Page 11 of The Rancher's Pregnancy Surprise

No man looks at a woman the way he looks at me without wanting something.

The question is: what does Ronan want from me?

And more disturbingly: why am I so tempted to give it to him?

Chapter Five

I SPLASH COLD WATERon my face before stepping out of the tiny bathroom. My reflection shows a woman I barely recognize—flushed, disheveled, eyes bright with something dangerous. Taking a deep breath, I smooth my hair and straighten my clothes, as if that could somehow restore my composure.

When I return to my seat, I deliberately avoid looking his way. I can feel Ronan's eyes on me like a physical touch, trailing heat across my skin. I stare resolutely out the window at the midnight landscape rushing past, but it's no use. The darkness only serves as a mirror, reflecting his image to me.

The air between us crackles with unspoken tension. Each breath feels heavy in my lungs. My breasts seem to swell beneath my sweater, and to my mortification, my nipples harden into tight peaks. I cross my arms over my chest, hoping he hasn't noticed, but the subtle shift in his breathing tells me he has.

I bite my lip hard, using the pain to ground myself. I will not give in to this... whatever this is. I've made that mistake before, letting physical attraction cloud my judgment.

Closing my eyes, I force myself to think of anything but the man sitting across from me. The gentle hum of the bus engine eventually lulls me into an uneasy sleep.

When I wake again, the world outside is still dark. I check my watch, squinting at the illuminated dial.Four in the morning?I've been asleep for hours.

My neck aches from the awkward position, and I roll my shoulders to ease the stiffness. Almost against my will, my eyes drift to Ronan.

He's asleep, his imposing frame somehow made vulnerable by unconsciousness. With his features relaxed, he looks younger, and the hard lines of his face softened. But even in sleep, there's something undeniably seductive about him—the way his dark lashes fan against his cheeks, the slight part of his lips, the strong column of his throat.

I don't realize how long I've been staring until I see his lips slowly curve into that infuriating smirk, even though his eyes remain closed.

"It's going to be really hard if you keep looking at me like that."

Aaaargh.

Does this man ever run out of innuendos to make a girl turn red as a tomato?

I stand abruptly, not sure where I'm going—the bathroom again, maybe, or just to pace the aisle—anything to put some distance between us.

But before I can take a single step, his hand catches my wrist. The contact sends a jolt of electricity up my arm. I freeze, caught between pulling away and... something else.

"Running again?" he asks softly.

"I'm not running."

"Aren't you?" His thumb traces circles on the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. "You've been running since the moment we met."

"You don't know anything about me."

Something flickers in his eyes at my words, and for a heartbeat, it feels as if I've become invisible in his eyes, and he's seeing - remembering - someone else.

But then another moment passes, and his jaw tightens. Heat floods back in his gaze, and it's enough to make my knees knock against each other...and for me to question my sanity. Did I just imagine the whole thing?

"I know enough," he says finally. "And right now, the most important thing I'm sure of is that you want me, too."

In one fluid motion, he pulls me down onto his lap, and this time there's no pretense of accident. I land with my back against his chest, his strong arms encircling my waist.

"Tell me to stop," he breathes against my ear, "and I will."

I should.

I know I should.

But the words won't come.

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