A Man of her Own

by Jan Scarbrough

  What was he doing? He’d kept his sexual appetite under wraps. Now, with this woman-child in his arms, he exposed his secret to her without shame. Without considering the consequences.

  The floor was suddenly crowded. As if by instinct, Lane guided them through the crush of dancers, his body a furnace of incredible heat. He bent his head ever nearer to her, and his lips touched the top of her delicate ear. He felt her indrawn breath. He wanted to kiss her. The slow rhythm of the song reverberated in his head, just as his blood vibrated through his body.

  Sarah looked up at him once more. In the shadows of the tent, he saw a look of hot desire in her eyes. Gone was the glance of the innocent. He saw a sensual come-on glance.

  The enchantress from the bar had returned.

  “You’ve been avoiding me,” she said.

  “No.”

  Sarah tilted her chin up and gazed at him once more beneath a curl of lashes.

  “Yes, you have.”

  “You’re right,” he admitted.

  “I thought so.”

  Her mouth, full and inviting, parted slightly. Lane sucked in a breath. She mesmerized him—held him in a trance. Slowly, he dipped his head toward her tempting red lips. His heart seemed to stop in his chest.

  And then the music stopped too.

  They sprung apart, the mood broken. A small smattering of applause echoed through the tent before a loud cymbal crash and drum roll heralded the start of a fast dance.

  Lane kept her hand. “Do you want to dance again?”

  “No.” Sarah seemed shaken.

  “Can I bring you a piece of chocolate walnut pie?”

  “Oh, no. I couldn’t eat a thing.”

  Lane grinned. “Come on. You deserve to be a little sinful tonight. You’ve earned it with all the work you put into this party.”

  Amusement flitted through her eyes, and then the seductress emerged once more as she threw him a brazen look. “You may have a point. I’ll be glad to try what you offer.”

  The double meaning of her words hit him. Lane escorted her back to their table, seated her, and chuckled all the way to the buffet line. How he’d enjoy letting her taste what he had to offer!

  Lane picked up two forks and two pieces of the “sinful” pie and returned quickly to the table, his body aching with a need he’d suppressed too long.

  Sarah was not alone. Standing now, she was surrounded by Henry, Amelia, and a tower of a man with sun-bleached hair. He noted Sarah’s strained smile and the amused twinkle in Amelia’s eyes.

  The man looked like a predator.

  Lane approached the table.

  Just at that moment Amelia shoved her niece and the giant together. “You two have a good time.”

  The man grabbed Sarah’s hand in his ham-like fist and dragged her toward the dance floor. Lane stood like an idiot, holding two plates of pie in his outstretched hands. Anger tightened his gut.

  Amelia sidled toward him. “You and your staff have outdone yourselves tonight, Lane. Everything is delicious, but that pie is really to-die-for.”

  “Thank you.”

  He barely acknowledged Amelia, his gaze remaining on the gyrating dancers. Thank goodness it was a fast dance. He’d kill that man if he put one of those large hands on Sarah.

  “Who is that guy?” Lane placed the plates on the table.

  “Which one, dear?”

  Why did he think she knew which guy he was talking about? “The one dancing with Sarah,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Why, that’s Henry’s trainer, Chase Andres. I thought the two of them would have something in common since Sarah’s father trained thoroughbred horses too.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Lane frowned. He’d known Sarah’s father had somehow been associated with horses, but not that he’d actually trained them.

  Amelia patted his sleeve. “There’s a lot about our little Sarah you don’t know.”

  “Is he married?”

  “Chase?” Amelia thought a minute. “No, not now. I think he’s finally divorced from his last wife.”

  She flitted away to link arms with Henry and moved on to speak to other guests.

  Lane turned to glare at the dance floor once more. Chase, huh? What kind of name was that? At least “Lane” had been his mother’s maiden name. “Chase” sounded like a male model. No real man was named “Chase.”

  What Chase did have was Sarah. How little and fragile she looked next to that thug.

