Miss Greenhorn by Diana Palmer Page B

reason for that expression. He waited until she’d placed a meager portion on her plate and then he walked over and drew her by the arm to the table where his own coffee and food were waiting and seated her.
    â€œWhat prompted that God-awful expression?” he asked, letting his dark eyes slip to the deep neckline of her sleeveless magenta blouse before they held hers.
    â€œI was thinking about Harry’s hands,” she said without considering her words, and then blushed as Nate’s eyebrows went up to the neatly stitched cut on his forehead.
    â€œComparing them to mine?” he asked quietly.
    She grimaced. “I wish you wouldn’t,” she murmured, glancing nervously around to see if anyone had heard. But the others were at the opposite end of the patio, talking shop as they sat together at three grouped tables.
    He lifted a forkful of steak to his mouth, his smile faintly smug. “You’ll pay a high price for that wedding ring if you don’t enjoy having him touch you.”
    She stared down at her plate, hardly seeing anything on it. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life alone. I’ve had enough of that already. There will be compensations.”
    â€œName one.”
    â€œI’ll have someone to watch television with,” she murmured dryly.
    â€œBuy a dog. He’ll have the added attraction of being someone to take on walks and buy presents for.”
    â€œI can take Harry on walks and buy presents for him,” she said stubbornly.
    His eyebrows arched. “Sure you can, honey, but the dog won’t expect you to put his kids through college. Or can you tell me that Harry won’t expect your help financially?”
    â€œHarry and I agreed…” she began.
    â€œDamn Harry,” he said, his eyes kindling. His gaze fell to her soft mouth and lingered there. “I don’t want supper. I want you.”
    â€œDon’t,” she moaned. She had to drag her eyes away from his. She forced herself to taste the steak. It was probably delicious, but she couldn’t really savor it with him looking at her like that.
    â€œI don’t think I slept five minutes the whole night,” he continued quietly. “What we did together haunted me.”
    â€œI don’t want to have a love affair with you,” she said, glaring at him.
    â€œIf you love me, why not?” he asked.
    â€œBecause sex is sordid without mutual feeling,” she returned icily. “Don’t you ever listen to the sermons when you go to church?”
    He shrugged. “Not usually. You could go with us next Sunday and I’ll try.”
    â€œI won’t be here next Sunday,” she said, and went white when she said it, because it was only then that she fully accepted that the group was leaving Saturday. Tears stung her eyes and made them suddenly bright, and her throat felt as if it had a pincushion in it.
    His jaw tautened at the look on her face. “Don’t look like that,” he warned gruffly. “I’ll come right over that table after you if you do, and to hell with gossip. I can’t bear to watch you cry!”
    She lowered her face and struggled for composure. “Why do you do this to me?” she wailed.
    â€œWhy do you do it to me?” he countered. “My God, do you realize I’ve been stuck out here in the sand for over three years without a woman? I’ve been celibate so long, I’m surprised that my body even remembered how to react when it had a half-naked woman against it!”
    She looked up, shocked. “What?”
    â€œI’ve been celibate for three years,” he said, slowly as if she was too thick to understand words of more than one syllable. “You aren’t the only one who had to do some renovating on yourself. I’ve never been much to look at, but I had money, so there was the occasional woman who gave her all for a few luxuries in the past. But I hated