Duncan's Bride Read online

  Her voice had a small rasp to it that tugged at him. He shook her hand, noting the absence of jewelry except for the plain gold hoops in her ears. He didn’t like to see a woman’s hands weighted down with rings on every finger, especially when the hands were as slim as hers. He didn’t release her as he repeated, “Are you all right?”

  Madelyn blinked, a slow closing and opening of her eyelids that masked a deep shifting and settling inside. “Yes, thank you,” she replied, not bothering to make an excuse for her behavior. What could she say? That she’d been stunned by a sudden surge of lust for him? It was the truth, but one that couldn’t be voiced. She knew she should be charming to ease the awkwardness of this meeting, but somehow she couldn’t summon up the superficial chatter to gloss things over. She could do nothing but stand there.

  They faced each other like gunfighters on a dirt street, oblivious to the eddies of people stepping around their small, immobile island. He was watching her from beneath level brows, taking his time with his survey but keeping his thoughts hidden. Madelyn stood still, very aware of her femaleness as he looked her up and down with acutely masculine appraisal, though he revealed neither appreciation nor disapproval. His thoughts were very much his own, his face that of an intensely private man.

  Even shadowed by his hat brim as they were, she could tell that his eyes were a dark green-blue-hazel color, shot through with white striations that made them gleam. They were wrinkled at the outer corners from what must have been years of squinting into the sun, because he sure didn’t look as if he’d gotten those lines from laughing. His face was stern and unyielding, making her long to see how he’d look if he smiled, and wonder if he had ever been carefree. This man wasn’t a stranger to rough times or hard work.

  “Let’s go fetch your other luggage,” he said, breaking the silent confrontation. It was a long drive back to the ranch, and he was impatient to be on the way. Chores had to be done no matter how late he got back.

  His voice was a baritone, a bit gravelly. Madelyn registered the rough texture of it even as she nodded toward the carry-on bag. “That’s it.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yes.”

  If all her clothes were in that one small bag, she sure hadn’t made any big plans to impress him with her wardrobe, he thought wryly. Of course, she would impress him most without any wardrobe at all.

  He bent down to lift the carry-on, still keeping his hand on her arm. She was pure, walking provocation, totally unsuitable for ranch life, but every male hormone in him was clanging alert signals. She was only going to be here for a day; why shouldn’t he enjoy being with her? It would be sort of a last fling before settling down with someone better prepared for the job, and job it would be. Ranching was hard work, and Madelyn Patterson didn’t look as if she had ever been exposed to the concept.

  Right now, though, he didn’t mind, because she was so damn enticing and he was dead tired of the relentless months—years—of sixteen-hour days and backbreaking work. He would take her out to eat tonight, after his chores were done; maybe they’d go to Jasper’s for some dancing, and he’d hold her in his arms for a while, feel the softness of her skin, smell her perfume. Who knew, maybe when they went back to the ranch it wouldn’t be to separate beds. He’d have to be up front in telling her that she wasn’t right for the job, so there wouldn’t be any misunderstanding, but maybe it wouldn’t make any difference to her. Maybe.

  His hand naturally moved from her arm to her back as he led her out of the terminal. Deliberately he set about charming her, something he had once done with women as effortlessly as he had smiled. Those days were far in the past, but the touch remained. She chatted easily, thank God, asking questions about Montana, and he answered them just as easily, letting her relax and get comfortable with him, and all the while he studied her face and expressions.

  Strictly speaking, she was merely pretty, but her face was lit by a liveliness that made her stunningly attractive. Her nose had a slight bump in it and was just a tiny bit crooked. A light dusting of freckles covered the bridge of it and scattered across her cheekbones, which were exquisitely chiseled. World-class cheekbones, just like her legs. Her lips weren’t full, but her mouth was wide and mobile, as if she were forever on the verge of smiling. Her eyes were the grayest eyes he’d ever seen. They were calm, sleepy eyes that nevertheless revealed on closer inspection an alert and often amused intelligence, though he didn’t see what she found so amusing.

  If he’d met her before his rotten marriage and disastrous divorce, he would have gone after her like gangbusters, and gotten her, too, by God. Just the thought of those legs wrapped around his waist brought him to instant, uncomfortable arousal. No way, though, would he let his gonads lead him into another unsuitable marriage. He knew what he wanted in a wife, and Madelyn wasn’t it. She didn’t look as if she’d ever even seen a steer.

  None of that decreased his physical response to her one whit. He’d been attracted to a lot of women at first sight, but not like this, not like a slam in the gut. This wasn’t just attraction, a mild word to describe a mild interest; this was strong and wrenching, flooding his body with heat, making him grow hard even though he sure as hell didn’t want to here in the middle of the airport. His hands actually hurt from wanting to touch her, to smooth over her breast and hip in a braille investigation of those sleek curves.

  He felt a twinge of regret that she was so out of place, so totally unsuitable for his purposes. Walking beside her, he saw the sidelong glances that other men were giving her. Women like her just naturally attracted male speculation, and he wished he could afford to keep her, but she was too expensive for him. Reese was broke now, but at one time he had been accustomed to money; he knew how it looked and smelled and tasted, and how it fit. It fit Madelyn Patterson as perfectly as her silky skin did. She was slim and bright in her Paris-made suit, and the perfume sweetened by her warm flesh cost over two hundred dollars an ounce. He knew because it was one of his favorites. He couldn’t even afford to keep her in perfume, much less clothes.

  “What sort of work do you do?” he asked as they stepped into the bright sunshine. Those terse little letters she’d written hadn’t revealed much.

  She made a face, wrinkling her nose. “I work in an office without a window, doing nothing important, in my stepbrother’s company. It’s one of those jobs made for family.” She didn’t tell him that she’d turned in her notice, because he might assume she had done it thinking that she would be moving to Montana, and the one had nothing to do with the other. But her racing pulse told her that if he asked, she’d be packed and moved in with him so fast he’d think she owned her own moving company.

  “Have you ever been on a ranch?” He asked it even though he already knew the answer.

  “No.” Madelyn looked up at him, something she still had to do despite her three-inch heels. “But I do know how to ride.” She was actually a very good horsewoman, courtesy of her college roommate in Virginia, who had been horse mad.

  He dismissed any riding she might have done. Recreational riding was a far cry from riding a workhorse, and that was what his horses were, trained and as valuable in their own way as a racehorse. It was just one more area where she didn’t measure up.

  They reached his truck, and he watched to see if she turned up her nose at it, as dusty and battered as it was. She didn’t blink an eye, just stood to the side while he unlocked the door and placed her bag on the middle of the seat. Then he stepped back for her to get in.

  Madelyn tried to seat herself and found that she couldn’t. An astonished expression crossed her face; then she began to laugh as she realized her skirt was too tight. She couldn’t lift her legs enough to climb up on the seat. “What women won’t do for vanity,” she said in a voice full of humor at her own expense and began tugging up the hem of the skirt. “I wore this because I wanted to look nice, but it would have been smarter to have worn slacks.”

  Reese’s throat locked as he watched her pull up th