  Lane’s internal temperature began to boil again, and it wasn’t with the same excitement he’d felt earlier. Sarah threw back her head and laughed. Then the giant leaned over and whispered in her ear. Lane knotted his fists. The tempo of the music changed to a slow serenade. He drew a ragged breath, the muscles in his jaws working double-time.

  Chase had the nerve to pull Sarah into his arms. Like the tease she was, Sarah slipped willingly into the man’s engulfing embrace.

  It was too much. Like a soldier, he marched across the floor and tapped the guy on the shoulder.

  “I think this is my dance.”

  The horse trainer glared down at him. “Sure, buddy.”

  The man took sweet his time, turning back to Sarah and smiling. “Come out to the barn next week, and I’ll show you Henry’s two year olds.”

  “Thank you, Chase, I’d love to.”

  Lane didn’t care for the way that guy’s name flowed so smoothly from Sarah’s lips. Fortunately, the trainer had the grace to know when he wasn’t wanted. Casting a black look at Lane, he backed away from them and left the dance floor.

  Lane wasted no time in drawing Sarah back into his arms. She felt different. Stiff. Not as pliant or as willing. If the annoyed look in her eyes was any indication, he hadn’t won any friends or influenced any people by his actions.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Cut in on Chase.”

  “I didn’t like the look of that guy.”

  “What’s it to you? You’re not my keeper. Chase was telling me about Henry’s horses.”

  “That guy had more than horse talk on his mind.”

  Sarah frowned now. The color in her cheeks was a definite pink. Hot pink.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I’m a man, aren’t I?”

  “Are you?”

  Oh, no, she’d done it now! Sarah watched Lane’s already darkened countenance turn purple with rage. His black brows came together over the bridge of his straight nose in the fiercest look she’d ever seen. His grip tightened on her hand.

  Sarah swallowed hard as he jerked her forward, her body slamming against the hard length of him. This time she felt no erection—only the anger that emanated from him like a living thing.

  “I don’t think you’d know a man if you met one.”

  She angled her head to get a better view of his stormy face. “Really?”

  “Really. You’re so anxious to get married, you don’t care who it’s to—just as long as he wears pants.”

  She pulled back and stopped the charade of dancing. “That’s a pretty ugly accusation.”

  “It’s true.” Lane yanked her back into his steely embrace. “You told me yourself you’re on the hunt for Prince Charming. You even kiss strangers in bars, exposing yourself to all kinds of dangers.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  His breath was hot on her face. “Do you? Most men want only one thing.”

  “Well, maybe I want it too.”

  “That kind of man isn’t going to marry you. He just wants to take advantage of you.”

  Sarah recoiled as if slapped. The insufferable male ego of this man with his prudish, Victorian attitude. How dare he treat her like a child?

  She slanted him a wicked glance, and in her sexist voice purred, “Maybe I’ve already given it away.”

  With an irate snort, he dropped her hand and stepped back.

  “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’
t like it.” His hands balled into fists.

  “I don’t care for your behavior either.” Her expression hardened. “You have the manners of a boor. Why don’t you go back to the kitchen where you belong?”

  His silent glare said more than any words. “Perhaps I will.”

  With a slight bow, Lane left the dance floor.

  Stunned, her anger seeping quickly away, Sarah stood motionless and watched him go. What had she done? How had things gotten so far out of control? She’d been so hopeful something good would come of tonight’s festivities.

  The music stopped. Sarah glanced around sheepishly. She stood alone in the middle of the floor. From across the way, her aunt winked and flashed a thumbs-up.

  Only then did the full impact of the night’s events sink in. She’d just succeeded in doing what Amelia had suggested. She’d made Lane Williams jealous.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Four hours later Sarah kicked off her heels, descending three inches to the cool bluegrass outside the tent. It was after midnight and most of the guests had gone home. Only a few serving staff remained. She hadn’t seen Lane since he’d stalked off the dance floor.

