His finger ran over her face lightly, lovingly, and he breathed, incredibly to her mind, disgustedly, “At every turn, every single damned time, I’ve managed to underestimate you. You wonderful, lovable lunatic! Dare I assume that you’re going to marry me, love, or did you have something else in mind?”
She sent him a look. “What do you think?” Her eyes twinkled at him as he laughed, head thrown back, hair falling off his brow.
He moved off the floor, bent and slid his arms around her, and picked her up as lightly as if she had been a child. Then he moved over to the couch and sat down, firmly holding her against his chest as if he would never let her go. Dee put her head down on his shoulder, and his arms tightened convulsively. “I never want to let you go, never want to see you walk out of my life,” he muttered, deep in his throat, staring straight ahead. She held very still, instinctively recognising in that low tone something important. “Dee,” he whispered, and the whispering was both a plea and a command, “I need you. I need your warmth and your gaiety, and your zest for adventure and life. I’m too old for you.”
At that she moved in an instinctive protest, her intention to deny it, contradict what he’d say in that low, serious voice. He looked down at her and held her quiet with his eyes.
“But I’m a selfish man, and always have been,” he continued, self-mockery evident in his manner. “And I’m not about to let you go.” His green eyes were gently smiling at her, and her throat felt constricted suddenly with emotion.
“Don’t you know even now?” she whispered, her eyes a brilliant, sparkling wet blue as she stared up at him. “Don’t you know that I need you every bit as much, need your love? That without it, my life is as barren as a desert?”
But Mike was shaking his head at that and smiling strangely. “Oh, no. No, you’re one of those special people who never have a barren life, because of the quality in them that makes them reach out and grasp what there is in life with both eager hands.”
“And you’re not?” Dee queried laughingly. “I can’t and won’t believe that! Not in your line of work, not in your profession! You’ve reached out every bit as eagerly for that special life—and that’s one of the reasons why I love you so.”
“Yes,” he mused, leaning his head back on the couch, “I’ve led a pretty full life. I’ve had some experiences as a private investigator, let me tell you! It was a good time.”
She stared at him, alarmed. “You’re—you’re talking as if it’s over,” she managed to get out, hesitantly. His eyes slanted down to her roguishly.
“It is,” he said simply, and waited for her explosion. Dee surprised him yet again by simply staring, finally managing to get out something that sounded quite strangled.
“I—don’t understand,” she whispered.
His eyes looked amused, and it was a gentle amusement that caressed her. “Deirdre my sweet,” he murmured in a loving mockery, “my line of work has been rough, with its fair share of risks. I’ve done some harrowing things in the last few years, not to mention running into a burning building, nearly getting shot—twice, I believe—and fighting for my life and yours in darkness with two opponents. Before I had only myself to think of, and now I have you. There’s one thing I never want for you to experience. I never want for you to get a phone call, or a late night visit from kindhearted, reluctant policemen, and that would be a possibility, if I didn’t quit now. I love you—I want to spend my life with you. Listen to what I’m saying, Dee. They’re simple words, but they have an overwhelming precedence in my mind.”
He shook her up so. Her eyes really were blurred, as she looked away, feeling somehow terribly sad and incredibly touched.
“I have money invested,” he said, continuing cheerfully after one intense, quick scrutiny of her face and expression. “It’s a fair amount—quite enough to draw an annual income from, in fact. After you finish school and have a better idea of what direction your career life is going to be heading in, I think we should consider traveling around a bit. I’ve always wanted to have adventures overseas. Then perhaps I can think about setting up a detective agency, and put my administrative college courses to use.”
Dee began to brighten. “That’s an idea. I could be your secretary.”
“Can you type?”
“N—no.”
“We’ll work on it,” he told her kindly, and laughed at her expression. He pressed his lips to her forehead before continuing. “You say you want to taste success on your own steam. I think you’ve demonstrated adequately this afternoon that money can’t be your goal. Just suppose you were to make a fortune on your own—what in the world would you do with it?”
She ruefully grimaced and laughed. “I just got rid of one headache and here you are trying to give me another one! I really doubt that I would do that—I’m the world’s worst businessperson. In fact, I don’t really know what kind of success or lifestyle that I want to work for, yet! I think I’ll just be happy to be happy, no matter what I do. And I know,” and she snuggled down closer to him, “that I’m going to be happy. But if by some bizarre chance I made a fortune in money, why—” her eyes twinkled coyly up at his and slipped away, “—I guess I’d give it all away and do it again.”
The swooping, laughing, unrestrained hug that she got from him at that was so full of a wealth of joyous warmth and love that she wordlessly knew she’d already found her fortune, and it was more than enough for her. Mike grabbed her head, pulled her around, and he started to kiss her strongly, hungrily, and she suddenly felt the piercing ache that had been inspired by weeks without him. They were both so totally swept away with their own wants and needs that she felt more than a little out of control, and shaken.
