by Francis Ray
Until now. Now she was as wary of him as a chicken at a fox convention. He knew it would get a lot worse before it got better.
“I’ll get your suitcase out of the back.” He got out of the truck, relieved to hear the passenger door open and the glide of material across the leather seat.
Unlocking the front door of his house, he flicked on the light. Her back ramrod straight, Victoria’s heels clicked loudly on the hardwood floor as she walked into the living room. Woodenly, she faced him. Seeing the continued cautiousness in her large hazel eyes, he fought the growing urge to draw her into his arms and tell her he loved her.
Since nothing would send her running from the house faster, he pushed the words down inside his heart and hoped one day he’d be able to set them free. “Do you want me to put those papers in the safe?”
Her grip on the large manila envelope tightened. Her gaze lifted to his, then skittered away. “I . . . er . . . no.”
“Tory, listen to me. I outweigh you by at least a hundred and twenty pounds and you’re clutching a piece of paper that says we’re man and wife.” She flinched and he cursed under his breath. “I know you don’t have a very good opinion of men, but you don’t have to act as if we’re on a deserted road and I’ve dragged you into the back seat of a car and you can’t decide how far you want to go or if you should grab for the door handle and get the hell out of there. With me you’ll always have a choice.”
Her head snapped up. Kane met her gaze squarely. He saw her too clearly.
Women always talked about wanting an intuitive, sensitive man. Victoria doubted seriously if they knew what they were getting themselves into. What woman in her right mind wanted a man who could easily determine her mood, her thoughts?
A man who knew what you wanted before you did was bad enough, a man who looked into your heart and read your soul was lethal. Her ex-husband hadn’t been nearly so perceptive and he had made her life a living hell. She turned away.
“Tory?”
Impatience. It vibrated through that one crisp word. Sometimes Kane wasn’t a patient man. In her mind’s eye she could see him standing behind her, hands on hips, his black eyes narrowed. If she didn’t answer in his time frame, he’d touch her. Heaven help her, she liked being touched by him.
“If you can’t find it in you to try and make this work, we’re going to have the worst three months of our lives,” Kane continued. “Despite your grandmother meaning well, she made you trust a little bit less. I’m willing to let you take your time, but you have to be willing to try.”
Finally, she faced him. “What if I can’t?”
Sadness swept across his rugged brown face. “I’m betting you can. I’m betting you’re stronger than you know. I’m betting you’ll remember you can trust me. A judge didn’t have to tell me to honor and cherish you. Trust me, Tory. Trust yourself, because I don’t think I can take you scurrying away from me or looking at me with fear in your eyes for the next three months.”
Neither could she take the disheartened look in his face. Kane deserved better from life, from her. She just wasn’t the woman to love him the way he deserved. Memories of her first marriage were too painful for her to want to remain in another one.
Tonight, standing before the justice of the peace, repeating her vows, had brought back all the foolish hopes she had during her first marriage ceremony. She hadn’t known until her wedding night just how cruel and cunning Stephen was. Then it was too late. She was trapped by pride, by embarrassment, by her own foolish dreams.
Just like she was trapped in a marriage now to save her stores. She could only hope that she was a better judge of character than she had been ten years ago, and that Kane didn’t change after he said “I do.” In any case, she had to be as strong as he thought she was. “You better put these in the safe.”
His face creased into a smile. “Come on, I’ll show you the combination. Then we’ll have a glass of champagne to celebrate the beginning of trust.”
Kane’s office was an interesting mixture of new and old. Worn blue leather armchairs, books, small western statues, and scattered rugs on the hardwood floor decorated the room. Bordered by two large windows was a massive desk with a computer and a printer on one end. In the far corner of the room sat an antique Wells, Fargo & Company safe that could have been used for an old western movie.
“You have got to be kidding.”
