have happened."
"Damn it to hell, woman, it should've
happened a long time ago." Irritated, he dropped the towel to the floor
and picked up his briefs. "Moving in with me is the only sensible thing to
do. I normally work twelve hours a day, sometimes more. Sometimes I'm up all
night Then there's the paperwork to do in the evenings; hell, you know what it
takes to run a ranch. When would I get over to see you? Once a week? I'll be
damned if I'll settle for an occasional quickie."
"What about
my
ranch? Who'll
take care of it while I make myself convenient to you whenever you get the
urge?"
He gave a short bark of laughter. "Baby,
if you lay down every time I got the urge, you'd spend the next year on your
back. I get hard every time I look at you."
Involuntarily her eyes dropped down his body,
and a wave of heat washed over her when she saw the proof of his words swelling
against the white fabric of his underwear. She jerked her gaze away, swallowing
to relieve the dry tightness of her throat "I have to take care of my
ranch," she repeated stubbornly, as if they were magic words that would
keep him at bay.
He pulled on his pants, impatience deepening
the lines that bracketed his mouth. "I'll take care of both ranches. Face
facts, Michelle. You need help. You can't do it on your own."
"Maybe not, but I need to try. Don't you
understand?" Desperation edged into her tone. "I've never had a job, never
done anything to support myself, but I'm trying to learn. You're stepping right
into Dad's shoes and taking over, handling everything yourself, but what
happens to me when you get bored and move on to the next woman? I still won't
know how to support myself!"
John paused in the act of zipping his pants,
glaring at her. Damn it, what did she think he'd do, toss her out the door with
a casual, "It's been fun, but I'm tired of you now?" He'd make
certain she was on her feet, that the ranch was functioning on a profitable
basis, if the day ever came when he looked at her and
didn't
want her.
He couldn't imagine it. The desire for her consumed him like white-burning
fire, sometimes banked, but never extinguished, heating his body and mind. He'd
wanted her when she was eighteen and too young to handle him, and he wanted her
now.
He controlled his anger and merely said,
"I'll take care of you."
She gave him a tight little smile.
"Sure." In her experience, people looked after themselves. Roger's
parents had protected him to keep his slipping sanity from casting scandal on
their
family name. Her own father, as loving as he'd been, had ignored her plea for
help because he didn't like to think his daughter was unhappy; it was more
comfortable for him to decide she'd been exaggerating. The complaint she'd
filed had disappeared because some judge had thought it would be advantageous
to make friends with the powerful Beckmans. Roger's housekeeper had looked the
other way because she liked her cushy well-paid job. Michelle didn't blame
them, but she'd learned not to expect help, or to trust her life to others.
John snatched his shirt from the floor, his
face dark with fury. "Do you want a written agreement?"
Tiredly she rubbed her forehead. He wasn't
used to anyone refusing to obey him whenever he barked out an order. If she
said yes, she would be confirming what he'd thought of her in the beginning,
that her body could be bought. Maybe he even wanted her to say yes; then she'd
be firmly under his control, bought and paid for. But all she said was,
"No, that isn't what I want."
"Then what, damn it?"
Just his love. To spend the rest of her life
with him. That was all.
She might as well wish for the moon.
"I want to do it on my own."
The harshness faded from his face. "You
can't." Knowledge gave the words a finality that lashed at her.
"I can try."
The hell of it was, he had to respect the
need to try, even though nature and logic said she wouldn't succeed. She wasn't
physically strong enough to do what had to be done, and she didn't
"Damn it to hell, woman, it should've
happened a long time ago." Irritated, he dropped the towel to the floor
and picked up his briefs. "Moving in with me is the only sensible thing to
do. I normally work twelve hours a day, sometimes more. Sometimes I'm up all
night Then there's the paperwork to do in the evenings; hell, you know what it
takes to run a ranch. When would I get over to see you? Once a week? I'll be
damned if I'll settle for an occasional quickie."
"What about
my
ranch? Who'll
take care of it while I make myself convenient to you whenever you get the
urge?"
He gave a short bark of laughter. "Baby,
if you lay down every time I got the urge, you'd spend the next year on your
back. I get hard every time I look at you."
Involuntarily her eyes dropped down his body,
and a wave of heat washed over her when she saw the proof of his words swelling
against the white fabric of his underwear. She jerked her gaze away, swallowing
to relieve the dry tightness of her throat "I have to take care of my
ranch," she repeated stubbornly, as if they were magic words that would
keep him at bay.
He pulled on his pants, impatience deepening
the lines that bracketed his mouth. "I'll take care of both ranches. Face
facts, Michelle. You need help. You can't do it on your own."
"Maybe not, but I need to try. Don't you
understand?" Desperation edged into her tone. "I've never had a job, never
done anything to support myself, but I'm trying to learn. You're stepping right
into Dad's shoes and taking over, handling everything yourself, but what
happens to me when you get bored and move on to the next woman? I still won't
know how to support myself!"
John paused in the act of zipping his pants,
glaring at her. Damn it, what did she think he'd do, toss her out the door with
a casual, "It's been fun, but I'm tired of you now?" He'd make
certain she was on her feet, that the ranch was functioning on a profitable
basis, if the day ever came when he looked at her and
didn't
want her.
He couldn't imagine it. The desire for her consumed him like white-burning
fire, sometimes banked, but never extinguished, heating his body and mind. He'd
wanted her when she was eighteen and too young to handle him, and he wanted her
now.
He controlled his anger and merely said,
"I'll take care of you."
She gave him a tight little smile.
"Sure." In her experience, people looked after themselves. Roger's
parents had protected him to keep his slipping sanity from casting scandal on
their
family name. Her own father, as loving as he'd been, had ignored her plea for
help because he didn't like to think his daughter was unhappy; it was more
comfortable for him to decide she'd been exaggerating. The complaint she'd
filed had disappeared because some judge had thought it would be advantageous
to make friends with the powerful Beckmans. Roger's housekeeper had looked the
other way because she liked her cushy well-paid job. Michelle didn't blame
them, but she'd learned not to expect help, or to trust her life to others.
John snatched his shirt from the floor, his
face dark with fury. "Do you want a written agreement?"
Tiredly she rubbed her forehead. He wasn't
used to anyone refusing to obey him whenever he barked out an order. If she
said yes, she would be confirming what he'd thought of her in the beginning,
that her body could be bought. Maybe he even wanted her to say yes; then she'd
be firmly under his control, bought and paid for. But all she said was,
"No, that isn't what I want."
"Then what, damn it?"
Just his love. To spend the rest of her life
with him. That was all.
She might as well wish for the moon.
"I want to do it on my own."
The harshness faded from his face. "You
can't." Knowledge gave the words a finality that lashed at her.
"I can try."
The hell of it was, he had to respect the
need to try, even though nature and logic said she wouldn't succeed. She wasn't
physically strong enough to do what had to be done, and she didn't
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