build the ranch into one of the biggest cattle
ranches in Florida was nothing compared to the intense possessiveness he
felt for Michelle.
Finally he released her wrist, and she stood
immediately, moving away from him. She sipped at the coffee she still held, and
her eyes went to the window. "Your men got a big kick out of seeing your
car still here this morning. I didn't realize they'd be back, since they put up
the fencing yesterday."
Indifferent to his nakedness, he threw the
sheet back and got out of bed. "They didn't finish. They'll do the rest of
the job today, then move the herd to the east pasture tomorrow." He
waited, then said evenly, "It bothers you that they know?"
"Being snickered about over a beer
bothers me. It polishes up your image a little more, but all I'll be is the
most recent in a long line of one-nighters for you."
"Well, everyone will know differently
When you move in with me, won't they?" he asked arrogantly, walking into
the bathroom. "How long will it take you to pack?"
Stunned, Michelle whirled to stare at him,
but he'd already disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of the shower came
on. Move in with him? If there was any limit to his gall, she hadn't seen it
yet! She sat down on the edge of the bed, watching the bathroom door and
waiting for him to emerge as she fought the uneasy feeling of sliding further
and further down a precipitous slope. Control of her own life was slipping from
her hands, and she didn't know if she could stop it. It wasn't just that John
was so domineering, though he was; the problem was that, despite how much she
wished it were different, she was weak where he was concerned. She wanted to be
able to simply walk into his arms and let them lock around her, to rest against
him and let him handle everything. She was so tired, physically and mentally.
But if she let him take over completely, what would happen when he became bored
with her? She would be right back where she'd started, but with a broken heart
added to her problems.
The shower stopped running. An image of him
formed in her mind, powerfully muscled, naked, dripping wet. Drying himself
with her towels. Filling her bathroom with his male scent and presence. He
wouldn't look diminished or foolish in her very feminine rose-and-white
bathroom, nor would it bother him that he'd bathed with perfumed soap. He was
so intensely masculine that female surroundings merely accentuated that
masculinity.
She began to tremble, thinking of the things
he'd done during the night, the way he'd made her feel. She hadn't known her
body could take over like that, that she could revel in being possessed, and
despite the outdated notion that a man could physically "possess" a
woman, that was what had happened. She felt it, instinctively and deeply, the
sensation sinking into her bones.
He sauntered from the bathroom wearing only a
towel hitched low on his hips, the thick velvety fabric contrasting whitely
with the bronzed darkness of his abdomen. His hair and mustache still gleamed
wetly; a few drops of moisture glistened on his wide shoulders and in the curls
that darkened his broad chest. Her mouth went dry. His body hair followed the
tree of life pattern, with the tufts under his arms and curls across his chest,
then the narrowing line that ran down his abdomen before spreading again at his
groin. He was as superbly built as a triathlete, and she actually ached to
touch him, to run her palms all over him.
He gave her a hard, level look. "Stop
stalling and get packed."
"I'm not going." She tried to sound
strong about it; if her voice lacked the volume she'd wanted, at least it was
even.
"You'll be embarrassed if you don't have
anything on besides that robe when I carry you into my house," he warned
quietly.
"John—" She stopped, then
made a frustrated motion with her hand. "I don't want to get involved with
you."
"It's a little late to worry about that
now," he pointed out.
"I know," she whispered. "Last
night shouldn't
ranches in Florida was nothing compared to the intense possessiveness he
felt for Michelle.
Finally he released her wrist, and she stood
immediately, moving away from him. She sipped at the coffee she still held, and
her eyes went to the window. "Your men got a big kick out of seeing your
car still here this morning. I didn't realize they'd be back, since they put up
the fencing yesterday."
Indifferent to his nakedness, he threw the
sheet back and got out of bed. "They didn't finish. They'll do the rest of
the job today, then move the herd to the east pasture tomorrow." He
waited, then said evenly, "It bothers you that they know?"
"Being snickered about over a beer
bothers me. It polishes up your image a little more, but all I'll be is the
most recent in a long line of one-nighters for you."
"Well, everyone will know differently
When you move in with me, won't they?" he asked arrogantly, walking into
the bathroom. "How long will it take you to pack?"
Stunned, Michelle whirled to stare at him,
but he'd already disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of the shower came
on. Move in with him? If there was any limit to his gall, she hadn't seen it
yet! She sat down on the edge of the bed, watching the bathroom door and
waiting for him to emerge as she fought the uneasy feeling of sliding further
and further down a precipitous slope. Control of her own life was slipping from
her hands, and she didn't know if she could stop it. It wasn't just that John
was so domineering, though he was; the problem was that, despite how much she
wished it were different, she was weak where he was concerned. She wanted to be
able to simply walk into his arms and let them lock around her, to rest against
him and let him handle everything. She was so tired, physically and mentally.
But if she let him take over completely, what would happen when he became bored
with her? She would be right back where she'd started, but with a broken heart
added to her problems.
The shower stopped running. An image of him
formed in her mind, powerfully muscled, naked, dripping wet. Drying himself
with her towels. Filling her bathroom with his male scent and presence. He
wouldn't look diminished or foolish in her very feminine rose-and-white
bathroom, nor would it bother him that he'd bathed with perfumed soap. He was
so intensely masculine that female surroundings merely accentuated that
masculinity.
She began to tremble, thinking of the things
he'd done during the night, the way he'd made her feel. She hadn't known her
body could take over like that, that she could revel in being possessed, and
despite the outdated notion that a man could physically "possess" a
woman, that was what had happened. She felt it, instinctively and deeply, the
sensation sinking into her bones.
He sauntered from the bathroom wearing only a
towel hitched low on his hips, the thick velvety fabric contrasting whitely
with the bronzed darkness of his abdomen. His hair and mustache still gleamed
wetly; a few drops of moisture glistened on his wide shoulders and in the curls
that darkened his broad chest. Her mouth went dry. His body hair followed the
tree of life pattern, with the tufts under his arms and curls across his chest,
then the narrowing line that ran down his abdomen before spreading again at his
groin. He was as superbly built as a triathlete, and she actually ached to
touch him, to run her palms all over him.
He gave her a hard, level look. "Stop
stalling and get packed."
"I'm not going." She tried to sound
strong about it; if her voice lacked the volume she'd wanted, at least it was
even.
"You'll be embarrassed if you don't have
anything on besides that robe when I carry you into my house," he warned
quietly.
"John—" She stopped, then
made a frustrated motion with her hand. "I don't want to get involved with
you."
"It's a little late to worry about that
now," he pointed out.
"I know," she whispered. "Last
night shouldn't
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