by Renee Roszel
“Do I do that?” Turning to face her, he shot her a crooked smile, but his eyes gleamed like cool metal. They were closer now—too close—but Sara made no effort to move away, though something told her she should.
“Ransom Shepard, you’re terminally bedeviling,” she admonished, frustrated by the insolent mask he hid behind. “Why I thought we could actually talk I’ll never know.”
He remained absolutely motionless for a moment, watching her. “All right, then—yes,” he said finally, “I loved my wife.” Unnerving Sara with the gruffness of his admission, he went on, “I loved her right up until the day she died. Does that direct answer cheer you up?”
Sara’s throat closed, and she suddenly felt very sad. Sad that she’d forced him to dredge up a painful subject, and sad because she really didn’t want to hear how deeply he’d cherished his wife. Pulling her lips between her teeth, she scanned the grass at her feet, nodding jerkily. “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered after a taut minute. “That was none of my business.”
“That’s true,” he agreed harshly. “Why do you give a damn, anyway?”
She swallowed, shaking her head. Her voice would have betrayed emotions she didn’t dare reveal.
“I think I know. I think we both know,” he said, his tone relenting slightly. “You’re a very attractive woman, Sara. I think you know I’ve wanted to make love to you ever since we first met.”
Her head shot up. This wasn’t what she’d expected him to say at all, but it was having an effect.
His manner grew cynical. “You’ve gone pale. Does the idea of my lovemaking really disgust you so?”
She sat there blankly, her heart pounding, unable to speak. She was afraid her own fantasies about him would be given away by any attempt at a denial.
“To be honest, Sara, I don’t want to give a damn about your opinion—or about your body—but I do.” His voice seductive and deep, he challenged softly, “And I think, if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll realize you feel the same way about me.”
“I...” The failed sentence came out like a wistful sigh. It was hard to keep her thoughts coherent when she was so near him. His eyes were mesmerizing, his mouth tempting.
As she stared, transfixed, his features suddenly darkened and he muttered, “Dammit, Sara...”
The next instant she found herself being kissed, as hands, large, strong and warm pressed her back onto the cool tundra grasses. His weight was deliciously welcome as he slanted across her body, his lips, tender, yet demanding against hers.
She was startled, but unable—no, unwilling—to struggle against what was happening. His palms were cradling her cheeks, his fingers stroking her temples. His mouth held hers fast in a sweet prison overflowing with dizzying sensations completely foreign to Sara.
She’d been kissed before, but not with such finesse, with such depth of passionate understanding. His teeth nipped at her lips, tantalizing, making her ache for more.
Barely aware of her actions, she lifted her arms to encircle his shoulders and sighed against his mouth, opening her lips in shy invitation.
He groaned, clearly delighted with her surrender, and his kiss deepened. Sara’s core grew fevered, fairly throbbing with reaction to his shrewd, masterful seduction. This man was a wanton sorcerer. How had he managed to bring her to the brink of ultimate abandon? He’d uttered not a single soft word. Only an angry curse had been on his lips as he’d taken her in his arms and swept her away from her good sense to a dreamworld where she had no business dwelling.
Hadn’t she been warned? Hadn’t Ransom told her she’d been left behind because he needed a woman? What in heaven’s name did she think she was doing flat on her back being no more than a long-overdue fling for this man. With a smothered cry, she moved her arms from their possessive hold about him and pressed them feebly against his chest.
“No...” she managed, twisting her face away. “Get off of me!” Her voice was a miserable half moan, half wail. “You men are so predictable! I wish I had a dollar for every sleazy pass I’ve had made at me. I’d be richer than... than you!”
He remained above her, supporting himself on one elbow. His expression was subdued, but there was something unsettling that glistened in his eyes, beckoning her. It was clear he had been affected, too, and didn’t want this wild interlude between them to end this way.
“Sara,” he whispered hoarsely, covering her hand with his.
