Her breathing grew instantly agitated at the implication and it seemed to take her several seconds to find the raspy sounds that passed for her voice. “All I can say is that if you’re really a prince, the world is hard up for royalty.”
“I don’t believe my character is the one in question here.”
“Well, you’ll have to debate that with someone else.” She turned and started to walk away. Barefoot. She was barefoot.
Mac pushed away from the dock rail and fell into step beside her, wondering if he should offer to carry her across the gravel driveway so she wouldn’t hurt her bare feet. But she stopped short and faced him with a contemptuous glare. “What part of leave me alone do you not understand?”
Her chest rose and fell with each angry breath and he had a sudden, compelling impulse to rip off her concealing white shirt and bare her breasts so that he could see them full and ripe with her pregnancy. He found the idea of the changes in her body not just sexually titillating but exciting. Very exciting. And that realization unsettled him even further and made his voice scratchy and sharp. “You made a big mistake in coming to the Desert Rose. I don’t know what you thought would happen here, but I can personally guarantee that you won’t be happy with the outcome.”
“That’s already quite apparent,” she said with an irritated sigh. “Because the only request I’ve made of you so far is to leave me alone.”
He ought to do just that. He should take her lack of denial as validation and walk away from her right now. But this was his ranch, his home, his dock, and she’d contaminated them, along with the memories of the one night they’d spent together. He didn’t know why the latter charge seemed the most offensive, but he’d be damned if he’d let it bother him. “I want you to leave tomorrow,” he stated firmly, and hated the way his gut twisted in protest. “I know Jessica will try to persuade you to stay, but—”
“But it would be so much more comfortable for you if I go. You don’t have to draw me a map. I understand I’m to make no claims on you for myself or for the baby.” Her lips curved with a wry contempt. “But you know what? I can do that right here.”
Mac frowned, waiting for fury at her defiant manner to sweep over him. “Do what?”
“Leave you alone, of course.” Her chin was up, her eyes shining, as she gave an arrogant, decisive little toss of her head. “I’ll stay here and work with Jessie as I planned and you’ll stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. Voilà, we both get what we want.”
“You can’t stay here,” he said, not only not furious, but a little panicked. “That would be very unwise.”
“Why? Are you going to run around behind my back, assuring everyone you’re not the father of my baby?” She smiled, obviously of the opinion she had the upper hand. “That’s only going to make them think it’s a possibility.”
“I have every right to defend myself.”
“Against what? This?” She patted the slope of her belly. “Sorry, but you’re a little late for that.”
“You’re not staying,” he said, determined she would not best him in this argument. “Tomorrow, you’ll tell Jessica that you’ve changed your mind and you must leave. Tomorrow, I’ll drive you to the airport and pay for your ticket, if need be. But one way or another, tomorrow, you are leaving this ranch.”
She turned her gaze back to the lake, looking both determined and satisfied with herself. “No, I don’t think so.”
“This isn’t your decision.”
Her eyes returned to him with the fire of her resolve. “Yes, Mac, it is. For five months now, I’ve rocked along, pretending this wasn’t happening, putting off decisions, believing that if I ever met you again, you’d help me make the right choices for our baby. But I realize now, I am the responsible party here. And I will make the decisions without benefit of your advice. So, as far as I’m concerned, you and your arrogant, self-important opinions can take a flying leap into this lake and swim all the way to the Gulf of Mexico before I’ll give half-a-second’s consideration to what you want.”
“My family will never permit you to claim any portion of the Desert Rose for your child.”
“Your family will never know this child has every right to make such a claim unless you tell them.”
“You expect me to believe you haven’t already told them?”
“I’ve told no one. Except you. And believe me, if I could think of a way to take it back, you wouldn’t know, either.”
What could she hope to gain with this tack? Time? Opportunity? Support? “So you intend to hold me hostage here on my own property, while you wait for the right moment to drop your little bombshell?”