“What other kind of safe would a real cowboy have?” He grinned boyishly. “It would take three strong men to lift it onto a dolly and ten sticks of dynamite to open this baby. Come on, I’ll show you the combination so you can open it if you need the papers.”
With only a moment’s hesitation, Victoria knelt in front of the safe. Kane came down behind her. The heat of his powerful body wrapped around her as he reached past her to show her the combination. She had to concentrate to keep her hands from shaking as she repeated the maneuver. Three twists, a pull on the handle, and the heavy black door swung open.
Without a word, Kane handed her the manila envelope. She quickly placed it on top of a stack of papers, then swung the door shut. Warm fingers grasped her elbow and helped her to her feet.
“Let’s go get the champagne out of the refrigerator.”
“Do you always keep champagne chilled?” Victoria asked as she followed him into the blue and white kitchen. Obviously, Kane liked blue. She did too.
“A husband can’t tell his wife all his secrets.” Releasing her hand, Kane went to the refrigerator. “Grab a couple of glasses out of the cabinet.”
Doing as he requested, she walked back to the round oak dining table for four. She glanced back to see Kane bent over, the snugness of his jeans over his hips. She jerked her gaze away from the oddly disturbing sight and looked around.
The kitchen was as spotless as the other rooms she had seen. She appreciated neatness, since she knew how much effort it took to achieve it. She disliked housework intensely. One of the first things she had done once her store began showing a decent profit was hire a housekeeper. What if he expected her to keep house?
“Here you go.” Bubbling gold liquid filled her long-stemmed glass. Finished, he sat across from her as if realizing they both needed space.
“Your house is very neat,” she ventured.
He cocked a dark brow. “Men aren’t the slobs we’re made out to be.”
“I know that,” she hastily said. “It’s just that you didn’t expect me, and yet the house is immaculate. That’s more than I can say for my place.”
“There wasn’t a thing out of place when we went by your house tonight.”
“Because I have a full-time housekeeper.” Again she glanced around the kitchen with its glass-front white cabinets trimmed in blue.
“Tory, I didn’t marry you to cook or clean house. I have a woman in twice a week to give the place a good cleaning.” He studied the disappearing bubbles in the wine for a moment before meeting her eyes. “My father warned me it was easier to live with a happy woman than an unhappy one. Since most women like neatness, I never forgot it once I got a place of my own.”
“Just your luck to get a woman who isn’t neat,” she bantered.
“There are other compensations,” Kane said, his black eyes studying her closely.
The subtle shift in the conversation disturbed Victoria. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
He picked up his glass. “We haven’t toasted yet.”
Helplessly her gaze went to his strong hand gently holding the fragile stemware. After a moment, she raised her glass. “What do we toast to?”
“To lasting happiness and love,” Kane said.
Victoria’s delicate eyebrows lifted. After the horrors Stephen had put her through, she no longer believed in love and happiness.
“Tory,” Kane prompted.
“To love and happiness.” Victoria drank and allowed Kane to keep his illusions.
Draining his glass, Kane took both pieces of crystal and rinsed them in the sink. In the liv
ing room, he picked up her suitcase and started toward the stairs. “Willie keeps the room ready in case my family decides to spend the night.”
“Is Willie the housekeeper?”
“Yes. Willimina Russell. She’s been with me since I bought the place. She’s always complaining about climbing the stairs. Now she won’t have to.”
Victoria pulled up short. “Why?”
Kane gave her an indulgent look. “Willie is almost as pushy as my mother. I’ll see to our rooms. If she had any idea we weren’t sleeping in the same bed, she’d ask questions.”
“I can take care of my room,” Victoria mumbled. The idea of Kane in her room, touching her things, was too intimate.
“She’s also nosy.” Kane’s booted feet were muffled by the hooked rug running the length of the hallway. “I’ll hang a few of your things in my closet and tell her you’re using the connecting bedroom for your dressing room.”
Something moved inside Victoria at the thought of her clothes hanging beside Kane’s. Before she could analyze what, her mind scurried away. “You seem to have thought of everything.”
