by T. J. Kline
“I guess. I’m sort of a night owl,” he answered after taking a swig from his bottle. “Tomorrow should be interesting for you. You’ll get to see some of the bucking stock up close.”
She lifted her head and eyed him with distrust, hoping he didn’t hear the tremor of apprehension in her voice. “How close?”
Derek chuckled quietly. “Still don’t trust me?” He looked down at her.
Angela looked up and their eyes met. She could see laughter in the depths of his but there was more—a yearning that made her want to meet him halfway. The raw need for understanding ate at her resolve to remain detached. “I don’t distrust you.”
He laughed quietly. “I guess that’s a place to start.”
She looked out over the front yard and corral, her eyes lifting to the indigo sky filled with sparkling stars, which were brighter than she’d ever seen and faded into a distant abyss. She could see the dark shape of a horse in the corral and trees behind, but they were all small shadows in the distance, creating an eerie feeling of insignificance under the huge expanse above her. They sat in silence for several minutes, and she wondered how she could be so comfortable with a near-stranger beside her, late at night, in the middle of nowhere.
“It must have been pretty amazing growing up out here,” she murmured, deliberately breaking the silence that was lulling her into a false security. She wanted to steel herself against his charm, but right now, under the stars with him, she was finding it more impossible than ever.
Derek put his empty bottle on the porch near the corner of the loveseat. “I always had an escape plan. I thought I wanted to live in the city until I went there,” he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders.
It was an unspoken request for her to move closer, to eliminate the physical and emotional distance between them. By moving toward him willingly, she would become vulnerable, allowing him access to the hidden corners in her heart where she remained safe from further loss. If she allowed him in, she risked losing everything she’d worked for, including the freedom she was fighting to obtain.
Angela remained rooted to her cushion, stubbornly refusing to look at him. She wanted to move toward him, wanted to open up to him, but her fear was greater than her desire.
Derek wasn’t about to be deterred so easily, and he scooted closer to her on the couch. She pressed her lips together and looked at her lap. If he didn’t send her heart racing out of control with a mere glance, she would have dismissed him long ago for being such a pushy, alpha male. Usually she couldn’t stand guys who demanded her attention, not that she’d had time for more than a few men, but something about Derek made her crave his presence even as she dreaded what it might cost her.
“How could anyone want the city over this?” She dropped her head back against his shoulder and soon found herself moving her head to rest against the wall of his chest. “I’ve never seen stars so bright.”
Derek laughed quietly, the sound rumbling under her ear. “Same stars, Angel, but with no street lights you can actually see them all.”
His arm hung loosely around her shoulder and she felt the warmth from his body radiating through his shirt, relaxing her tense muscles and making her wonder if this wasn’t her opportunity to become the woman she’d always wanted to be. She glanced up at him. His jaw was mere inches from her lips and she watched him try to hide a smile. There was just a shadow of a beard darkening his skin, giving him a roguish appearance. She desperately wanted to press a kiss to his jaw, to feel the day’s growth of stubble against her lips, but she settled for inhaling his personal scent—horses and grass with a hint of cinnamon—and tore her gaze from him, sighing against his chest.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Calling you what? Angel?”
His voice was thick and she was afraid to speculate on the cause. She didn’t want to hope for more than these brief stolen minutes in his arms. Thinking about the future would only bring disappointment. She wanted to savor this moment, where they had no past, no future, only now.
She nodded against his chest and felt his hand slip the hair tie from the bottom of her thick braid. He ran his fingers through the tresses, separating the strands, causing them to fall around her shoulder, and she bit back a moan of pleasure.
“Why would you ever pull this back?” he whispered. His hand rested at the base of her neck, his fingers absently moving along the flesh, sending silvery flames of desire over her shoulders and down her spine.
She dropped her head backward into his hand. “What are you doing?” Her voice was husky with desire. Her body was on fire and she was dizzy from trying to deny herself.
“I’m seducing you. Is it working?” His eyes were shadowed in the darkness. She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or not, so she remained silent. His fingers grazed the clasp of her necklace, and Derek cleared his throat. “Are you ever going to tell me about your ring?”
“My ring?” His question jolted her from the spell he’d woven on her senses. She felt goose bumps break out over her arms as she looked up at him, her cheek still pressed against his chest. She’d already told Sydney about her mother, so it shouldn’t be so difficult to tell him. But the tenderness she could see in his eyes unraveled her. “It belonged to my mother. It was her wedding ring.”
“Why do you have it?” He brushed her hair back from her forehead, heat trailing wherever his fingers touched.
“I . . .” She couldn’t think clearly. “She died.” The words tumbled from her lips, and she wished she could take them back as she saw him frown. She should have at least tempered the words with some dignity instead of sounding crass. What was wrong with her?
He brushed his fingers over her cheek and took her chin between his thumb and finger. “I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t know. Something else we have in common.”
Something else? She wrinkled her brow in confusion. “What’s the other thing?” She was finding it difficult to catch her breath, and her chest was heavy; every inhalation intoxicated her with his scent.
A boyish grin spread over his lips. “We both want me to do this.”