“I intend to stay as far away from you as you and the boundaries of this ranch will permit. But even if we step on each other every time we turn around, I am not going to be forced into leaving simply because my presence here makes you uncomfortable.”
“You’re making a mistake, Abigail Jones.”
She stared silently into his eyes for a moment, then spun around and walked back to the end of the dock, reaching up with both hands to push the bulky weight of her hair off her nape. “Well, I made a mistake in not bringing a swimsuit, that’s for sure.”
Did she think she could simply announce her intention to make his life a living hell and then change the subject? Well, he could turn the tables as well as she. “What a pity,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “A midnight swim would undoubtedly clear your head and enable you to think more clearly. It might even soothe your heartburn. But then again, probably not.”
“If you were a gentleman, you’d go away and the swimsuit would be a non-issue.”
His eyebrows went up. “And leave you to swim alone? Now, that would be very ungentlemanly.”
“So it’s okay to swim without a swimsuit as long as I don’t do it alone?”
“Got it in one, Abigail Jones.” He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it over the rail, then his hands dropped to the buckle on his belt. “The question is, are you going in with me or are you going to run away like a frightened little chicken?”
She turned around just as he unsnapped the top of his jeans. Her gaze flickered down the shadowy vee of hair on his chest to his abdomen, then rose in a guilty rush. “Are you daring me to take my clothes off in full view of the house?”
“This is a working ranch. Anyone who’s not asleep by this hour won’t be worth a damn tomorrow. Besides, it would take a pair of high-powered binoculars to see this section of the dock from any of the ranch buildings in broad daylight, much less now.” His gaze lingered on the exposed white skin of her inner arm as she continued to hold the weight of hair off her neck. Unbidden, he recalled the soft, sweet taste of her flesh in his mouth and knew the memory was as treacherous as her look of innocence, as tantalizing as the thought of her swimming naked beside him. He wanted to touch her, kiss her, bend her to his will. He wanted her to be who he’d believed she was, and that was impossible. Leaning against the dock rail, he balanced on one foot and pulled off first one boot, then the other. “So, little liar, are you brave enough to skinny-dip with me?”
“Brave, enough, yes. But not stupid. You’d probably try to drown me.”
“Ah, good. You are afraid.” He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and she abruptly turned her back. “Although, I’d never resort to violence. As you’re well aware, I have nothing to gain by harming you.” He smiled at the stiff set of her shoulders and thought, with another nudge or two, she’d be eager to leave tomorrow. “So you see, Abbie, there’s no reason for you to stand here in the heat and humidity, blaming me for depriving you of your swim. I already know you have no modesty.”
Her chin came up as she whirled to face him, barely blinking at his state of undress. “You know nothing about me.”
“I know you aren’t going to risk letting me get a good look at a body heavy with the weight of another man’s child. That could be detrimental to your plans.”
If he’d been wearing any
, his underwear would have gone down in flames. “You are the only man I’ve slept with in over a year,” she said, her voice shaking with desperate anger. “And you are the father of this baby.”
Mac considered her claim for a long moment, wondering, calculating the possibility, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe her. He just couldn’t. “Then, I guess you’ll have to come up with another excuse to stay out of the water, won’t you, little chick?” He walked to the edge of the pier and stretched lazily, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Oh, and don’t bother pulling some juvenile stunt like stealing my clothes as you leave. I promise it would turn out to be far more embarrassing for you in the long run, if I have to walk back to the house in my birthday suit.” Feeling that he’d successfully called her bluff, he made a clean, leisurely dive into the cool, cleansing water.
Abbie was reaching for the buttons of her shirt even before Mac completely disappeared beneath the surface. She’d show him she wasn’t afraid of him or his stupid threats. She didn’t care if he saw her body, rounding with the shape of the pregnancy. It was his fault she was in this shape, anyway. Another man’s child. She should drown him for saying such a thing. For being such a jerk. How could she have been so stupid as to fantasize about him for the past five months, turning him into some kind of movie-idol hero in her mind, never imagining he’d reject her and the baby out of hand. It had never once occurred to her that he wouldn’t believe her, that he’d accuse her of the blackest of lies and an attempt to trap him into marriage, as well.