“Not quite, but I’m working on it.” Opening a door, he switched on a light.
Stepping inside the room, Victoria was instantly delighted with the white iron bedstead, washstand, and tri-fold mirror atop a double dresser. A night-stand by the bed held collections of miniature blue bottles and old Western photos of black cowboys.
“Is it all right?”
“It’s wonderful,” she said. “I’ve always liked antiques. It’s as if you have a link with the past.”
“I know.” Brushing by her, he placed her luggage atop the bedspread.
“There are a lot of antiques in the house. Are you a collector?”
He shook his dark head. “No. I just like the idea of restoring old furniture no one wants and turning it into something beautiful and useful.” He ran his hand lovingly across the washstand.
Victoria watched Kane’s large hand stroke the oak wood and wondered if he thought of himself as something no one wanted. Sometimes she’d catch a glimpse of a vulnerable man; other times she didn’t think a jackhammer would dent his hide.
“I have a friend in the antique business who keeps an eye out for pieces I might like. Some I can repair, but others . . .” He shrugged his broad shoulders.
Drawn by the soft lull of his voice, Victoria walked closer to him. “When do you find the time?”
“Nights mostly. Well, I guess I better let you get some rest. The bathroom is through that door. The door next to it connects to my room. It doesn’t have a lock unless you want one.”
“No.” She answered without hesitation.
The tightness in his brown face eased. “Good night, Mrs. Taggart.” Warm lips brushed across hers. The door closed.
Fingertips pressed against her lips, Victoria stared at the door. She hadn’t expected the kiss, but it hadn’t annoyed her. Fact was, it had calmed her. No one had ever kissed her or treated her as tenderly as Kane. Best of all, he hadn’t changed. Things were a little awkward between them, but nothing they couldn’t work out.
Opening her suitcase, she picked up her nightgown. Light filtered through the wispy white cotton material. Fingering the spaghetti straps, she frowned. She didn’t remember the gown being so revealing.
A noise lifted her head. She turned toward the floral covered wall she shared with Kane. It sounded like booted feet against a wooden floor. He must be getting ready for bed. She wondered if he slept in pajamas or nothing at all. Warmth spread through her. Her hand fisted. That kind of thinking would lead to trouble. In three months she planned to be back in her own apartment, in her own bed.
Going into the bathroom, she took a bath, then slipped on her gown. Yawning, she turned back the covers and crawled beneath the cool sheets. Her hand was on the lamp’s switch when she noticed the bouquet of red roses painted on the porcelain base.
Roses like the twelve individually wrapped ones Kane had insisted on buying from an all-night grocery store. He had arranged them into a bouquet and given them to her. “No bride should marry without flowers,” he had said.
Instead of clinging to the roses, she had clung to the marriage license and the premarital agreement. Instead of berating her about being callous, he had asked her if she wanted the papers put in his safe. Instead of thinking about Kane’s goodness, she had remembered Stephen’s cruelty. Getting out of bed, she went downstairs.
He had fulfilled his end of the business arrangement; it was time she kept up her end. He wanted a woman who cared if he was late getting home. Such a woman wouldn’t leave her bridal bouquet to wither. At the front door, she flipped on the porch light, then went outside to the truck. Opening the door, she leaned inside.
“What are you doing out here?”
In one motion she straightened and whirled. In her hand she clutched a long-stemmed red rose. A bare-chested Kane stood a few feet from her, his unsnapped jeans held up only by the flare of his hips. With difficulty, she pulled her gaze upward. “My flowers. I forgot.”
Slowly his eyes moved to the rose, then to Victoria in her nightgown. He took in a deep breath, then let it out. A shudder of relief racked his body. She wasn’t running away from him.
Listening to her leave her room and hearing the retreating footsteps panicked him as nothing else had. Finding her in his truck was almost unbearable. Seeing her sheer nightgown molded against her uptilted breasts and sleek curves wasn’t any better. “Where are your shoes?”