In a surge of self-preservation, she pulled from his grasp, struggling to her feet to put much-needed distance between them. As she stumbled backward, the feel of his kiss still sizzling on her lips, she was hit by a horrible truth. She wanted very badly to have this man make love to her. There was something about him that touched her deep inside, something unnameable, risky, considering the fact that he’d so recently admitted he’d loved his wife very deeply and obviously still grieved for her.
Now she understood the reason she’d been unable to ask him why he didn’t want to care about her opinion. She’d sensed this coming between them. And with his scandalously lusty kiss, the truth had caught her full force.
“Good-time Sara,” she flared breathlessly. “Is that what you want me to be?”
He was frowning now. “It would make things simpler, yes,” he muttered.
She recoiled at his bluntness. “And you think.. .you really believe I’d have made love to you out here on the grass?” she cried, dismayed.
His nostrils flaring with ire, he sat up, yanking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t put much thought into it, Sara,” he groused. “It just happened. Like lightening, unpredictable and beautiful.”
And dangerous! she added silently.
The tensing of his jaw betrayed his frustration. “Damn me,” he snarled. “I have to admit, Dorfman was right. I’ve been without a woman too long.” Swearing impatiently, he shifted his gaze to her, his expression critical. “But judging by what happened a minute ago, I’d wager you’re not as immune to me as you’d like to think.”
She felt a painful catch in her chest and hoped it wasn’t because his aim was so accurate. Going quivery and defensive, she charged, “It must be difficult to carry around an ego as unwieldy as yours!”
His eyes grew cold. “It’s not ego, Sara. It’s the raw truth. You know it, blast it! I wasn’t the one giving off ‘kiss me’ signals.”
Her mouth sagged in disbelief. “And to think less than an hour ago I could have sworn you were an honorable man,” she hissed, shaking her head in hot denial.
“Even honorable men have needs,” he said. “I haven’t had a woman in a long time, and I have no soft emotions left to give, but that doesn’t exempt me from human needs. So, Sara, if you’re not liberated enough to follow through with your come-ons, then stay the hell away from me.”
She stared, horrified. She hadn’t come on to him! “I never...” she protested indignantly.
One dark brow lifted in scorn. “You can lie to me if you must, but don’t lie to yourself.”
Her face burned with mortification. She knew she’d had thoughts, fantasies of kissing him, of him kissing her, but she’d had no idea she was telegraphing her desires so clearly. Upset, she blurted, “What you’re saying...” She had to stop and swallow to calm her voice. “What you’re saying is, you think I was asking to be tossed on my back? That it was my fault?”
With a twisted, contemptuous flash of teeth, he turned toward the ocean, stretching out his long legs before him. “Go home, Sara,” he demanded coldly. “Go home before I do something I’ll regret.”
“What do you want to do? Punch me?”
He cast her a heavy-lidded glance. “I want to have wild, hot sex with you.”
She heard herself gasp.
A short, malignant chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “Don’t panic. I won’t attack you, Sara. I don’t want a relationship, and you don’t want to feel used. So, there’s no point in starting something we’d both be sorry for.”
The fierce bitterness in his
voice startled her and she frowned down at him. He was withdrawing from her before her very eyes. Evidently, now that sanity had returned, he was regretting his lapse.
Though the day was relatively mild, Sara was suddenly very cold, and she shivered. Hugging herself, she began to back away. Her stomach clenched. Why? It couldn’t be regret that he’d slipped back behind his self-protective mask and become, once again, an aloof enigma.
She should be happy he was ignoring her. Hadn’t she been the one to demand that they end the kiss? He hadn’t rejected her; it had been the other way around. Why, then, did she feel so rejected? Was she going nuts? Her breathing became labored, coming in harsh little pants, and her pulse raced like that of a frightened doe.
Having it end like this was for the best, she told herself. Even if she had given in to his sexual charms, he’d already admitted he’d make no effort to carry on a long-distance relationship between his salmon factories in Alaska and her apartment in Andover, Kansas.
