Typical Male. Cait London
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man to jail and then took his land!”
Tyrell’s lazy gaze lowered to study her expression. She hated her own intensity and wished she were more skilled at covering her emotions — she wasn’t; she had never played games. He spoke slowly, “You’re serious about this. You actually want to reopen Cutter’s old feud. You want revenge.”
She pounced on the words, “feud” and “revenge.” It was to her benefit that Tyrell knew this was not a whim, but a need that drove her every breath. “You got it, buddy.”
“Well, then,” he said slowly. He stretched slowly and traced a deer moving through the woods. Celine blinked at all that male body rippling in front of her. Working in the field, she’d seen men without shirts, but they were just — she swallowed abruptly as an unfamiliar need stabbed at her. Just a feminine little lurch that she couldn’t define. Celine liked everything m black-and-white descriptions, surveyed in neat definite lines with boundary markers; she did not like unsteady emotions.
Tyrell’s slow smile might have devastated another woman. “I guess you’ve got to deal with me. I appreciate the notice. And thanks for referring to me as a ‘big juicy tomato.’ I’m honored, and you’ve gone to all this trouble, too, to pick me from my vine. My, that makes me feel so special.”
She nodded grimly, satisfied that Tyrell was taking her as a serious threat. Then the notion struck her that Tyrell Blaylock, the man she’d ruined, was flirting with her. Uncertain, she eyed him through her steamy glasses. Only men desperate for women in her remote work sites had ever made passes at her. She’d squashed those ideas without hesitation. For the most part, the men she knew considered her efficient, precise and one of the boys.
A man, not one of the boys, stood in front of her, towering over her. Tyrell Blaylock was sleek, hard and unshaken by her threat. She eyed him; maybe he had a dual personality and could flip back at any moment to his sleek city-hunter image. Either way, she had him tacked to the wall and she wasn’t backing off.
His high cheekbones gleamed, a muscle moving rhythmically in his jaw. “Let’s just keep this between us, shall we, Lomax?”
“You’re already bargaining, Blaylock. That makes me happy. I’ve got you worried and that’s a good sign.”
He lifted that disbelieving eyebrow again. “You could be wrong. All you have is your grandfather’s side of the story.”
“I’m not wrong. But I agree that it would make my research easier if your family and neighbors didn’t worry about protecting their land. After I get the information I need, I’ll turn my case over to an attorney. Or your family can pay me for the land and we’ll assess damages, starting with all the medical bills of my grandfather and father.” Her stomach twisted painfully. The markers over their graves were the cheapest — She looked away from Tyrell, stiff with pain in her body and her mind.
“Do you agree that the rest of my family won’t enter this?” Tyrell asked slowly, defining the ground rules and pushing her.
She hated being pushed. She waited because she knew he wanted an answer, and she wasn’t ready to give it to him. “Hey. I’m setting the ground rules. I’m the one with a plan. I’m in control of this gig, got it? This isn’t a fancy boardroom. I’m not obligated to you.”
“You are if you want to stay out of jail and work as a surveyor again. I’m happy to play your little busybody game—”
She turned on him, burning with fury. She could have leaped upon him and — “‘Busybody game’?”
He lowered his head, meeting her glare. His fist gripped her sweater to draw her up on the tip of her toes. “You’ve got a temper, Lomax. You push my family and I’ll call in a few favors. I didn’t leave corporate America because I was forced out. I had job offers and colleagues who would have stood with me. I walked.”
“That’s a lie. I ruined you. Me...a Lomax, and you’re not blackmailing me. I don’t go down easy. You’re living up here in a cabin because you’re broke and hiding out. High wheelers and dealers can lose it as easy as they make it. Or maybe it’s just good old shame that you’ve been kicked out.”
“‘A lie,”’ he repeated slowly, dangerously, as if no one had ever dared speak to him like that. The vein in his throat stood out in relief. He hitched her a fraction higher, his breath sweeping across her face as their stares locked. “I’ll bet that backpack is heavy,” he said slowly.
“Not a bit,” she lied, though the straps would probably leave chafe marks. Her tiptoes barely touched the ground, but she wasn’t frightened. If Blaylock wanted to test her, that was fine. She’d lived with bullies all her life. “I’ve walked across deserts carrying this weight and more.”
His eyes darkened and shot down to her mouth. She licked her lips and hoped she didn’t have a crumb of that last cookie on them — that would nun her going-for-the-kill image.
“You like gingersnap cookies, do you, Lomax?” he asked in a tone that sent a jolt of electricity to every tense muscle in her body. There was just a hint of play, of curiosity, and something darker, deeper, more elemental.
Celine tensed. Whatever the ball game was right now, she didn’t know how to play. Tethered by his grip, she glared at him. In her lifetime, when uncertain, she’d found that glaring was always a safe defensive move. Tyrell’s eyes narrowed pinning her. The air seemed to slither, tingle and heat as if it were alive; it sucked away her breath, and sent tiny thunderbolts through her body. That uncertain churning in her stomach had to be too little sleep and too much coffee. She pushed away the unfamiliar tense emotion and went for a solid jab on what she suspected might be a tender spot. “When Papa jerked your position, she didn’t want a working man. Hillary-poo chose not to believe you, didn’t she? And then she couldn’t leave Papa’s money for someone who is down and out, could she?”
His expression darkened, tightened and then he abruptly released her sweater. He rubbed his jaw and the sound of beard against his rough palm echoed eerily in the misty air. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re not exactly sweet?”
“You’re hurting my feelings, Blaylock,” she shot at him cheerfully. She blew away the raindrop that had been clinging to the end of her nose.
His expression softened, humor dancing in his black eyes. “You’re wet clear through, Lomax. A pitiful soggy little thing.”
She snorted at the “little thing.” She’d worked right beside her crew, blazing heat and freezing ice storms. She’d hauled wood for campfires, climbed mountains and — “At least I’m dressed, not standing half-naked in a drenching rain and playing at being a mountain man.”
Tyrell looked slowly down her body and Celine realized that her flesh had chilled, her nipples thrusting against the damp sweater. She usually wore a vest in the cold, but men’s chests did the same thing in cold weather. She was sturdily built, probably a gift from her Scots-Irish ancestors. She watched, fascinated as a dark flush rose up his cheeks. He closed his eyes, groaned and turned, striding through the wet grass away from her.
“Hey! I’m not done with you,” she shouted, trudging after him through the sodden meadow. “You haven’t heard all the good stuff yet. You’re just a typical male, you know...running when things get tough.”
He turned his head to glower at her over his shoulder, then turned and kept walking.
“Running, huh?” she called, enjoying herself for the first time in—in forever. Her grin stopped when he allowed a small wet branch to flip back in her face. She sputtered, mopping the water from her face as she hurried after him. “You did that on purpose. I should have expected something sneaky like that from a Blaylock.”
Her backpack slipped and as she struggled to tug it back up again, her glasses went awry. Tyrell appeared out of the mist and stripped the backpack away. Dangling from his large hand, it looked like a toy. With his other hand, he straightened her glasses. “Coming, dear?” he asked between his teeth. “Or don’t you know enough to get out of