He broke off kissing her, leaned his head into the hollow of her slender neck and shoulder, one hand jerkily massaging her shoulder. And then she felt him smile, felt his chest heave slightly, and she smiled to herself, murmuring, “What? What is it? Tell me.”
Mike turned his head and whispered into her ear, “I must confess to some ambitions, even though you are so singularly free from them.”
“Mm. What are they?” she asked, not really paying attention since his hands were distracting her so deliciously. He brought his lips even closer and delicately nipped her ear before whispering something into her ear that made her eyes start open wide, her heart thud hard, and she laughed breathlessly. “You’re kidding! Tonight? Oh, my, you are an ambitious fellow, aren’t you?”
About the Author
Thea Harrison started writing when she was nineteen. In the 1980s and 1990s, she wrote for Harlequin Mills & Boon under the name Amanda Carpenter. The Amanda Carpenter romances have been published in over ten languages, and sold over a million and a half copies worldwide, and are now being reprinted digitally by Samhain Publishing for their Retro Romance line.
For more information, please visit her at: www.theaharrison.com. You can also find her on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/TheaHarrison and on Twitter at: @TheaHarrison.
Look for these titles by Amanda Carpenter
Now Available:
A Deeper Dimension
The Wall
A Damaged Trust
Writing as Thea Harrison
True Colors
Natural Evil
Devil’s Gate
Hunter’s Season
The Wicked
Coming Soon:
Flashback
Rage
Waking Up
Rose-Coloured Love
Reckless
The Gift of Happiness
Caprice
Passage of the Night
Cry Wolf
A Solitary Heart
The Winter King
The love of a good cowboy can repair even the most damaged heart.
A Damaged Trust
© 2013 Amanda Carpenter
After being betrayed in the worst way by a man who claimed to love her, Carrie vowed to guard her heart. Returning to her childhood home in Colorado to lick her
wounds, the last thing she needs is another man, but Gabe Jackson won’t be denied.
The polar opposite of her former love, Gabe bulldozes his way into her life, showing her how to live—and trust—anew. But when her previous love returns, promising to be hers forever, will Carrie make the right choice? Or will she end up trusting the wrong man…again?
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Damaged Trust:
“Hello.”
The voice, deep and amused, came from behind Carrie as she squatted by the uneven tilt of her grey Porsche. She didn’t pay any attention at first, wrapped up in her own problems as she was, so she didn’t acknowledge the greeting. Instead, she reached down for the jack that was lying on the ground beside her. Deftly fitting it under the Porsche, she leaned over to feel with her hands and to guide the jack to a safe position before beginning to pump on the lever to raise the car.
“Need any help?” Deeper and more amused than ever, the voice spoke again. This time, Carrie took in the words and realized with a vague surprise that someone was addressing her.
Putting a supporting arm to rest on the curved bumper of the incapacitated car, she slowly turned her head to look around her, swiveling on her heel to do so. She was right; someone had spoken to her, and that someone was still there. She muttered disgustedly to herself. It had been a hot, long and exasperating day, and Carrie was already late. She was also in a temper, a state of mind that many of her acquaintances, after having experienced the brunt of her anger once, were reluctant to provoke again. It took a lot to provoke Carrie, but a whole lot of straws in the manner of several annoying mishaps had been piled on the proverbial camel’s back, and the flat tyre smack in the middle of Colorado’s finest midday heat had been quite the last straw. She was feeling, in a word, perverse.
She raised her eyebrows at the someone who was indolently leaning against the flank of a very elegant Mercedes. It was a dark blue, a positively gorgeous dream of a car. She tightened her lips at the new-looking tyres in obviously excellent shape and turned her gaze to the owner. He exuded quite a different impression from the car, as different as two unlikes could be. She took one sweeping, indifferent look at the man before enquiring too politely, “Did you say something to me?”
“Yes, I did.” The ruffian had quite a devilish smile, white strong teeth gleaming saturninely against the darkness of a few days’ growth of beard in a tanned face. “I was wondering if you needed any help.”
Normally Carrie would have thanked a man for making such an offer, even though she was perfectly able to change a flat tyre herself. If she had been really tired, she might even have stepped gladly out of the way to take advantage of such generosity. As it was, she regarded the man for a minute without answering. She took her time as she inspected the long length of him, parked as it was with one leg crossed over the other and arms folded in front of a powerfully muscled chest. He wore faded blue jeans and a light blue cotton shirt that seemed to strain a bit across the shoulders. It and the jeans had obviously seen better days. His devilish grin became even more pronounced as Carrie inspected him calmly, but other than that, he did no more than wait for her reply.
Her large eyes travelled unhurriedly back to his face, and she stated briefly, “No.” She turned back to the car and began to pump the lever of the jack.
