Heartbreaker Read online

  She didn’t want to stop. Already she was coming apart inside, because she wanted nothing more than to simply lie against him and feel his hands on her. She’d known it would be like this, and she’d known she couldn’t let it happen, couldn’t let him get close to her. The feeling was so powerful that it frightened her. He frightened her. He would demand too much from her, take so much that there wouldn’t be anything left when he moved on. She’d always known instinctively that she couldn’t handle him.

  It took every bit of inner strength she had to turn her face away from his mouth, to put her hands on his shoulders and push. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to move him; when he released her and moved back a scant few inches, she was bitterly aware that it was by his own choice, not hers. He was watching her, waiting for her decision.

  Silence filled the room with a thick presence as she struggled to regain her composure under his unwavering gaze. She could feel the situation slipping out of control. For ten years she had carefully cultivated the hostility between them, terrified of letting him discover that just looking at him turned her bones to water. She’d seen too many of his women with stars in their eyes while he gave them his attention, focusing his intense sexual instincts on them, but all too soon he’d moved on to someone else, and the stars had always turned into hunger and pain and emptiness. Now he was looking at her with that penetrating attention, just what she’d always tried to avoid. She hadn’t wanted him to notice her as a woman; she hadn’t wanted to join the ranks of all those other women he’d used and left. She had enough trouble now, without adding a broken heart, and John Rafferty was a walking heartache. Her back was already to the wall; she couldn’t bear anything else, either emotionally or financially.

  But his gaze burned her with black fire, sliding slowly over her body as if measuring her breasts for the way they would fit his hands, her hips for the way his would adjust against them, her legs for the way they would wrap around him in the throes of pleasure. He’d never looked at her in that way before, and it shook her down to her marrow. Pure sexual speculation was in his eyes. In his mind he was already inside her, tasting her, feeling her, giving her pleasure. It was a look few women could resist, one of unashamed sexuality, carnal experience and an arrogant confidence that a woman would be ultimately satisfied in his arms. He wanted her; he intended to have her.

  And she couldn’t let it happen. She’d been wrapped in a silken prison her entire life, stifled first by her father’s idealistic adoration, then by Roger Beckman’s obsessive jealousy. For the first time in her life she was alone, responsible for herself and finding some sense of worth in the responsibility. Fail or succeed, she needed to do this herself, not run to some man for help. She looked at John with a blank expression; he wanted her, but he didn’t like or even respect her, and she wouldn’t like or respect herself if she let herself become the parasite he expected her to be.

  Slowly, as if her muscles ached, she eased away from him and sat down at the desk, tilting her golden head down so he couldn’t see her face. Again, pride and habit came to her aid; her voice was calm and cool when she spoke. “As I said, I don’t have the money to repay you right now, and I realize the debt is already delinquent. The solution depends on you—”

  “I’ve already made my offer,” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing at her coolness. He hitched one hip up on the desk beside her, his muscled thigh brushing against her arm. Michelle swallowed to alleviate the sudden dryness of her mouth, trying not to look at those powerful, denim-covered muscles. Then he leaned down, propping his bronzed forearm on his thigh, and that was worse, because it brought his torso closer, forcing her to lean back in the chair. “All you have to do is go ahead and accept it, instead of wasting time pretending you didn’t like it when I touched you.”

  Michelle continued doggedly. “If you want repayment immediately, I’ll have to sell the cattle to raise the money, and I’d like to avoid that. I’m counting on the sale of the cattle to keep the ranch going. What I have in mind is to sell some of the land to raise the money, but of course that will take longer. I can’t even promise to have the money in six months; it just depends on how fast I can find a buyer.” She held her breath, waiting for his response. Selling part of the land was the only plan she’d been able to devise, but it all depended on his cooperation.

  Slowly he straightened, his dark brows drawing together as he stared down at her. “Whoa, honey, let’s backtrack a little. What do you mean, ‘keep the ranch going’? The ranch is already dead.”

  “No, it isn’t,” she denied, stubbornness creeping into her tone. “I still have some cattle left.”

  “Where?” His disbelief was evident.

  “In the south pasture. The fence on the east side needs repair, and I haven’t—” She faltered at the growing anger in his dark face. Why should it matter to him? Their land joined mostly on the north; his cattle weren’t in any danger of straying.

  “Let’s backtrack a little further,” he said tightly. “Who’s supposed to be working this herd?”

  So that was it. He didn’t believe her, because he knew there were no cowhands working here any longer. “I’m working the herd,” she threw back at him, her face closed and proud. He couldn’t have made it any plainer that he didn’t consider her either capable or willing when it came to ranch work.

  He looked her up and down, his brows lifting as he surveyed her. She knew exactly what he saw, because she’d deliberately created the image. He saw mauve-lacquered toenails, white high-heeled sandals, crisp white linen pants and the white silk shirt, damp now, from contact with his wet clothes. Suddenly Michelle realized that she was damp all along the front, and hectic color rose to burn along her cheekbones, but she lifted her chin just that much higher. Let him look, damn him.

  “Nice,” he drawled. “Let me see your hands.”

  Instinctively her hands curled into fists and she glared at him. “Why?”

  He moved like a striking rattler, catching her wrist and holding her clenched hand in front of him. She pulled back, twisting in an effort to escape him, but he merely tightened his grip and pried her fingers open, then turned her palm to the light. His face was still and expressionless as he looked down at her hand for a long minute; then he caught her other hand and examined it, too. His grip gentled, and he traced his fingertips over the scratches and half-healed blisters, the forming calluses.

  Michelle sat with her lips pressed together in a grim line, her face deliberately blank. She wasn’t ashamed of her hands; work inevitably left its mark on human flesh, and she’d found something healing in the hard physical demands the ranch made on her. But no matter how honorable those marks, when John looked at them it was as if he’d stripped her naked and looked at her, as if he’d exposed something private. She didn’t want him to know so much about her; she didn’t want that intense interest turned on her. She didn’t want pity from anyone, but she especially didn’t want him to soften toward her.

  Then his gaze lifted, those midnight eyes examining every inch of her proud, closed expression, and every instinct in her shrilled an alarm. Too late! Perhaps it had been too late from the moment he’d stepped onto the porch. From the beginning she’d sensed the tension in him, the barely controlled anticipation that she had mistaken for his usual hostility. Rafferty wasn’t used to waiting for any woman he wanted, and she’d held him off for ten years. The only time she’d been truly safe from him had been during her brief marriage, when the distance between Philadelphia and central Florida had been more than hundreds of miles; it had been the distance between two totally different life-styles, in both form and substance. But now she was back within reach, and this time she was vulnerable. She was broke, she was alone, and she owed him a hundred thousand dollars. He probably expected it to be easy.

  “You didn’t have to do it alone,” he finally said, his deep voice somehow deeper and quieter. He still held her hands, and his rough thumb