  “You were magnificent, darling.” Amelia said, coming down the steps from the house.

  “Magnificent?”

  “Yes, the way you handled Lane. You set him up perfectly. Then you reeled him in like a pro. I knew you had my genes!”

  “But Lane was furious after you shoved me onto the dance floor with Henry’s trainer.”

  Amelia chuckled. “That opportunity was ideal, if I do say so myself. And you made the best of it.”

  Sarah flinched. “Lane said some really stupid things. I’d like to wring his pompous neck right now.”

  “He said stupid things because you made the man so jealous he couldn’t see straight. I saw the look in his eyes. Now go find him and ‘make up.’” Amelia winked.

  That’s just what Sarah wanted to do. She couldn’t leave it with all that anger and recrimination between them. But Amelia was wrong. Making Lane jealous tonight had been purely unintentional.

  Sarah’s heart thudded in her chest. She hadn’t liked the hard disappointment in his eyes, and she wasn’t proud of the hurtful things she’d said.

  Sarah’s shoulders sagged. “He’s probably gone home already.”

  “The last time I saw him, he was working in the kitchen.”

  “Kitchen!” Oh, what had she done now? She hadn’t really meant that ugly remark.

  “Yes, and he was looking a little worse for wear. I told him he should stay the night in a guest room. It was unsafe for him to drive, if you know what I mean.” Amelia shooed her with her hands. “Now go on. Don’t disappoint me.”

  Sarah didn’t need any more urging. Her heart constricting with guilt, she picked up her shoes and ran barefoot toward the house. She wanted to erase that black look from Lane’s eyes and replace it with that heavy look of wanting.

  Her whole body warmed as she remembered the way he’d gazed at her. Oh, if she could only translate his desire into something more permanent and secure.

  Sure, he’d denied his interest in home and hearth. He’d scoffed at her idea of finding Prince Charming. But he’d probably never viewed himself in that role. He’d never considered himself as someone’s knight in shining armor.

  Sarah paused in the hallway, taking a deep breath and letting it go. Lane was her white knight. He sometimes wore a white chef’s coat, not armor like a hero from a romantic fairy tale. In his own way, he’d rescued her tonight when he’d thought the trainer was coming on too strong.

  Lane did care about her.

  He cared about her in more than sexual ways, of that she was sure. Sarah knew she could change him. Make him want to marry her. It wasn’t so impossible to do.

  The thought lightened her mood. Pushing open the kitchen door, she smiled to herself. But the room was dark and empty. The hired help had cleaned up and gone home. She backed out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs.

  Padding along the quiet corridor toward the guest rooms, Sarah’s stomach tightened. What would she say? Do?

  With her mind a jumble of conflicting thoughts and feelings, she was unable to sort out a coherent plan of attack. Wing it. Trust your instincts. She must trust her knowledge that this relationship was meant to be.

  She’d known it from the moment of that one and only kiss.

  Sarah paused. A line of light threaded under one of the doors. Maybe Lane was in that room.

  Heart in her throat, she dropped her shoes, raised her fist and rapped her knuckles against the door. A thin film of perspiration laced her upper lip. When no response came, she grasped the doorknob with tense fingers and turned it. The door was unlocked. It swung open.

  She stuck her head inside. “Lane?”

  A lone lamp illuminated the room. He was sitting on the queen-sized bed, a pillow propped behind his back. His long, bare legs stretched out in front of him on a coverlet.

  Lane was naked except for a pair of red paisley boxer shorts.

  She couldn’t help but stare. His torso appeared oddly bronzed for someone who worked indoors. Corded muscles defined a chest stained by black hair that ran in a straight line between the hard muscles of his belly to the band of his underwear. Sarah felt her cheeks blaze as she followed that line with her eyes.

  Lane lifted a glass to his lips and drank. His gaze never moved from her face.

  In that brief second, as she stood awkwardly in the doorway staring at the half-clothed man, it occurred to her she hardly knew this man she’d come to seduce.