He lowered his head, gently brushing her lower lip between his lips before allowing his tongue to explore her mouth. He tasted and teased, his fingers winding into her hair. She curled her hands against his chest, bunching his t-shirt in her fists as he groaned and pulled her closer. He turned toward her on the couch as he pressed her backward. Angela slid her hands up to his shoulders, grasping the solid wall of muscle beneath her fingers, twining them behind his neck, and pulling him more fully against her.
She lost herself in the ecstasy of his kiss, her desire exploding in her stomach and her heart bursting with pleasure at being wanted instead of needed. Derek’s fingers found the edge of her shirt, slipping just below the hem and grasping her waist as her back arched, pressing her against him, seeking a deeper connection. His hand trailed over her ribcage. His palm covered her breast, burning her skin through the thin lace covering her aching flesh. Derek’s lips found the tender skin of her neck as his fingers slipped past the material, and her head tipped back, her fingers burying into his hair. A whimper of delight escaped her lips unbidden as his other hand slid up her thigh.
Derek pulled away. “Angel, you make me forget that I’m supposed to stay away from you.” His breath was ragged as he whispered against her lips. “If we don’t stop now, I’m going to take you upstairs.” His promise hung in the air.
Shame flooded her. A few moments more and she would have willingly disregarded everything she was working to achieve for her father. His ability to chip away at the flimsy barriers she’d erected was going to be her downfall. She needed to avoid him whenever possible without making it look like it was intentional, or she might as well give up ever seeing her father sober.
As if sensing her retreat, Derek pressed a quick kiss to her swollen lips. “Don’t do that, Angel.”
“What?” She scooted into a sitting position, moving away from him.
“You’re putting that wall back up. I can see it in your gorgeous green eyes.” He reached for her hand and twined his fingers with hers, facing the corral, turning his attention back to the stars. “Tell me about your mother.”
“My mother?” The fire he ignited in her made her brain fuzzy and her body prone to act without any thought to consequences.
He chuckled as if he understood her confusion. “Tell me about her. What was she like?”
“She was pretty.” She glanced at their hands, which were clasped on his knee.
“I could have guessed that.” He gave her a heated gaze that made her toes want to curl with longing. “What was her favorite thing to do?”
Angela had avoided thinking about her mother for more years than she could remember. Memories did nothing but expose pain. But when Derek asked, she found herself thinking back with fondness, remembering some of the fun she’d had with her mother. “She sang, a lot. She used to sing while she unloaded the dishwasher, and we would use wooden spoons as microphones.”
“You sing?” His thumb was lazily tracing circles on the back of her hand, making it difficult to concentrate and remain emotionally distant.
“Not well,” she pursed her lips. “What about your mother?”
“I was too young to remember much. I remember her telling us bedtime stories. Scott and I shared a room, and she would pretend the bed was a rocket or pirate ship or race car.”
The sweet memory made her heart ache for the little boy he’d been. She could feel her heart waging a war with her mind, and logic was bound to lose if she didn’t distance herself. “I should go inside.”
Derek shook his head and slumped his shoulders. “And, there it is.”
She pulled her hand away from his and frowned at him. “What?”
“That wall. It’s about ten feet tall, made of bricks, and covered with electrified razor wire. You know, Angel, it’s not going to kill you to let someone get close.”
Angela stood up and glared at him. “I’m no angel. Anyone who thinks I am is going to be disappointed.” She spun on her heel, leaving him on the porch.
She hurried up the stairs and closed her door, trying to ignore the wrenching ache in her chest. Would a time ever come when she could be vulnerable or allow someone to see the authentic woman she hid behind this bitchy façade? But doing that meant sacrifice, and she couldn’t make that sacrifice yet. Someday, but not yet. Her father still needed her to remain focused. Maybe when he was well. Until that day, it didn’t matter how much she liked this family or how much Derek made her heart race and her mind spin; she had a job to do. This was the first time Joe had let her take the lead on a serious news story. There wasn’t room for failure. This story was the only way she would ever find freedom to live her own life.
DEREK SAT ON the porch as Angela bolted up the stairs, listening to her footsteps. The fact that she ran let him know he’d hit the mark. She was afraid to allow anyone close, and she shut down anytime he asked personal questions. This wasn’t about her job.
Derek waited until he heard the door upstairs close. He needed a cold shower, and he doubted even that would cool him off. He’d always been a flirt, but when he was near Angela, he couldn’t stop the slow burn that encompassed him. She had a way of turning him into a fumbling teenage boy again. He groaned, his pants becoming too tight, as he thought about their kiss and how, right now, she was preparing to climb into a bed only feet from his. His fingers still tingled from the contact with her silken skin; his clothing still carried her unique scent, teasing him. She was a vixen, tormenting him. But his need for her wasn’t confined to the way she set his body into a spiral of desire. There was pain in her eyes he longed to see disappear. He couldn’t put his finger on why it mattered to him, especially since he barely knew her. But he could sympathize with the torment he recognized and wanted to be the one who made the shadow of fear in her eyes vanish. Tonight she’d shown him glimpses of the woman behind the icy veneer, and he was determined to draw her out. He just had to make sure it wasn’t at the expense of his family.
