower his head and kiss her deeply. He did not.
He let go of her, except for her hands, which he held in both of his as though he was afraid to let her touch him. His eyes searched hers once more. "Go take your shower, and I'll rustle up some breakfast."
He walked out of the guest house without a backward glance. She stared at the closed door, feeling empty, bereft, her skin cold after caressing his heat.
The surprising urge to throw things at him swept through her. Never had she met a more stubborn man. Unless she did something drastic, he'd finish shoring up the wall he had put between them. He was on the verge of shoving her out of his life. She knew it without a single doubt.
He had warned her not to get any wrong ideas, she thought, her frustration tinged with anger. And she had lots of them, wrong or right. Ideas and hopes and plans and dreams that would be nothing more than dust if she believed what he wanted her to believe—he was a man who could not be trusted.
Maybe she gave her trust too easily, but he was too stingy with his own. She trusted him not to hit her, and she could think of only one way to prove that. Fight with him. Show him that even when he was mad at her, he wouldn't hit her.
If she was going to pick an argument with him, it couldn't be something benign, something inconsequential. To prove to him he would not hurt her, she would have to attack the heart of his belief about himself—that he was flawed, that he was violent. Whatever she decided to do, she had to do it soon. This morning.
She showered, dressed in her jeans, red sleeveless sweater and calico shirt, and pulled her hair into a French braid that fell down her back. Gray still hadn't returned, so she went to the door and opened it.
The morning outside was glorious, the kind she had been expecting for a springtime in New Mexico, the kind that had been absent her first morning here. Birds chirped in a nearby tree. The sky was dotted with a couple of fluffy clouds, and the sun felt warm. Audrey stepped into the sunshine, wishing her mood matched the day.
She prided herself on being direct, but she hated conflict. She hadn't deliberately picked a fight with anyone in years. And she had no idea how to start an argument with Gray. He was the last person she wanted to fight with. But she had to. How? Over what?
Praying for inspiration, Audrey's gaze focused on the pueblo. Before she saw it yesterday, she had been expecting it to be like the one outside Taos. It was not. The multistory adobe structures were smaller, and even from a distance, it was clear no one lived in the pueblo itself. The buildings had been condemned several years ago, Mary had informed her yesterday. Its abandonment seemed all the more forlorn this morning as Audrey remembered how alive the plaza had been the day before.
Men, women and children, wearing off-white tunics with the brilliant patchwork accents, had filled the plaza. At the time, the pueblo had seemed to Audrey like a majestic monarch, pleased with the dances and songs and children learning their heritage. This morning the crumbling adobe and the broken roof supports were all too apparent.
A moment later, Gray came around the line of piñon trees, carrying a basket and a blanket. Watching him stride toward her, Audrey was sure she had never seen a finer-looking man anywhere, nor had she ever known a better man. The lonely life he had condemned himself to hardened her resolve. He deserved more than he gave himself credit for.
"You look all lost in thought," he said as he approached her. A mouthwatering aroma of fresh bread rose from the basket swinging from his hand.
"I was just thinking it's going to be hard to leave here. What's in the basket? It smells wonderful."
"Fry bread and honey. Fresh fruit. Coffee." Sliding the blanket under his arm, he offered her his free hand. "There's a real pretty place over on the other side of the pueblo where we can eat."
Surprised and pleased, Audrey took his hand, which closed warmly around hers. She had expected him to be as aloof as he had when he left the guest house. Maybe the darned man would come to his senses and realize they shared something rare and special. Hope filled her with buoyancy, and she raised her eyes to the sky. It was a glorious morning.
The place he took her to was a low stone wall that surrounded one edge of the pueblo. Gray told her there once had been a tower at the corner, a place for a sentinel to keep a lookout.
He spread the blanket on a knoll just beyond the wall, and Audrey looked out over the land knowing what she saw wasn't so very different than what a sentinel might have seen. No buildings marred the landscape. The rumpled contours of the valley gave way to a mesa, the one where she and Gray had hidden, she realized. Above the mesa were taller ridges with deep canyons, and finally the rugged peaks of the mountains.
They dug into breakfast, talking of inconsequential things. Within minutes, Audrey realized her hope had been premature. His silences became longer, and when he spoke to her, it was about some anecdote about the pueblo or some facet of the surrounding geography. Interesting, sure. And she appreciated his knowledge, even as she hated seeing him withdraw from her. Instead of looking at her, he focused his attention more on the landscape.
"Seeing all this makes me wonder why anyone lives in the city," she murmured, wondering how she would ever find an opening to argue with him if they stayed with bland topics like the weather, like the scenery.
"You'd give up living in Denver?" he asked. "Away from the hustle and bustle?" The corner of his mouth quirked up. "The shopping?"
She chuckled. "I don't like shopping all that much. And yeah, to have a slower pace of life. I'd like that."
