“Are you done?” she asked, still facing the sofa back.
But his only answer was a husky, “Mmm.”
She took that for a yes and turned her head.
But Adam still didn’t sit back. He went on leaning forward, his legs spread apart, his elbows on his knees, looking at her from beneath a frown that was somehow different from his usual scowl.
She thought he was still studying the sting on the side of her neck. But then she realized his gaze wasn’t quite that high.
Instead it was on her breasts.
He raised it then, though not in any hurry. To the hollow of her throat. To her chin.
To her lips.
But there were no stings anywhere near her lips. So what was he looking at?
But she knew.
It was in the air around them just the way it had been the night before, out on the porch.
He was making it seem as if he might kiss her.
But this time Victoria swore she wouldn’t be duped. She was wise to his game. He’d wait for her to respond, to invite the kiss, and then he’d pull back.
So she should pull back first, she told herself. She shouldn’t do anything to invite or even welcome him. She should sneer. Turn her head away. Sit up and get off that couch to make it clear kissing him was not part of the deal.
But did she do that? Any of it?
No, she didn’t.
She just couldn’t.
She didn’t tilt her chin the way she had for him the previous night. But she didn’t avert her face, either. She didn’t even sit up the way she knew she should to get out of harm’s way.
She didn’t do anything at all.
He did, though.
This time he actually did kiss her.
It took her completely by surprise. In fact, it shocked her so much she almost didn’t kiss him back.
Almost.
But then there she was, returning the kiss, enjoying it, savoring it.
Even as a part of her knew she should push him away, there was still a little voice from deep in the back of her head that rejoiced, I’m kissing Adam Benson!
But then it was over almost before it had begun.
He reared back as if he’d surprised himself as much as her. As if he was just as shocked.
He stood abruptly. Almost angrily.
But when he spoke—despite the fact that his voice was deep and raspy—his anger didn’t seem aimed at her.
“Make a paste of baking soda and water and dot it on the stings,” he instructed.
“Okay,” she said, somewhat stunned.
Then he left her sitting there.
He went straight to his room and closed the door.
And tonight Victoria had the sense that even though he’d left her feeling all wound up and confused and vaguely disappointed, the torment of that kiss had all been his.
Four
Adam was up at sunrise the next morning after another restless night. But he didn’t wake Victoria. He wanted some time to himself first. To get his bearings.
Not that it would last, he knew. Because the minute she was awake and anywhere around, he’d be thrown off course just the way he had been since laying eyes on her on Saturday. But he needed to at least feel as if he had some control.
For even just a half hour or so, anyway.
Until she came down those stairs from the attic and everything got all jumbled again.
It was as if she could cast some kind of spell over him. Without even trying, he thought as he plugged in the coffeepot.
Of course it didn’t help that he’d felt guilty as hell the evening before when he’d realized that she’d been so badly stung.
She’d looked miserable with those bee stings like polka dots marring her ordinarily flawless skin. And to have someone poking around in them with a needle? He wasn’t a big fan of needles, so he’d sympathized.
None of it had been in his plan, that was for sure. He hadn’t meant to cause her any kind of physical pain when he’d opted for this course of action. His idea of comeuppance didn’t involve any more than maybe the sore muscles that came from hard work. He never would have sent her out to pick those apples if he’d known about the hive.
So guilt and sympathy, added to her usual effect on him, had really thrown him off, he reasoned to explain his friendlier attitude toward her.
Or so he wanted to believe.
He poured himself a cup of the coffee he’d just made and took it with him to the big picture window that looked out onto the front porch and gave him a view of the dawn’s splendor of yellow and pink cotton-candy haze.
But if he were honest with himself he had to admit that his friendlier attitude hadn’t only come out of guilt and sympathy and her usual effect on him.
There was also a part of him—a part he wished he could get rid of—that didn’t like the way she acted around him.
Skittish. Nervous. Uncomfortable.
That was the Victoria Rutherford he was faced with now. And it should have fit right into his plans because years ago, when she’d held all the cards, that was how he’d felt.
But now that the shoe was on the other foot, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like that she kept a cautious eye on him, as if she were watching a stormy summer sky. He didn’t like that she seemed leery of opening her mouth to speak. He didn’t even like that she gave him such a wide berth—although that was something that was likely for the best.
But the part of him that didn’t like the way she acted around him was probably just ego, he told himself.
After all, there was no doubt that the Victoria Rutherford of years ago had been more of a boost to his self-esteem. Back then she’d cast him secret glances. She’d granted him coy smiles behind everyone else’s backs. She’d watched with eyes that sparkled with enticement. She’d flirted with him outrageously when no one was looking. And she’d purposely put herself in positions where they might run into each other.
That had definitely been more flattering than having her watching him now as if she were afraid of him.
He was beginning to feel like the Beast to her Beauty.
Of course that was what he’d set himself up for. That was basically what he’d thought he wanted.