Chapter Eleven
* * *
“MORNING, ANGEL. SLEEP well?” Derek smiled at her as she came into the kitchen before handing her a cup of coffee, complete with cream.
She took the cup and sipped the strong brew, grimacing. “No, and stop calling me that.”
As a matter of fact, she had spent the entire night tossing and turning before giving up at four in the morning, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She was frustrated—with him, with herself, with her situation—and saw no solution in sight.
He grinned as he reached for his own cup, plopping a straw cowboy hat onto her head. “You’re gonna need this today.”
It was at least two sizes too big. She could only imagine that she must look twelve with it on. “Why?”
“Because today we’re going to be out riding a bit longer and I don’t want you to burn that pretty ivory skin of yours.”
She groaned at the thought of another day in the saddle and glared at him. “I have sunscreen.”
“Trust me, you’ll want the hat once the sun comes up.” He finished his coffee and tossed her a banana. “Unless you’d rather have another apple,” he said, deliberately reminding her of their lesson yesterday when she ended up in his arms. Derek laughed. “No? Then let’s get moving. There are stalls to clean.” He led the way out the front door with her stumbling behind him.
“I’m cleaning what?” Why did she feel like she was constantly asking him questions without ever getting a straight answer? She followed a few feet behind him.
“Grab Honey and clip her on the lead, here,” he pointed at the rope hanging from the outside of Honey’s stall. “Then grab the wheelbarrow and pitchfork and clean her stall. When you finish, the brushes are in the tack room. I’ll bring the saddle and blankets out so you can saddle her.” He turned away and disappeared into the office, closing the door behind him.
Angela raised her brows in disbelief. Just because she watched him do it yesterday didn’t mean that she was ready to try it on her own. She threw the hat at the ground and reached for the halter, muttering curses under her breath. She wondered briefly if feigning helplessness might convince him to do it for her again. She played with the nylon lead rope for a moment, unsure what caused his dismissive attitude. Was he mad she rejected him last night?
“I’ll show him,” she muttered. She slid the stall door open and Honey glanced away from the last of her breakfast as she slipped the halter over her nose. Angela smiled at the mare’s cooperation as she dropped her head, allowing Angela to buckle it easier. “At least you’ll help me out, won’t you?” She patted the animal’s neck as she led her from the stall and into the aisle of the barn.
After clipping her outside the stall, Angela twisted her lips and lifted the end of the wheelbarrow to guide it to the stall. It teetered tentatively, almost toppling. She would never admit it to Derek, but she’d never used a wheelbarrow and it was harder than it first appeared. She reached for the pitchfork inside, dragging it into the stall behind her. She slipped it under the manure, wrinkling her nose in disgust, and lifted it toward the wheelbarrow in time for the manure to slip through, leaving only straw stuck to the tines. Sighing, she tried again. This time it fell on the side of the wheelbarrow, and she clenched her teeth.
“Ugh!” she groaned, blowing her hair away from her face. The horse snorted and bobbed her head in reply. “Shut up. How much do you eat anyway?” she complained.
“Having trouble?” She glanced up and saw Derek leaning against the frame of the doorway.
“I think you feed these horses too much.” He laughed and moved toward her, reaching for the pitchfork. “No, I can do this without your help,” she insisted.
“We need to get going or we’ll never be finished by lunchtime.”
“Then you do it if you’re in such a hurry.” She pressed the tool into his hands and stormed toward the tack room.
His laughter followed her and she felt her palm itch to smack the smug expression she was certain he was wearing from his handsome face. She reached for the bucket, which was full of brushes, curry combs, and hoof picks, and carried it out to the mare, deliberately ignoring the man in the stall. She looked at the bucket, trying to remember which brush came first.
“Curry comb.” She heard his voice call to her as he pushed the wheelbarrow out the back door of the barn.
“I know that,” she returned, glaring at his back as she reached into the bucket for the circular rubber tool.
She had no idea what she’d done to cause this change in him since last night. Maybe it isn’t him. Could it be me?
She’d lain awake most of the night, wondering if she had her priorities wrong. She spent so much of her life making plans for her father, hiding her need to help him behind a mask of ambition, that she isolated herself from life. She’d never had friendships with classmates or evenings out for drinks with coworkers. She was perfectly content to hide behind her façade of icy reserve, where no one could reach her or find out about her father and use that against her. As a result, she had no meaningful relationships at all. Not that she’d ever felt something missing—until Derek Chandler had awakened every nerve fiber in her body.
She dropped the curry into the bucket and reached for the soft brush, stroking the horse from behind her ears down her neck, letting the movement sooth her agitation. Derek walked by on his way to get his gelding from his stall.
“This one first.” He plucked the brush from her fingers and replaced it with the hard bristled brush before walking away.
Angela clenched her jaw, barely controlling her desire to throw the brush after him. “Hey!”
Derek spun on the low heel of his boot, turning to meet her gaze. His eyes glinted mischievously, but he sighed dramatically. “What?”