"I would have thought you loved living in the city, going to concerts, eating at fine restaurants."
"Coping with rush-hour traffic and eating microwave dinners at home is more like it." Her smile faded as she realized he had given her an opening. Not a very good one, admittedly, but life-style was a personal choice with the potential for conflict. "Did you like living in Dallas?" she asked, knowing this wasn't the question she had wanted to ask, knowing she had sidestepped the opportunity.
"I came to hate it," he said, his gaze on the distant mountains. "That's why I came here. For the solitude."
Another opening. A better opening.
Carefully, Audrey wiped her hands on the napkin. "Then maybe you came for all the wrong reasons," she said, forcing a harsh note into her voice that contradicted what she really felt. She understood his need for solitude; she wished for the same during the last, painful months of her mother's life.
"After the circus my hearing had been, solitude was exactly what I needed," he said as though he hadn't noticed the argumentative tone in her voice.
"Of maybe you were running from yourself." Deliberately, she made her voice sharper.
He arched an eyebrow and slowly dragged his gaze from the scenery to look at her. His eyes were intense, completely focused on her. She resisted the urge to squirm or look away.
"Maybe," he acknowledged. "Funny thing how that works, though. Hell of a thing—trying to run away from yourself."
His even tone fueled her frustration.
"Maybe you're running from commitments. A full life."
"I like my life."
"Do you?" Genuine curiosity prompted her question, overriding her intentions, erasing her belligerent tone. She covered his hand. "You seem so lonely to me."
"I'm not."
"Will you be after I leave?"
He swallowed, pulled his hand away, and looked away from her. "I already told
you—"
"Gray, let's get married." She hadn't intended to say that, but those incautious words were the truth. She couldn't—wouldn't—take them back.
His jaw clenched, but he didn't look at her. The minute that followed was the longest in her life.
"You know that's not possible," he finally said, his attention still directed at the horizon.
"I don't know any such thing." She touched his cheek. "I know that I love you. I know that you're the finest man I've—"
"Stop!" He surged to his feet and towered over her, his hands resting on his hips. "You don't know what you're saying."
"Yes, I do." She stood, tilting her chin and meeting his gaze straight on. She had surprised herself by asking him to get married. Surprise or not, marriage was exactly what she wanted. "I'm in love with you."
He shook his head, raising his gaze to the sky. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Do you know what kind of man I am?"
"Yes!"
"Do you know how long we've known each other?"
"Three days. So what?"
"So, I'm not going to let you throw your life away like that." He raked a hand through his hair, held his hand halfway out to her, then curled it into a fist that he rested against his hip, the gesture revealing his frustration more clearly than words.
"It's my life to throw away if I want." She took a step toward him. "You seem to think I don't know my own mind." She stabbed the middle of his chest with her finger. "Well, I do."
"You can't be in love with me."
"I am."
"It's just the situation. You're grateful, that's all. I happened to be in the right place at the right time to save your life."
"You're right. I am thankful you saved my life. But I know the difference between love and gratitude. What's going on with me is not the issue here."
His Adam's apple bobbed. "At least you got that right. You can't trust me."
"Hah! I trusted you with my virginity. I trusted you with my life. And I would again in a heartbeat." Remembering why she had started all this in the first place, she stabbed at his chest again. "What you're really saying is that you can't trust yourself not to hit me."
A look of sheer anguish crossed over his features. "You don't want to risk that, love—Audrey."
Love. There it was again. Did he even realize what he'd called her?
"Want to bet?" She took another step toward him, and he backed up. At any other time, she might have found his retreat funny. Instead, she wanted to hit him for not standing his ground.
He lifted his hands, palms toward her, and backed up another step.
"If you're such an abusive man, we might as well find out right now." She doubled her own hand into a fist and punched him in the stomach—a hard wall of unyielding muscle. He sidestepped away from her. She followed.
"Don't you think?"
She hit him again, this time clipping his chin.
He backed up again. "Audrey, don't do this."
"And don't you run from me," she commanded, her own anger suddenly at the surface, her control eroding. "Show me what a tough guy you are." She lifted her own chin and pointed at it. "Go ahead. Hit me."
"I can't." His hands fell loosely to his sides.
"Sure, you can," she taunted, her voice shaking. "You're the man who takes after his daddy. Remember? You told me you're just like him. Just like your brothers." She swung at him again, accompanied by a cry of frustration.
Gray caught her fist, kissed it, then drew it close to his chest. "I know what you're trying to do." Wrapping an arm around her and pressing a kiss against her temple, he added, "And it's admirable. But it's not going to work."
"See," she sniffed, trembling as she leaned against him, tears burning at her eyes. "I knew you couldn't hit me."
"But I don't know that. I may never know that."
"I have enough trust for both of us," she said.
He tipped her chin toward him, and she gazed into his eyes. Beautiful, dark hazel eyes, flecked with all the colors of the desert. "What you're feeling is just a reaction from making love for the first time."