But somehow it still ate at him.
Maybe because it didn’t take away what made this whole situation the most difficult. It didn’t take away the attraction that one glance at her, or even just knowing she was in close proximity, brought to life in him.
She was just too damn tempting.
It put him on a seesaw—one minute hating her for what she’d done when they were teenagers, the next not hating her. Worse than that, not wanting her to hate him. And worse still, noticing how sweet her hair smelled or how tendrils of it curled around the base of her neck when she tied it up on top of her head. Noticing how much softer her features were when he wasn’t such a bear and she relaxed a little. Noticing how those big blue eyes of hers sparkled when she wasn’t wary of him. How satiny her skin was and the way her throat dipped gracefully into the hollow. And then there were her lips….
They’d been his downfall the night before.
It had been tough enough being as close to her as he’d been when he’d pulled the stingers out, but getting to that last one and having her turn her head had put just the right curve to her neck. A curve that had stirred him up inside and left him wanting to kiss it so much it had almost driven him crazy.
And then when she’d swiveled her head back again and his gaze had settled on those lush lips of hers?
He’d been a goner.
But kissing her?
What the hell had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem.
In fact, it almost seemed as if he’d blacked out for a split second and come to to find his mouth pressed to hers.
Even as he was in the middle of kissing her, he hadn’t been able to believe he’d given in to the very thing that had gotten him into trouble before.<
br />
But damn if he hadn’t.
And for the same reason he had years ago. He just couldn’t not kiss her.
It hadn’t been any different in her father’s barn that night. He’d known she was off-limits. Out of his league. She was the boss’s daughter.
But he hadn’t been able to keep any of that in mind when she’d come closer and closer. When she’d smiled at him. Flirted with him. Let him know she was as interested in him as he was in her.
But she hadn’t smiled at him last night. She hadn’t flirted. She hadn’t shown any interest at all. Yet he’d still kissed her.
That made this time worse than the last.
Although she did kiss you back, a little voice in his head reminded him.
For only a brief moment. But she’d damn well kissed him.
He’d been the one to end it—that should count for something, shouldn’t it?
But it didn’t.
How could it when the fact of the matter was he’d started it?
And he’d liked it.
He’d liked it so much that temptation had skyrocketed and he could have gone on kissing her and touching her and—
Adam closed his eyes and willed his body to stop the reaction it was having to just the thoughts running through his head.
The memories.
The yearning for more than memories….
He opened his eyes in a hurry before the images that were popping into his mind got too much of a stronghold and only made things worse.
What kind of payback was it if he fell for her? he asked himself as sternly as he would a willfully lazy employee.
None at all, was the answer.
But the trouble was that over the years he’d forgotten how appealing Victoria could be. He’d concentrated on that one act she’d perpetrated. He’d focused on that and, lo and behold, she’d become the evil witch he’d thought her for so long. An evil witch he wouldn’t have any trouble getting back at when the opportunity arose.
But now here she was in living color and that harsh light had somehow softened. And he was having one hell of a time trying to not enjoy her. Trying to fight what seemed to come naturally such as talking to her, getting to know her again, kissing her….
Having her kiss him back….
The pleasure he took in this was supposed to be in the comeuppance. In seeing her work like a ranch hand or a maid. In watching her bristle at having to dirty her hands.
The pleasure was not supposed to be in other things, other moments, like last night. The pleasure was not supposed to be in her.
But he didn’t know how to stop it. He’d tried to keep in mind what she’d done. He’d tried to remember all the reasons he’d come to hate her.
They just didn’t make any difference. They didn’t stop him from lighting up inside at the sight of her. From craving the sound of her voice. From itching to be with her every minute he wasn’t.
So he’d have to deal with it, he decided. What else could he do? He’d already started this and he had to see it through to the end. He’d just have to fight what she brought to life in him in the meantime.
And if he enjoyed his time with her a little? If he enjoyed her a little?
He sure as hell wasn’t going to let her know it.
And he sure as hell wasn’t going to kiss her again.
He closed his eyes once more, this time shaking his head, too. At himself. At the desire he had even at that moment to climb the steps to the attic room and wake her with a better kiss than they’d shared on the couch.
Everything he’d just hashed through, everything he’d just told himself, didn’t have much impact on that desire.
Willpower, he thought, I have to have willpower.
He just didn’t know if there was enough willpower in the world to get him through this without giving in to Victoria Rutherford’s pull on him.
Victoria wasn’t too sure what she was going to find when she went downstairs that morning. Since she’d awakened on her own at the crack of dawn rather than having Adam as her gruff alarm, she had nothing with which to gauge his mood as she got dressed. And after that kiss the night before and his abrupt disappearance into his bedroom, she couldn’t even begin to guess what she might be confronted with today.
Since she’d had his advance warning that she was to paint the barn, she put on the most worn of her used clothes—a plain, faded sweatshirt and a pair of stained jeans.
