don’t.”
“You have a ranch, but no horses?”
Cheyenne’s smile tilted. Luca saw that the conversation was making her uncomfortable. Good, he thought coldly. Let her be uncomfortable.
“I don’t breed horses, but I do own two.”
“Ah. On your Tennessee ranch?”
“It’s Texas. And no, I don’t have—”
The lady shrink put her hand over her husband’s.
“Are you interested in equine therapy?”
Cheyenne seemed to hesitate. “It’s an interesting field.”
“What I mean is, do you have a personal interest in it?”
“Now, Beverly,” the shrink’s husband said, smiling broadly, “don’t pry.”
“I’m not prying. I’d never pry. I’m just curious, is all. Equine therapy is a relatively new field and no one seems to have a firm set of statistics proving whether or not it’s effective over the long term. I thought, if Ms. McKenna had actually experienced it, her opinion would be interesting.”
Cheyenne’s smile had grown fixed. She seemed more than uncomfortable; the word that came to mind was desperate.
Good, Luca thought again or, at least, that was what he wanted to think, but there was something in her eyes, a trapped expression…
He put his napkin on the table, rose to his feet and drew back her chair.
She looked up at him.
“They’re playing our song,” he said briskly.
He figured the odds were good she’d tell him they didn’t have a song or that she’d sooner dance with a hippopotamus, but she got to her feet and said, “Yes, they are.”
He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. She went into his arms, but she kept what felt like the length of a football field between them.
He wasn’t going to tolerate that.
She stiffened as he drew her closer.
“Try looking like you’re enjoying this, McKenna.”
“Our song?” she said.
Luca had no idea what the band was playing. Now, he listened. And then he laughed.
“ Say Something .”
“I just did.”
“The song. It’s called Say Something . Seems appropriate, don’t you think? Especially the first line. ‘I’m giving up on you.’”
Her face was turned up to his. For a couple of seconds, her expression didn’t change. Then she smiled.
She had an amazing smile.
“I wouldn’t have picked you for a man who knew much about popular music.”
Luca turned her in a slow circle.
“I would not have picked you for a woman who would permit the blathering of fools to bother her.”
She tried to draw back, but he wasn’t going to tolerate that, either.
“Relax,” he said softly. “Feel the music.”
They moved together slowly for a few minutes. Then she sighed.
“I hate when people pry.”
“They wanted to know more about you.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Luca said, surprised at her naïveté.
“Yes, why. Why would they want to know more about me? I’m a stranger to them.”
“You’re not. At least, that’s how they see things. You’ve been in their homes, on their television sets, in the magazines they read.”
The music had changed. Midnight , by Coldplay. The song was as slow and plaintive as the last one. It suited what he felt, suited the feel of having her in his arms. His hand slid down her spine, settled just at its sweet indentation. He lowered his head a little, enough so he could smell the light scent of her skin and hair.
If they were alone, he thought, if they were alone…
“That they’ve seen me pretending doesn’t entitle them to ask me personal questions.”
Her answer puzzled him.
“Pretending?”
“It’s what models do.”
He turned her again. The floor was crowded; they had little space to maneuver in. That was fine with him. It meant he could keep her close.
“That’s an interesting way to put it. That what you do is pretense.”
“What else would you call it?”
“I don’t know. Acting, perhaps.”
“It’s the same thing.”
Dio , she felt wonderful in his arms.
He didn’t want her to feel wonderful. He didn’t want to think about how
“You have a ranch, but no horses?”
Cheyenne’s smile tilted. Luca saw that the conversation was making her uncomfortable. Good, he thought coldly. Let her be uncomfortable.
“I don’t breed horses, but I do own two.”
“Ah. On your Tennessee ranch?”
“It’s Texas. And no, I don’t have—”
The lady shrink put her hand over her husband’s.
“Are you interested in equine therapy?”
Cheyenne seemed to hesitate. “It’s an interesting field.”
“What I mean is, do you have a personal interest in it?”
“Now, Beverly,” the shrink’s husband said, smiling broadly, “don’t pry.”
“I’m not prying. I’d never pry. I’m just curious, is all. Equine therapy is a relatively new field and no one seems to have a firm set of statistics proving whether or not it’s effective over the long term. I thought, if Ms. McKenna had actually experienced it, her opinion would be interesting.”
Cheyenne’s smile had grown fixed. She seemed more than uncomfortable; the word that came to mind was desperate.
Good, Luca thought again or, at least, that was what he wanted to think, but there was something in her eyes, a trapped expression…
He put his napkin on the table, rose to his feet and drew back her chair.
She looked up at him.
“They’re playing our song,” he said briskly.
He figured the odds were good she’d tell him they didn’t have a song or that she’d sooner dance with a hippopotamus, but she got to her feet and said, “Yes, they are.”
He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. She went into his arms, but she kept what felt like the length of a football field between them.
He wasn’t going to tolerate that.
She stiffened as he drew her closer.
“Try looking like you’re enjoying this, McKenna.”
“Our song?” she said.
Luca had no idea what the band was playing. Now, he listened. And then he laughed.
“ Say Something .”
“I just did.”
“The song. It’s called Say Something . Seems appropriate, don’t you think? Especially the first line. ‘I’m giving up on you.’”
Her face was turned up to his. For a couple of seconds, her expression didn’t change. Then she smiled.
She had an amazing smile.
“I wouldn’t have picked you for a man who knew much about popular music.”
Luca turned her in a slow circle.
“I would not have picked you for a woman who would permit the blathering of fools to bother her.”
She tried to draw back, but he wasn’t going to tolerate that, either.
“Relax,” he said softly. “Feel the music.”
They moved together slowly for a few minutes. Then she sighed.
“I hate when people pry.”
“They wanted to know more about you.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Luca said, surprised at her naïveté.
“Yes, why. Why would they want to know more about me? I’m a stranger to them.”
“You’re not. At least, that’s how they see things. You’ve been in their homes, on their television sets, in the magazines they read.”
The music had changed. Midnight , by Coldplay. The song was as slow and plaintive as the last one. It suited what he felt, suited the feel of having her in his arms. His hand slid down her spine, settled just at its sweet indentation. He lowered his head a little, enough so he could smell the light scent of her skin and hair.
If they were alone, he thought, if they were alone…
“That they’ve seen me pretending doesn’t entitle them to ask me personal questions.”
Her answer puzzled him.
“Pretending?”
“It’s what models do.”
He turned her again. The floor was crowded; they had little space to maneuver in. That was fine with him. It meant he could keep her close.
“That’s an interesting way to put it. That what you do is pretense.”
“What else would you call it?”
“I don’t know. Acting, perhaps.”
“It’s the same thing.”
Dio , she felt wonderful in his arms.
He didn’t want her to feel wonderful. He didn’t want to think about how
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