She shook her head, and opened her mouth to speak. He pressed his fingers against her lips.
"I'm flattered you asked me to marry you. Someday you'll be glad I turned you down."
She wrenched from his grasp, her anger back at the surface. "You keep talking like I just fell off the turnip truck. Being a virgin didn't make me stupid. I know the difference between hormones and my own mind. I'm not some charity case so hard up I asked the first guy who took me to bed to marry me. And you're not hard up, either. You're a good man, Gray."
He snorted.
"You are," she insisted. "The best man I've ever known. Look me in the eye and tell me that we don't have something pretty special."
Folding his arms over his chest, he said, "We do. There's no future in what we have, but you're right. It's damned good."
"I knew it," she responded, a niggle of hope worming through her fear. "The things you said to me while we were making love—"
"Should be ignored in the cold light of day," he said, his gaze on the ground in front of his feet. "A man says … things … in the heat of the moment."
"Do you know what you call me?" she asked, then added without waiting for his answer, "Love."
His lips compressed, and a muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn't look at her.
"Not honey or darling or babe. Love. So tell me, is that the usual endearment for the women you take to bed?"
He turned his hands toward her in a gesture of supplication. For a moment, Audrey thought he would look at her, then stretch his arms toward her. An endless moment passed while she watched his struggle chase through the expressions on his face.
His jaw hardened, and he jammed his hands in the pockets of his chinos. "Sometimes."
"You've told other women you've waited your whole life for them?" When he didn't answer, she added, "You said I was yours, Gray."
"For that moment, you were." His gaze touched her briefly.
"And you've said the same thing to other women?"
The call of a meadowlark seemed no less loud than the pounding of her own heart while she waited for his answer.
"I've said a lot of things to women to get what I wanted," he finally said, a derisive smile curving his lips.
She remembered all the times she had wanted him to smile, and never had she imagined he possessed one so cold, so mocking.
"I'm exactly the kind of guy your mother should have warned you about."
"Did you tell other women they were yours?" she demanded, positive he was saying what he thought would drive her away, hoping he'd slip and confess he loved her.
"Probably."
Since he again answered without looking at her, she stepped in front of him so he had no choice but to meet her gaze.
"And I think you're lying." Throwing the last of her pride to the wind, she said, "Look me in the eye, Gray, and tell me you don't love me."
"I don't love you," he said immediately, his voice gravelly, his gaze intent on her. His body language, his expression, his voice conveyed the truth of his statement.
She felt herself shatter into a million tiny shards.
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
He didn't love her. She had been so sure he did. No hesitations, no looking away as he had when she thought he was deceiving her.
Hot tears filled her eyes, and when he took a step toward her, she put her hand up, backing away from him. "My tears, my choices," she said, putting a hand flat against her breast.
He didn't love her. She had gambled … and lost. She turned away from him and bent her head, admitting in her heart of hearts that she hadn't expected this outcome. He wouldn't hit her—that much she had proved, even if she hadn't convinced him.
Maybe in time, he would trust himself enough to leave his solitude. Maybe in time, he would love … someone else.
Silent
sobs shook her shoulders, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She wanted to be that someone. Oh, God, how she had wanted it.
"I never meant to hurt you," he whispered.
His big hands cupped her shoulders, and she wrenched away from his grasp.
He sucked in a breath and stepped away from her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, tears seeping from beneath the lids. There was no law that said when you loved someone they had to love you back. She recalled reading that somewhere, sometime. A stupid thing to remember just now.
"I think…" Her voice choked, and she cleared her throat. "I'm ready to go home."
"Rafe promised me he'd be here this afternoon."
This afternoon, she thought, seemed an eternity from now. "The sooner the better."
They stood there for a long time. Numbness stole over her, but not enough to block out the consuming pain that constricted her heart. Her head pounded, and her feet and hands felt cold, discomforts that she noticed from within a fog. Her only goals were to make it through the day without making any more of a fool of herself than she already had; to hold on until she was safe in her own house; to keep the broken pieces of herself together until she got home.
Gray repacked the picnic basket and folded the blanket. "I'll call Rafe from the ranch if the phone is working again," Gray said. "See if he can't be here sooner."
"Fine."
"Audrey?" He paused until she met his gaze. "If he's delayed, we can go on horseback to get to town. I'll make sure you're on your way home today. Just like you want."
She nodded, not trusting her voice or her composure.
"Do you want to go with me back to the ranch?" he asked. "The closest phone is there."
She caught his glance, then looked away. She supposed there was something she ought to be doing there, but she had no idea what. More to the point, she was very afraid that she might beg him to love her … if only in body. Eventually, she shook her head.
"Well, then." He thrust his hands into his pockets. "Nobody's seen Lambert."
His statement gave her a jolt; she had forgotten that her boss had been trying to kill her. "Then I'm safe, at least for the moment."
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