She caught her hair into a ponytail, did a quick makeup job that only involved blush and a little mascara, and then she ventured toward the stairs, half thinking that Adam might not yet be up since she hadn’t heard any sounds downstairs.
He was up, though.
She spotted him as she hit the third step. He was standing at the picture window with a cup of coffee in one hand, staring outside.
Pensively.
Or so Victoria thought. Something that didn’t bode well for the day ahead, if she was any judge.
She paused on that third step for a moment, wondering if she should go back to the attic room and wait for him to bellow for her. Why rush into anything? she asked herself.
But for some reason she stayed where she was, taking a good, long look at him from behind.
She wished he was short and scrawny and smelled bad as she drank in the sight of him. Or maybe fat and flabby with elephant ears and rolls of flesh rippling down his neck. Anything would be better than what he was—sculpted like an Adonis with those broad shoulders and narrow waist and that rear end that was absolute male perfection even in a pair of disreputable blue jeans that had a hole just below the right rear pocket.
Maybe she should go back upstairs, she told herself as she felt every sense kick into overdrive at just that initial view of him.
But just as she was going to retrace her path, he moved.
She thought he might have seen her and the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was cowering from him, so she nixed the idea of retreat.
“Morning,” she said softly, deciding offense was the best form of defense.
Apparently he hadn’t seen her, after all, because only then did he turn to acknowledge her presence. Slowly. Almost reluctantly, it seemed.
“Morning,” he greeted in a toneless voice that gave no indication of his mood.
There weren’t any clues in his face, either. He merely watched with a blank expression as she walked the rest of the way down the stairs.
He hadn’t shaved yet and his face was shadowed in dark stubble that made him look dangerous and ruggedly handsome all at once.
It didn’t help Victoria to notice that. In fact it left her all the more uneasy to realize that she, who ordinarily did not like a man with any kind of beard, let alone stubble, had butterflies in her stomach with one glance at Adam Benson’s face.
And the stomach flutters only got worse when the way he was dressed threw her into a sudden flashback.
He had on a faded red Henley that she could have sworn he’d worn as a teenager. Or maybe it was just similar to a shirt from all those years ago, but the tight fit of it and the way he had the sleeves bunched up to his elbows shot her backward in time.
He also had the top button unfastened and although there hadn’t been the same smattering of dark chest hair peeking through when he was younger, the whole image still brought to mind the days when he’d worked on her father’s ranch and she’d sneaked peeks at him.
His jeans didn’t help matters, either.
They were so threadbare there was a stringy, frayed rip at his right knee, and just above that rip was a red bandana tied around his leg.
That was what he’d done as a boy—tied a scarf like that around the lower part of his thigh. Victoria wasn’t altogether sure why he did that, but she recalled him using it to wipe perspiration from his brow when he worked. It had seemed so sexy to her as a girl that it had nearly made her sweat.
In fact, it almost made her sweat now as the images of him in the past and in the present mingled i
n her mind. They certainly didn’t help to calm those butterflies in her stomach.
“You’re up early,” he said amiably enough, compounding things for her when a stab of sarcasm or a critical comment or even an ominous look might have eased what had begun in her so early today.
“I guess I am,” she said with a glance past him at the sun that had topped the horizon by then. “So are you, though.”
“Sleeping doesn’t seem to be my best thing right now.”
That sounded like an admission that he was disturbed by something. A guilty conscience, maybe? Or had the kiss of the night before kept him stirred up? It definitely hadn’t made for a sound night’s sleep for her….
“Mountain air is supposed to have the opposite effect,” she offered.
“Maybe it doesn’t drift down here at the base of them and that’s the problem.”
Their banter was inconsequential, but what struck Victoria was that it was just inconsequential chitchat without any razor’s edge to it, despite Adam’s mood.
Had that kiss that had sent him out of the room mellowed him?
She didn’t see how that was possible, but it occurred to her that maybe she shouldn’t analyze it. Maybe she should just be grateful that he wasn’t snapping at everything. That maybe they could even reach a kind of truce that would ease the pressure she was under.
Of course she didn’t know what a truce would mean for her in terms of her attraction to him and the contrariness she counted on to keep it all under control.
But wouldn’t it be nicer to not have to contend with his coldness and aloofness and arrogance and facetiousness all the time? To not have to worry that he might bite her head off at any moment?
It would be a tremendous relief, she decided.
And if it made his appeal more difficult to deal with?
She’d find a way.
“Anything in particular you’d like for breakfast?” she asked, thinking that if he could lighten up, so could she.
“How about bacon, eggs and toast?” he suggested. No demand, no snide comment about her ability to fix it.
“Coming up,” she agreed, feeling genuine hope spring to life.
“Then we can get started on the barn,” he said to her back as she headed for the kitchen.
The Marriage Bargain Page 7
