Heartbreaker Read online

  Quietly she closed the door, shutting out the sound of rain. The silent house enclosed her, an empty reminder of the shambles of her life.

  Her jaw clenched as she ground her teeth together, but she didn’t cry. Her eyes remained dry. She couldn’t afford to waste her time or strength indulging in useless tears. Somehow she had to hold on to the ranch, repay that debt, and hold off John Rafferty… .

  The last would be the hardest of all, because she’d be fighting against herself. She didn’t want to hold him off; she wanted to creep into his iron-muscled arms and feel them close around her. She wanted to feed her hunger for him, touch him as she’d never allowed herself to do, immerse herself in the man. Guilt arose in her throat, almost choking her. She’d married another man wanting John, loving John, obsessed with John; somehow Roger, her ex-husband, had sensed it, and his jealousy had turned their marriage into a nightmare.

  Her mind burned with the memories, and to distract herself she walked briskly into the kitchen and prepared dinner for one; in this case, a bowl of cornflakes in milk. It was also what she’d had for breakfast, but her nerves were too raw to permit any serious cooking. She was actually able to eat half of the bowlful of cereal before she suddenly dropped the spoon and buried her face in her hands.

  All her life she’d been a princess, the darling, pampered apple of her parents’ eyes, born to them when they were both nearing forty and had given up hope of ever having children. Her mother had been a gentle, vague person who had passed straight from her father’s keeping into that of her husband, and thought that a woman’s role in life was to provide a comfortable, loving home for her husband, who supported her. It wasn’t an unusual outlook for her generation, and Michelle didn’t fault her mother for it. Langley Cabot had protected and spoiled both his wife and his daughter; that was the way life was supposed to be, and it was a source of pride to him that he supported them very well indeed. When her mother died, Michelle had become the recipient of all that protective devotion. Langley had wanted her to have the best of everything; he had wanted her to be happy, and to his way of thinking he had failed as a father and provider if she weren’t.

  In those days Michelle had been content to let her father shower her with gifts and luxuries. Her life had been humming along just as she had always expected, until the day Langley had turned her world upside down by selling the Connecticut house where she’d grown up, and moved her down to a cattle ranch in central Florida, not far from the Gulf coast. For the first time in her life, Langley had been unmoved by her pleas. The cattle ranch was his dream come true, the answer to some deeply buried need in him that had been hidden under silk shirts, pin-striped suits and business appointments. Because he’d wanted it so badly, he had ignored Michelle’s tears and tantrums and jovially assured her that before long she’d have new friends and would love the ranch as much as he did.

  In that, he was partially right. She made new friends, gradually became accustomed to the heat, and even enjoyed life on a working cattle ranch. Langley had completely remodeled the old ranch house when he’d bought it, to ensure that his beloved daughter wasn’t deprived in any way of the comfort she was accustomed to. So she’d adjusted, and even gone out of her way to assure him of her contentment. He deserved his dream, and she had felt ashamed that she’d tried to talk him out of it. He did so much to make her happy, the least she could do was return as much of the effort as she could.

  Then she’d met John Rafferty. She couldn’t believe that she’d spent ten years running from him, but it was true. She’d hated him and feared him and loved him all at once, with a teenager’s wildly passionate obsession, but she had always seen one thing very clearly: he was more than she could handle. She had never daydreamed of being the one woman who could tame the rake; she was far too vulnerable to him, and he was too strong. He might take her and use her, but she wasn’t woman enough to hold him. She was spoiled and pampered; he didn’t even like her. In self-defense, she had devoted herself to making him dislike her even more to make certain he never made a move on her.

  She had gone to an exclusive women’s college back east, and after graduation had spent a couple of weeks with a friend who lived in Philadelphia. During that visit she’d met Roger Beckman, scion of one of the oldest and richest families in town. He was tall and black haired, and he even had a trim mustache. His resemblance to John was slight, except for those points, and Michelle couldn’t say that she had consciously married Roger because he reminded her of John, but she was very much afraid that subconsciously she had done exactly that.

  Roger was a lot of fun. He had a lazy manner about him, his eyes wrinkled at the edges from smiling so much, and he loved organized crazy games, like scavenger hunts. In his company Michelle could forget about John and simply have fun. She was genuinely fond of Roger, and came to love him as much as she would ever love any man who wasn’t John Rafferty. The best thing she could do was forget about John, put him behind her, and get on with her life. After all, there had never been anything between them except her own fantasies, and Roger absolutely adored her. So she had married him, to the delight of both her father and his parents.

  It was a mistake that had almost cost her her life.

  At first everything had been fine. Then Roger had begun to show signs of jealousy whenever Michelle was friendly to another man. Had he sensed that she didn’t love him as she should? That he owned only the most superficial part of her heart? Guilt ate at her even now, because Roger’s jealousy hadn’t been groundless. He hadn’t been able to find the true target, so he’d lashed out whenever she smiled at any man, danced with any man.

  The scenes had gotten worse, and one night he’d actually slapped her during a screaming fight after a party; she’d made the mistake of speaking to the same man twice while they raided the buffet table. Shocked, her face burning, Michelle had stared at her husband’s twisted features and realized that his jealousy had driven him out of control. For the first time, she was afraid of him.

  His action had shocked Roger, too, and he’d buried his face in her lap, clinging to her as he wept and begged her forgiveness. He’d sworn never to hurt her again; he’d said he would rather cut off his own hands than hurt her. Shaken to the core, Michelle did what thousands of women did when their husbands turned on them: she forgave him.

  But it wasn’t the last time. Instead, it got worse.

  Michelle had been too ashamed and shocked to tell anyone, but finally she couldn’t take any more and pressed charges against him. To her horror, his parents quietly bought off everyone involved, and Michelle was left without a legal leg to stand on, all evidence destroyed. Come hell or high water, the Beckmans would protect their son.

  Finally she tried to leave him, but she had gotten no further than Baltimore before he caught up with her, his face livid with rage. It was then that Michelle realized he wasn’t quite sane; his jealousy had pushed him over the edge. Holding her arm in a grip that left bruises for two weeks, he made the threat that kept her with him for the next two years: if she left him again, he’d have her father killed.

  She hadn’t doubted him, nor did she doubt that he’d get away with it; he was too well protected by his family’s money and prestige, by a network of old family friends in the law business. So she’d stayed, terrified that he might kill her in one of his rages, but not daring to leave. No matter what, she had to protect her father.

  But finally she found a way to escape. Roger had beaten her with a belt one night. But his parents had been in Europe on vacation, and by the time they found out about the incident it was too late to use their influence. Michelle had crept out of the house, gone to a hospital where her bruises and lacerations were treated and recorded, and she’d gotten copies of the records. Those records had bought her a divorce.

  The princess would carry the scars to her grave.

  Chapter Three

  THE TELEPHONE RANG as Michelle was nursing her