The man spoke again. “I hope you loosened the nuts on the wheel before you started to jack the car up. Otherwise the wheel will spin around if you try to loosen them after the car is off the ground.” From the sound of his voice, it didn’t seem as if he had budged from his position. Carrie deigned to ignore him, hoping that her rudeness would make him go away. Somehow, though, she doubted this, since he hadn’t already taken the hint by now. She knew she’d been terribly obvious. At any rate, she wasn’t going to turn around and find out. She continued to pump the lever until the flat tyre began to spin when gently pushed. Then, quickly removing the already loosened nuts, she slid them into the dirt beside her with one hand and then started to tug off the wheel. It seemed to stick a little, but then gave way suddenly, sending her back on her bottom with a thump. A smothered sound came from behind her, a sound much like that of a snort or a chuckle. This, of course, added nothing to the sunniness of her disposition, yet still she refused to look around. His presence was not wanted and she was trying her best—or her worst—to discourage her audience.
Normally Carrie would have enjoyed such masculine attention, especially since the character across the road was not a bad-looking fellow. He might even be called handsome, she mused thoughtfully as she dusted off the seat of her pants—that was, if one could see enough of his face to find out. But she was not in the mood to enjoy flirtation at the moment, and did not care for any male attention of any kind. In fact, she very much set against it. The very reason for this trip in the first place had been an unwise attachment to one of the opposite sex. And that experience, she knew, would keep her burned little fingers away for a long, long time.
Carrie was used to the pain by now, but it didn’t make the hurt any easier to take. She rolled the tyre off to the back of the car and heaved up her spare. Rolling it around to position, she squatted down and prepared to give a big heave up. Then there were two extra hands on the wheel beside hers, and Carrie turned startled blue eyes up to stare at the shadow the sun was making of the man’s face. A glimmer of white blurred in front of her eyes; he must be smiling, she thought hazily. Then the white abruptly disappeared.
He said harshly, “You’re crying. What has made you cry? Did you hurt yourself on something?”
Carrie sniffed angrily, the anger directed at herself, and unreasonably, at him. “I am not crying,” she informed him icily, one corner of her mind whispering to her the word “perverse”. “And,” she continued as she pushed one big hand away, “you must have misunderstood me. I don’t want your help.”
He replied softly, “Oh, I don’t think that I’ve misunderstood you at all. However,” he plucked her up and put her out of the way, still speaking easily, “you’re going to get my help, like it or not.”
He moved back to the wheel and hoisted it smoothly back into place. Then, as she simply stood and watched, he quickly put the nuts into place, twirling them a few times before lowering the car with a few muscle-rippling pumps. He turned back to Carrie. She had herself quite under control by then, and she wore a very patient expression.
That white gleam streaked across his face again and he drawled, “That's better. Think you can finish yourself?” His tone was light, but she noticed a searching look in his eyes as they went over her face.
She lifted one mocking eyebrow and her tone matched his. “I daresay.” There was no evidence of her sadly damaged pride at the too easy tears, or of the dull ache in her chest that had never gone away. She showed this stranger a smooth, cold mask.
He walked over to his side of the road, speaking carelessly over, his shoulder. “Don’t bother to say thank you. It was nothing.”
Temper boiled below the surface of Carrie’s bland face, but she kept it securely battened as she said, quite every bit as dry as he, “My dear fellow, I had no intention of doing so.”
He said nothing, but grinned much like the Cheshire Cat would have, and leaned back against the fender of the Merc. Forcing back a sigh of exasperation, she turned and bent to finish the job of tightening the nuts as tight as she could, very much aware of a dark, watching presence just out of sight behind her left shoulder and telling herself that she disliked it very much indeed. As she gave the last nuts a final twist, the man spoke one more time.
“Be sure to see that someone stronger has a go at tightening those nuts for you when you get home.”
Carrie twirled the jack lever in her hand and couldn’t stop from replying, “You mean you’re not going to do it for me?”
He opened his car door. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She resisted the temptation and didn’t throw the lever through his windshield as he pulled onto the road and soon disappeared, alth
ough she would have very much liked to.
Duty. Devotion. Desire. When fate brings two isolated people together, love is in the cards.
Hunter’s Season
© 2012 Thea Harrison
A Novella of the Elder Races
As a palace guard and assassin for the Dark Fae, Xanthe always wore a mask, hiding her emotions to do her duty. But when her identity is compromised, she trades undercover work for guarding Queen Niniane—a position that often brings her in contact with Chancellor Aubrey Riordan.
Aubrey’s trust is shattered. A year ago his wife tried to assassinate their new queen in his name, a betrayal of everything he believes in. And now an attack on his life is proof the dark conspiracy is not yet over. Although injured and weak, Aubrey can’t help but be drawn to this shy assassin and loyal protector. Xanthe is everything Naida wasn’t, and the passion she stirs in him is something he thought had long passed him by.
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