Page 23 of Return of the Rancher

Gradually, the furor subsided and something else took its place, something seductive and unwise. That odd feeling was tenderness.

He couldn’t afford that. This would only work if he concentrated on the physical. He would give her pleasure. Good sex. Great sex, if they were lucky. Nothing else. He sure as hell couldn’t dwell on the past.

Without overthinking it, he scooped her into his arms, opened the door to his bedroom and carried her inside. Instead of using the overhead light, he flicked on a small lamp by the bed.

He waited for her to say something about the new furnishings, but she didn’t. Instead, she stared up at him with an expression that was impossible to discern.

When he flipped back the covers and lowered her gently to the mattress, he saw her breasts move as she inhaled sharply. “You can change your mind,” he said, cursing the sense of honor that forced out the words.

“No.” She rose up on her elbows. “I want this. I want you.”

Something about the words chipped at a raw wound in his heart. Danger hovered in the air, drawing both of them toward a place where there would be no turning back.

“I should take a shower,” he said, suddenly remembering he was travel worn. “I’ll be quick.”

India shook her head. “No. If you do that, one of us will change our minds.”

Ah. So even his prospective lover saw the pitfalls. “If that’s true, doesn’t it mean we’re making a huge mistake?” He didn’t know why he was pointing out the obvious.

“And if we are?”

The mocking challenge in her voice pushed him over the edge. “Fine,” he said, the word like glass in his tight throat. “Give me three minutes. Not a shower. Just freshening up.”

He took care of the necessary ablutions in one hundred and fifty seconds and exited the bathroom in a rush, expecting to find her gone.

But he was wrong. India had moved to the center of his bed. She was still on her back—one leg propped up. A few buttons of her pajama top were open, and she was caressing her own breast.

His heart thumped so hard against his ribs he thought he might be having a heart attack. While in the bathroom, he had undressed entirely and used a washcloth for the quickest rubdown on record. He had also put on his robe.

Now he was glad to have help disguising the fact that he was rock-hard. If she knew how very close he was to exploding with lust, he might frighten her away.

Slowly, he approached the bed. India barely seemed to notice. Her eyes were closed. A tiny smile tilted the corners of her mouth.

“India...” He said her name softly, not wanting to startle her.

When her eyelids fluttered and opened, her gaze was hazy and warm. “There you are,” she said, the words low and slurred.

He stopped beside the bed. “You should know something,” he said gruffly. “I’m clean. I haven’t been with a woman since you.”

India sat straight up in bed, her eyes flashing with temper. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me. I trust you to protect your health, but don’t spin me a tale. It’s not necessary, and I don’t want to hear it.”

It had never occurred to him that she wouldn’t believe the truth. He didn’t know what to say.

Inkie had plenty of words for both of them. “If we’re exchanging notes,” she said, “I’ve only had one sexual relationship. He was a colleague. It ended over two years ago. We were always careful. That’s it.”

Pain seared the center of Farris’s chest like a sword dipped in poison. He should not have been surprised. At all. India had been single for five years. Because of him.

He took several shallow breaths, trying to survive the unexpected blow that left him hollow. Knowing hurt far worse than simply suspecting. The news also deflated his erection. “Well, then,” he said, “I suppose that’s that.”

While India watched, he shrugged out of his robe and tossed it on a nearby chair. He slid into bed beside her, tugging her arm until she lay down again. He pulled her close, feeling dizzy with disbelief. Five years. Five years since he had held her like this.

Meanwhile, India was so still and quiet he wasn’t sure she was breathing.

Finally, she whispered something that caught at his emotions and brought out his protective instincts. “I don’t want to get hurt again,” she said quietly. “You’re not my husband. We aren’t even friends. We’re just two lonely adults looking for comfort.”

Who was she trying to convince?

He swallowed hard. “I agree.” The lie caught in his throat, but he told himself it was necessary. If India knew the truth about him—any of it—she would run far and fast.

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