She tried to reassure herself. This swift end to any brief, tawdry physical alliance is absolutely the best thing I could have done. Absolutely the best...
Ransom was scanning the sea, leaning casually back on his elbows, plainly unconcerned that she was lingering nearby. She stood there, stone-still, watching him watch the ocean. After a very short time, the pang of his emotional abandonment became intolerable, and she whirled from him and broke into a run. As she lurched away, she covered her mouth with both hands to staunch the sobs of disappointment and regret she could neither quell nor understand.
CHAPTER SIX
SARAS HEAD JERKED UP. She thought she heard a strange noise coming from the kitchen. Running water? Curious, she made her way toward the sound.
It was Tuesday morning, and since their kiss on the cliff, Ransom and Sara had coexisted with strained civility. Their eye contact had been brief and hostile, at least on her part. His gunmetal gaze had been impenetrable.
Right now she wasn’t sure where he was, but she knew he wasn’t in the house. So what was the odd noise coming from the kitchen? If she didn’t know better she would have sworn someone was washing dishes.
Rounding the corner, she saw Tag and Lynn hunched together near the sink. Tag was pouring dishwashing detergent into the running torrent, making bubbles mound into the air like clouds, while Lynn thumbed through a book.
“What’s going on here?” Sara asked.
They turned as one, both looking deadly serious. Tag shrugged. “We’re sick of salmon and beans.”
Lynn glanced back down at the book and addressed Tag. “Think we have enough flour for pancakes?”
“We’ve got tons. Syrup?”
Lynn grimaced and walked to the pantry. Opening it, she poked her head inside, shouting back, ‘Two big bottles. So it’s pancakes and bacon?”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll wash the griddle, you find some plates.”
Sara stared in awe as Lynn dragged a couple of plates off the counter and slipped them into the sudsy water.
“I’d better get glasses, too,” she muttered.
“Right. And forks, maybe knives.”
Lynn nodded and began to scrounge silverware and glasses from the messy kitchen.
“Oh, pooh,” Lynn groused. “We’re gonna need mixing bowls.”
“Yeah,” Tag agreed reluctantly. “Maybe we’d better just start washing, then worry about what we’ll need later.”
Lynn gathered up an armload of china, pots and pans and settled them in the sink. Apparently having forgotten that Sara was standing there, the pair went about washing and drying. Sara was glued to the entrance, transfixed as they began to stack dishes on shelves.
She finally managed, “Aren’t you going to ask me for help?”
Lynn peered over her shoulder and grumbled, “Yeah, sure. Since when have you helped lately?”
Sara pursed her lips. It was true. She’d followed Ransom’s rules, even though it had been against her will. “You have a point.” With that, she turned away, hiding a smile. “Enjoy your pancakes.”
“No thanks to you,” Lynn griped.
Still dazed by the miracle she’d witnessed in the kitchen, Sara took her jacket from the entryway closet and wandered outside. She’d been walking for several minutes before she realized she was actually looking for Ransom. It wasn’t because she wanted to see him, she told herself sternly; it was because he should know about the phenomenon taking place inside the house.
As she hiked toward the cliffs where she knew he observed and recorded the goings-on of the island’s nesting birds, she began to have a nagging feeling. He’d been right all along. His reverse-psychology ploy was working.
She shook her head incredulously and plunged her hands into her pockets. The man’s ulterior motives for his iron-fisted slovenliness had begun to pay off—unless this spate of dishwashing and cooking by the kids was a wild, once-in-a-lifetime fluke. She rather doubted that, though, and hoped for the best.
As Sara trudged on, she noticed that the sky was overcast and rain threatened, but somehow the gloom didn’t dampen her spirits as it had when she’d first arrived. These slate-gray heavens enhanced the vivid greens of the tundra and gave a deep, cobalt richness to the ocean. She loved the sunny days, of course, but she’d acquired a fondness for those times when nature cast its somber cloak around the island’s ebony cliffs and rolling hills.