  That’s it! Seduction! The plan was suddenly obvious, but so simple. Her knees buckled at the thought of carrying it out.

  “May I come in?”

  He continued to scowl, the intenseness in his eyes unnerving her. When he failed to answer, Sarah summoned her wobbly courage and stepped into the bedroom, firmly shutting the door behind.

  “I’ve come to apologize.”

  Lane took another drink and scrutinized her over the rim of the glass. The ensuing silence echoed in her ears.

  She shifted her stance. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she pressed her damp palms down the sides of her dress. But nothing calmed her ragged nerves. Not the beat of her heart that sounded deafening in her ears, nor the reproachful look in his eyes.

  She raised her chin and tossed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “Did you hear me?”

  He casually rose to his feet. For a moment, she thought he’d come toward her. Instead, he crossed to a side table and, using silver tongs, removed two ice cubes from a bucket.

  Then with a deliberate, unhurried motion, he refilled his glass from a half empty bottle of Woodford Reserve. Returning to the bed, he stretched out again and languidly turned his gaze once more upon her burning face.

  “Why apologize?” Lane raised his glass and drank the bourbon. Straight.

  “Why? Because I was angry and said hurtful things I now regret.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure about what?”

  He leveled a hard, direct gaze. “That you regret them.”

  His appraisal alarmed her, robbing her of her strength. “Yes. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings and wanted to tell you that.”

  He dropped his gaze to the glass in his hand, and with a lean finger, rubbed the rim with a fingertip. She waited for his response.

  “I have a hard time figuring you out,” Lane finally said, a sardonic smile curling his lips as he glanced up.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re an innocent playing with fire.”

  “Fire?”

  “The guy in the bar, the guy tonight—me.” His voice was steely, the look in his eyes chilling.

  She stiffened. “I told you what I want.”

  “A man to marry.”

  “Yes, a man of my own.” Her words sounded silly.

  “I told you I don’t plan to marry.”

  “I know.”

 
His eyes narrowed. “So why are you playing this game with me?”

  Breathless, she didn’t know how to respond. Her courage evaporated under the scathing gaze of this virile, very handsome male. She wasn’t good at games, and her conscience bothered her.

  “I thought I’d make you change your mind.”

  Lane laughed aloud. With fascination he watched Sarah push a tumbled curl back from her eyes with an uneasy hand. The woman had nerve. Plenty of it. He suspected his state of undress was what had colored her cheeks so delightfully. That and the obvious bulge beneath his boxers.

  “I do know one thing about you. You’re honest.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin.

  She lifted that brave little chin again, but remained silent as if she didn’t like his laughter. They were quiet a moment, sizing each other up.

  “I bet if I asked, you’d tell me the real reason you came here tonight.” He downed the rest of his drink and placed the glass on the nightstand.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk?”

  “Let’s just say I’m mellow.”

  That’s how he felt. Mellow. Feeling no pain. Not like the sharp anger of a few hours ago or the raw stab of what could only be called jealousy. That realization had shaken him to the very core, for if he was jealous, it meant this girl had somehow gotten into his heart. But that couldn’t be.

  After a few hours of thrashing it out, he’d a handle on his lusty reaction to her. He was better prepared to deal with her now. The best defense was always a strong offense.

  “Amelia told me I don’t know anything about you,” he said.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “For one thing, why are you wasting your time planning parties for your aunt and writing her correspondence?”

  She seemed to hesitate. “I’m not wasting time. I’m helping her write her book on regional cuisine. Besides, I owe her something. She took care of me after my father died. She put me through school.”

  Sarah was loyal, doing her duty, just as he’d always done. He looked at her with new respect.

  Still she baffled him. Her slender body was sheathed in a dress designed to tempt. Her wide eyes were set beneath dark, delicate brows. She had a pert nose and a soft mouth. A mouth to-die-for, as Amelia might say.