The Rancher's Surrender Read online

  That stopped him. "You know who you are."

  "No, I don't, I know nothing about myself. Nothing! Not what kind of place I came from. Not my heritage, my culture." Slowly she shook her head, staring off into space. "I don't know if my father ever held me. Hell, I don't even know if he knows I exist! It drives me crazy that I can't remember."

  "You were only three," he said softly. "Just a baby, Zoe. It's not your fault."

  She wanted to believe that. "I just wish I knew why my mother left me."

  "You could try to find her," he suggested quietly.

  "I've tried. Cade's working on it, but there's nothing. She's gone and I have no idea who I am."

  He was shaking his head. "You decide who Zoe is, no one else can do that. It doesn't matter if you were born in the gutter, no one can take you away from you."

  He was talking from experience, they both knew that.

  "And then there's you," she whispered. "You make me feel things … things I don't want to feel. You want to know me, you want me to let you in…" She let out a pained laugh. "You want me to let you in when I can't find the door to open. I mean, I can't even tell you what my father's name was, Ty."

  "Zoe." There was compassion in his voice and something that sounded very much like pity, which she couldn't take. She was going to break down right here in front of him if she so much as blinked.

  "I'm sorry," he said so gently her eyes filled. She needed out. Now.

  "I'm thirsty," she muttered, and dashed into the kitchen, swiping at her eyes.

  When Ty followed her, he found her standing in front of his opened refrigerator.

  "I need something to eat," she said with a hitched breath.

  "I thought you were thirsty."

  "Well, now I'm hungry."

  He sighed. "I'll take you home."

  "You … you want me to go?"

  He looked at her, saw the fear and nerves, and cursed himself for pushing her. Cursed himself for caring so much.

  "Fine. You won't talk, but you want food." He yanked a tub of ice cream out of the freezer and dropped it on the counter. Grabbing a can of whipped cream from the refrigerator, he shoved it at her. "Go for it."

  Reflexively she took the can, clutched it to her chest. "I don't know what you want from me."

  "I want…" What did he want from her? "Hell," he muttered.

  "See?" she cried. "It's not that easy, is it?"

  "Yes, it is," he decided. "I want you to open up and talk to me."

  "No, you want me to tell you how I feel about you."

  "That, too," he agreed.

  "But— But you've never told me how you feel."

  No, he had to agree, he hadn't.

  "Tell me, Ty."

  Without warning, his heart started pumping, because she was right, it wasn't nearly as easy to define as he'd thought. He stared at her, struggling. "Zoe—"

  "Oh, forget it." Turning from him, she touched the container of ice cream. "I don't want to know how you feel, anyway."

  A blatant lie, but one he was willing to let her have at the moment, because for some reason he was frightened, truly frightened. Big, bad, tough Ty Jackson, scared to death by this woman. "I want you," he said to her back. "There's more, but I'm not sure I'm ready for the rest."

  "Convenient."

  "Honest," he corrected her. "I won't ever hurt you with lies, Zoe."

  "So you want me. That's not really that big of a secret, Ty."

  "Neither is the fact you want me back."

  She stiffened and clammed up, which infuriated him. "Eat," he said, opening the carton. "Go on. Keep pretending you're not the least bit affected by me, that you feel nothing—"

  She whirled around. "At the moment, I don't have to pretend a thing!"

  "You're so full of—"

  She popped the top off the whipped cream and sprayed it in his mouth and on his face, muffling the rest of his sentence.

  Cold stickiness clouded his brain so that for a moment he could only gape at her, he was so shocked. She was shocked, too, if her wide eyes were any indication. Slowly those eyes blinked, then ran over his face, stopping at the sight of the cream around his mouth. Ty licked his lips to speak and her eyes were riveted to the action.

  Heat spiraled through him irrationally. He didn't stop to think about the wisdom of his actions, he simply reached for her, but she was quicker. Backing up a step, she aimed the can at him and looked comically fierce. "Don't take another step," she warned.

  No way was she going to squirt him again, he thought, taking another step.

  She shot him in the chest and stomach, layering whipped cream over his shirt.

  "You're going to be very sorry for that," he promised, grabbing her, wrestling the can from her hand and, without qualm, using his superior strength to wrap a long arm around her, holding her immobile against his side. He held up the can with a nasty smile.

  "Don't you dare," she choked, wriggling against him in a way that had his blood boiling.

  "Never dare me, Zoe." With that he deliberately and slowly shot whipped cream over her, ignoring her struggles and squeals. Or maybe using them as an excuse to shoot lower, across her front. Her outer plaid shirt, unbuttoned, had come off her shoulders in the struggle, pinning her arms to her sides. All the more perfect, he thought diabolically. It took only a couple of more squirts to have her T-shirt plastered to her breasts, the firm curves perfectly outlined for his enjoyment.

  Her nipples were hard and straining against the thin cotton, and his mouth watered. His body tightened and he held her still, staring down at the sight he'd created, wondering how in the hell he was supposed to let her go now.

  "I'm going to scream," she gasped, but her eyes told him something entirely different.

  "Yeah?" he whispered thickly. "Do it." Still holding her, he bent her back over his arm and put his mouth to her throat, sucking the gooey stuff from her skin in little love bites, waiting to see if she made good on her threat.

  She didn't scream at all, but moaned and clutched at him. He trailed his tongue down, licking as he went, and Zoe went wild in his arms, leaving no doubt in his mind as to what she wanted. He dragged open-mouthed kisses down, down, then hovered over an aroused and waiting nipple.

  She stopped breathing.

  So did he.

  He felt as though he were drowning in desire, needing her beyond all sanity. His tongue darted out and licked at her through her cotton T-shirt and she did scream then, arching up so that he could suck her breast into his mouth.

  When she was without reason, Ty lifted his head, gazing down into her flushed, damp face. "This is where you belong, Zoe. In my arms. I'm going to prove it to you."

  Her eyes cleared and flashed, her mouth opened, surely to claim otherwise, and he took full advantage, swallowing her angry words with his lips. He could taste the lingering brandy, and her own sweet breath. Could taste her desire, and the fear of that very thing. Could taste the confusion and remembered pain of her past, and that hurt he tasted touched him as nothing else could have.

  Gentling the kiss, he drew her even closer, sank his fingers into her glorious, now-sticky hair and deepened their connection. She responded immediately, pressing against him with an urgency he understood all too well. This had been too long in the coming, too much tension, and he had no idea if he could slow down enough to do it right.

  But then he slid his hips against hers and she stiffened in his arms, inexperienced and uncertain. There was just something about her, so wise and yet innocent, and it tugged at his soul.

  And he knew in that moment that for her, he could slow down.

  He could do anything.

  "Zoe."

  She looked at him from beneath slumberous green eyes. Their bodies were glued together by the whipped cream, belly to belly, chest to chest. He wanted to make love with her, but he wanted so much more. And even more shocking, he wanted her to want those things, too. "I want—"

  "Kiss me again, Ty."

&nbs