She glanced at her feet, then at his. “Same place yours are, I’d imagine.”
“My feet are a lot tougher than yours. Pick up your flowers and let’s go.”
“I hope you aren’t going to be the dictatorial type of husband. You can’t boss me around the way you did the owner of Cinnamon.” Gathering the flowers, she closed the door. “Thank you for the roses. They’re beau—”
Powerful arms picked up Victoria and held her against a muscular chest. Kane stared down at Victoria’s lips, slightly parted and tempting.
“K-Kane, put me down!”
Since there was nervousness instead of panic in Victoria’s voice, Kane ignored her command. Slowly his gaze moved to her watchful eyes. He gathered her closer. He remembered the same cautious look when he had first held her twelve years ago. Then it had been the threat of a thunderstorm; now it was the threat of a husband.
“Kane, put me down,” she repeated, her voice suddenly husky.
“Once we’re inside.” Kane started for the house. He tried to ignore the fullness of her breasts, the heat of her body through the sheer gown. “Besides, it gives me another chance to carry my bride over the threshold. Earlier you might have given me a black eye.”
She heard the teasing note in Kane’s voice and reacted to it, not the pounding of her heart. “Not if I didn’t want a broken hand. I’ll have to think of something more subtle if I’m displeased with you.”
He laughed, a deep, booming sound, and gathered her closer. Victoria felt the heat and hardness of his body, tried to remain impassive in his arms, and lost the battle before he had taken another step. One arm inched around his neck.
Inside, he continued across the room and up the stairs. In front of her door, he released her so slowly that she slid against his body. A firm hand kept her there, his other hand brushed back her hair. For a long moment, he stared at her lips. “You better start thinking of my punishment.”
His lips touched her, gently, then with growing hunger and need. His hands searched her body in a restless assurance, then settled on her hips to fit her lower body against his growing desire. With a small moan her fingers opened. Her hands slid around his neck.
Abruptly he tore his lips away. He pulled her arms from around his neck and stepped back. “Sorry. You make a man forget.”
Dazed hazel eyes blinked open.
“I hope you won’t hold this against me,” Kane rasped.
“I—I No.” Fumbling for the doorknob behind h
er, she finally grasped it, opened the door, and went inside.
Closing his eyes, Kane leaned his head back and drew in a deep shuddering breath. What had started out as a good-night kiss had exploded into something wild and untamed. He hadn’t expected her eager response in his arms, and he sure hadn’t expected his mind to whisper they were married and she was willing. He had almost lost it.
He knew he had made the right decision to make light of the kiss, but his body was paying the price. He wanted Victoria so much he ached. But he wanted a lifetime, not a night, and that was all he’d get if he made love to her now.
Knowing sleep was impossible and that nothing short of a tornado was going to get Victoria out of her room before morning, he went to his room to get dressed. He was going to his workshop.
He enjoyed working with his hands. The first piece he restored had been a chifforobe given to him by his maternal grandmother. It had taken him two weeks to get the old coats of paint off. He quickly discovered he liked seeing the worn, rough surface change before his eyes into a hidden treasure.
Victoria was another hidden treasure. To the casual observer, she was beautiful and untouchable. But if a man took the time to get past her defenses, he’d discover a vulnerable and sensitive woman who wanted to love and be loved. He was determined to be that man. If his plans went well, he’d finally put to use the small piece of furniture his mother had insisted on giving him after he bought the ranch.
He rubbed his broad jaw. Too bad he couldn’t use sandpaper and varnish on himself. Passing Victoria’s door, he stepped on something.
Roses were scattered around his feet. Bending, he picked them up.
Hope stirred.
He realized something he had initially been too scared, then too aroused to fully understand. Victoria cared enough about him to go outside and get her flowers. She hadn’t even taken the time to put her shoes or robe on.