Her fingers fumbled with the buttons. Going skinny-dipping to prove her point was only stooping to his level. It would do nothing more than make an awkward situation worse. But she couldn’t just walk away, either. Retreat felt too much like surrender. She watched him, swimming in long, powerful strokes against the dark water, his muscular arms, legs, shoulders and buttocks visible in intermittent flashes of moonlit gold.
Okay, so if she wasn’t going to strip naked and follow him in and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of her retreat, what other option did she have? Jumping in, fully clothed? Well, she was only wearing a white cotton shirt and a pair of maternity underpants, which would both be disgustingly revealing when dripping wet. If she’d had any idea she’d see anyone on this late night quest for a few moments of peace, she’d have put on something more suitable, although perhaps not as comfortable in this heat. On the other hand, if she’d known Mac was still out roaming the countryside like an alley cat, she’d never have ventured from her room in the first place, much less worried about what to wear.
Her gaze shifted to the clothes he’d flung carelessly across the dock railing. A paid of boots, socks, a belt, a pair of jeans, a denim…shirt. The first smile of the evening lifted her spirits. It wasn’t the comeuppance she’d like to deliver him, by a long shot. On a scale of annoyance, it would barely rate a one and a half or a two, but it looked like her only option and therefore, it would have to do. In a matter of minutes, she was wrapped in his shirt, while hers hung, dry and waiting for her return, on the railing. As she rolled up the sleeves and turned down the collar, the scent of him surrounded her in a tide of memories that would be best forgotten. But for just a second…one little flashback of a moment…she remembered him as he’d been—as she’d thought he was—and wished things might have turned out differently. Then, arcing her hands high over her head, she dove straight and true into the water.
SHE SWAM LIKE A DADGUM DOLPHIN…and that bugged Mac even more than his sodden shirt. When he’d heard her hit the water with an efficient splash, he’d admired her spunk in choosing to take his dare rather than retreat. But when she managed to keep up with him—silently, but surely—regardless of the pace he kept, it didn’t sit well.
It bothered him even more to realize she was not only a better swimmer than he was, but that she was enjoying this midnight exercise. She floated, she backstroked, she breaststroked, she butterflied. And when at last, she headed for the dock and climbed out of the water, he knew he’d outlasted her only by sheer obstinance. The fact that she’d used his shirt as a bathing suit might have rankled, if it hadn’t clung to her with a dripping precision he was ashamed to find alluring. She turned her back to him and before he could shimmy into his jeans, she’d pulled off his shirt, wrung it out, wiped off some of the moisture that clung to her skin, and covered herself in the dry white oversize shirt she’d worn before. It clung to her breasts with a tantalizing dampness and cupped her hips in a teasing, patchy fashion that made his throat feel unaccountably dry and itchy.
“Here’s your shirt,” she said brightly, handing over the wet lump of denim. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’m always glad to lend an article of clothing to a damsel in distress.” He’d meant to sound sarcastic, but somehow the words had come out gently, almost with a smile. “You want to borrow my boots? The ground between here and the house can be rough on bare feet.”
She paused in the process of wringing lake water out of her long hair and looked at him as if trying to see the trap underlying such a gallant offer. “No, thanks. I’m tough.”
“You’re a very good swimmer.”
“My brothers were competitive swimmers all through school and I spent a lot of time at swim meets when I was a kid. I wanted to swim competitively, too, but the family didn’t think it was a suitable activity for a girl.”
“And you let that stop you?”
Her lips curved a little as she wrung a few more droplets from her hair and straightened, twisting the wet strands into a thick loop across one shoulder. “Yes, I let that stop me.”
“You’ve obviously developed a sense of independence since then.”