She only wished the man of mystery she sought made her feel as welcome as his island. Unfortunately for her peace of mind, he did have the same capacity as his tempestuous isle to make her feel alive, tingling and aware of the fact that she was young and in the full bloom of her womanhood. She shivered with the truth of it. For years she’d hardly noticed that she’d neglected her personal life in favor of caring for her sister. But since his kiss, she felt it with the heaviness of a boulder on her heart. And who was to blame for this discontent, this worrisome self-revelation?
She scanned the horizon and saw him lying on his stomach, the binoculars drawn up to his eyes as he watched the cliffs below his vantagepoint. She stiffened, disturbed by the sight of him.
When she reached his side, she dropped to her knees near the edge of the cliff. “Ransom—”
“Shush,” he whispered, with a warning touch on her supporting arm. His scrutiny never left whatever he was observing on some unknown outcropping of rocks below.
She dropped her gaze to see his hand curl about her wrist as he added in a barely audible tone, “Don’t break the mood.”
She frowned, wanting to ask what mood she could possibly be breaking, but she remained quiet. Her breathing grew shallow and erratic as she tried to ignore the feel of his warm fingers. After a prolonged moment, when he didn’t release her, she slipped her arm out of his grasp and silently took deep, calming breaths.
A half minute later, he rolled to his side and looked up at her, his expression serious, but not angry. “What is it?”
She peered over the cliff, finally asking, “What mood?”
One of his dark brows arched. “Have you no romance in you, Sara? This is, after all, mating season.”
His meaning came to her like a dash of cold water in the face, and she felt a twinge of embarrassment. Maybe because they’d almost done the same thing on these very cliffs yesterday. “Uh, oh...” she mumbled, then faltered to a halt.
He inclined his head, admonishing, “You wouldn’t want to be responsible for a declining kittiwake population, would you?”
She frowned. “Are they endangered?”
Sitting up, he brushed grass from the front of his sweater. “No, but they were having such a good time.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she refused to be baited. “Ransom, I came out here to tell you something.”
He drew up one leg and encircled his knee with a muscular arm. “All right,” he prompted. “Tell me something.”
He was inspecting her with those extraordinary eyes, eyes that sparkled with a mixture of peril and enchantment, like silver lightning. F
or some reason, faced with his intense stare, her brain short-circuited, and she forgot the important information she’d come out here to pass along. At a loss, she opened her mouth a couple of times, but nothing came out.
He smiled mildly. “That’s very interesting. You might want to stop and catch your breath.”
She jumped to her feet. “I’m sure you think you’re hysterically funny, but—”
“Dad?” came a distant call.
Sara turned and saw Tag loping along the open field. By the sound at her back, she could tell Ransom had come to his feet.
When the dark-haired boy reached them, he was panting.
“Problem?” Ransom asked.
Tag shook his head. “Nah. It’s just that Lynn and me have some pancakes cooking. We wondered if you’d like some?”
Sara was startled by this uncharacteristic generosity, and she looked at Ransom in order to see his reaction. He appeared calm, but that familiar animosity had come into the depths of his eyes. Pursing his lips, he nodded, “Sounds good. I might have some.”
“Ten minutes?” Tag asked.
His father half smiled, but it was more mechanical then genuine. “You’ve got a deal.”
Tag nodded and turned, but before he’d taken a step, he looked back, his expression sheepish. “Dad?” he asked, sounding nervous.
“Yes?”
“What about dinner?”
Ransom shrugged his big shoulders nonchalantly. “What about it?”
“Uh, maybe...” The boy cast his gaze to his feet, and Sara’s heart went out to him. Whatever he’d done wrong, he was trying to make amends. She prayed this would be the end of the silent father-son feud. “We—me and Lynn—were thinkin’,” Tag went on, “maybe, if we made breakfast, you’d cook us something for dinner.”
Sara watched in hopeful anticipation as Ransom considered his son with a wordless frown. Finally, clearing his throat and drawing Tag’s skittish gaze, Ransom asked, “When did I ask you to paint the porch?”
