Rebel by Heather Graham

on the lawn—and the cunning power with which she had bested her opponent at swordplay. A burning tension tormented the length of him, and for the first time since he had begun with this obsession, he reminded himself that she had grown into a rare beauty indeed, perhaps one of themost beautiful women in all his acquaintance. Then he mocked himself, wondering if he hadn’t realized it all the time, if he hadn’t been as obsessed with the feel of her flesh, the curve of her breasts, as he had been with his fury against O’Neill.
    Marriage.
    A damned stiff payment for obsessive desire.
    She looked forward again, long blond hair tousled from the ride and teasing his nose. He gritted his teeth and leaned low against her to whisper against her ear, “We face the barracudas.”
    He felt a slight trembling within her.
    “Afraid?” he mocked.
    Her shoulders squared. She twisted again, cat’s eyes narrowed as they fell on his.
    “Of what?” she demanded.
    “Facing them all down.”
    “No,” she assured him flatly.
    “Ah, then, are you afraid of me?” he demanded.
    “Never,” she assured him coolly, yet she looked quickly back to the house and he thought he felt the slightest trembling within her again….
    He suddenly nudged his heels hard against his borrowed horse and they bolted across the lawn. One good thing, he thought: Alaina McMann could ride like the wind, swim like a fish, run like a deer. She was nature’s own child, her father’s daughter all the way.
    He reined in at the house, leaped down from the horse, and reached up to help her down. Cat’s eyes touched his. He swept her down before him, close against him. She slid against the length of his body to the ground and he whispered to her, “Remember the game, my love.”
    Rich honey lashes fell over her cheeks; she was still shaking. Whatever game he was playing, this was not so easy for her.
    Was she in pain? Because of Peter O’Neill? The thought was enough to give anyone apoplexy.
    He caught her hand. He gave her no more chance to protest, but drew her along with him into the house.
    Cimarron was aglow. Lights blazed within; the exuberant sound of fiddles filled the night. As they stepped into the breezeway, Ian saw that the doorways to the parlorand the library had been opened to the grand hall to create a massive ballroom of most of the downstairs. Guests danced, milled at a punch table, talked, flirted, teased—and argued.
    Ian saw that gossip had preceded them home—but that his parents and Teddy McMann had apparently united against it. His mother and father stood together at the rear of the punch table. His mother was chatting away with Teddy. Teddy, his light blue eyes looking a bit lost, was valiantly trying to keep up with Tara and pretend that nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.
    Ian noted that though Peter stood by his newly announced fiancee, he was also close to the musicians. Peter whispered something to the men as Ian and Alaina walked in and the music came to an abrupt and jarring halt.
    For a moment, they were frozen in an awkward tableau; fiddles remained poised, dancers remained upon the floor—and all eyes turned toward Ian and Alaina. Including those of Teddy McMann and lan’s parents. “Don’t you dare stand there looking guilty,” Ian warned Alaina.
    “I’m not guilty!” she said indignantly.
    His hand rested upon her back and he felt the stiffening of her spine. Good. They’d both need stiff spines to get through the night.
    “Ian!”
    His brother, Julian, younger than him by a bit more than a year and nearly his twin in appearance, suddenly came forward to greet him. They embraced one another warmly. As they drew apart, Ian grimaced, recognizing the light of pure devilment in Julian’s eyes.
    Whatever was up, his brother surely intended to torment him in private. In public, Julian intended to stand by his side, and damn all those who would come between them.
    Ian ignored the continued silence in the