Again she smiled in the same wistful, wry way. “Depends on who you ask.”
This was nice, he thought. Pleasant, even. The immediate connection he’d made with this woman back in December returned to wisp around him like a vapor, elusive and enchanting, a witch’s spell. Perhaps it was time to change tactics, try the sugar-rather-than-vinegar strategy, give her the rope she needed to hang herself. Never mind that he was fool enough to be enjoying the husky rhythms of her voice. Never mind that the night air carried a hint of her perfume. He had no earthly intention of referring to their previous encounter, but suddenly the words were in his mouth and on his tongue and out in the open. “Why did you leave without a word of goodbye?”
Her startled gaze hit him where it hurt and skittered away. “I…had someplace I had to be and it seemed best just…to go.”
Mac finished pulling on his boots, knowing he was a fool to pursue this any further yet wanting her to understand what she might have had. “You have no idea how many times I’ve wished you had been there when I awoke.”
The admission hung there, between them, a regret and a rebuke. “Hmm,” she said finally. “A narrow escape for you then, wasn’t it?”
The regret was suddenly pure and painfully his own. She turned and padded toward the end of the dock. Mac followed, watching the sway of her hips, the tint of moonlight on her dark, wet hair, and God help him, he wanted her. With every step, she contradicted him, tempted him, made him into the liar. And he hated that. He really did. At the end of the wooden planking, where the ground sloped in a sometimes rugged terrain up to the house, he caught up with her and scooped her into his arms.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, kicking lightly in protest.
“The ground’s rough. You’re barefoot.” As if that explained it, which, of course, it didn’t. He’d wanted to touch her, that was the gist of it. He’d wanted to know if the lust she evoked in him was susceptible to logic, if she, perhaps, still felt it, too. Apparently no to both points, he decided when she crossed her arms at her chest and stared stonily ahead. Holding her against his chest, he wanted to feel her arms around him, feel her melt into his embrace, kiss her long and hungrily to sate his own disreputable appetite. The moment he set her—bare feet unbruised by the rocky ground—on the
tiled floor of the house, he fully expected to be rewarded with an outraged slap. The last thing he expected was what she did. She came up on tiptoe, the moist touch of her skin catching seductively against his, pulled his head down in a decidedly purposeful manner and kissed him full on the lips.
Electricity couldn’t have zapped him more efficiently. Heat flared along his nerve endings and he wouldn’t have been surprised if steam was coming off his hot body. He went weak in the knees with desire and knew he should not—should not—respond. This was a trick, another lie. But he gathered her abruptly into his arms and kissed her long and hard, as if she were the antidote as well as the poison. She returned pressure for pressure, desire for desire, as the kiss escalated and eventually eased. When he let her go, he was out of breath, confused and angry.
“You should be more careful, Prince,” Abbie said in a tough, challenging whisper. “Any more rescues like that and you might find yourself in a very vulnerable position.” And with that, she slipped out of his reach and ran lightly across the Mexican tiles, disappearing into the dark at the top of the stairs and leaving him to spend the rest of the night with a much harder question.
Chapter Four
Jessica hadn’t exaggerated about the state of her office or the backlog of work. She’d rushed Abbie through breakfast and had her behind a desk almost before she had time to yawn. Jess spent less than fifteen minutes explaining the registration process, breeding, feeding and exercise schedules, boarding fees, stud fees, mare leasing, salaries, taxes, accounts payable, accounts receivable, and about a million other details that made up the bulk of business as usual on the Desert Rose. She dismissed Abbie’s look of consternation with a laugh and the assurance that it would all become clear in the doing and that it was always okay to ask questions. Obviously, Abbie thought, ranching was a little more complicated than she’d expected. By noon, she’d lost count of the stacks of paper and manila files she’d sorted, logged, filed and straightened, but as Jess had predicted, she was beginning to get a feel for how the business worked, or at least, for how the office was supposed to run.
His Shotgun Proposal Page 5
