In the Arms of a Hero. Beverly Barton
Читать онлайн книгу.
was faced with the confrontation that was sure to come. His hand brushed against hers as if he commanded her attention, and she drew aside, unwilling to allow him any familiarity.
His chuckle surprised her, and she glanced up, wary of the humor that lit his gaze. “What’s so funny?”
“You. Trying to avoid the simple touch of my hand against yours. When we both know you didn’t feel so hesitant to have my hands on you once upon a time.”
She felt a blush redden her cheeks, knew the haze of anger blurring her vision. “That was a cheap shot, Max. Although it tells me much about your opinion of me. I wasn’t aware that you thought so little of my—”
“You haven’t the faintest idea what I thought about you,” he said harshly, interrupting her before she could muster an adequate defense. “You didn’t give me a chance to answer any of your accusations or offer any compromise that might have salvaged something of the wreck we’d managed to make of our marriage.”
“I knew,” she said quietly, opening the gate to the corral and leading his mount through the dusty area to the pasture gate beyond. She quickly stripped the saddle from the horse’s back, and Max took its weight from her, tossing it atop the corral fence.
“You knew?” he asked, brushing his hands together as he stepped ahead to lift the latch on the narrow entry to the lush grass beyond the fence. Three horses occupied the pasture, two of them the team she used for field work. Her own mare looked up, sent a shrill welcome to the visitor and loped eagerly toward them.
“I’ll be damned.” Max’s words were a hushed whisper. “Where’d you get that mare?” he asked, his attention taken by the golden creature that approached. Creamy mane flying in the wind, her tail a flag held high, the horse was a vision to behold.
“Bought her,” Faith said shortly.
“She’s breeding,” he said, his gaze scanning the slender legs and swollen belly. “When’s she due to drop her foal?”
“Anytime now.” And if he thought he was going to be here to attend the event, he had another think coming, she decided.
“Have you got a buyer lined up?” Max reached for the mare, spooking her with his touch, and she tossed her head, flirting a bit, as if she were accustomed to attention from visitors.
“The foal will belong to my neighbor, Nicholas Garvey. I used his stud. He’ll breed her for me in another month or so, and the next one is mine.”
Max shot her a look of disbelief. “You’re not charging him, just giving him—”
“I made the deal,” she said harshly. “I live in this house, free of charge. He owns it, and he keeps an eye on things…sort of looks after me.”
The dark eyes grew cold, his jaw tightened, and his mouth was a thin line. “Looks after you? And allows you to live in his house? And where does he spend his nights?”
She felt a chill pebble her flesh at the offending words. “My neighbor’s interest in me is none of your business,” she retorted.
“I’d say it is. You’re my wife. I have a license in my pack that proves it. Any man who’s been looking at you—”
His words were stilled by the flat of her hand, the sound resembling a gunshot as she swung her arm in an unexpected motion he stood no chance of halting. “Don’t you dare insult me that way,” she whispered. “Or Nicholas either, for that matter. He’s my neighbor, not my lover. His wife would not stand by and watch that happen, let alone the fact that my own sense of decency—”
Max halted her words by the simple act of holding his hand over her mouth. She felt the calluses on his palm rub against her lips, shivered again as he stepped closer and circled her waist with his other arm.
“I apologize,” he said, bridling his temper. His nostrils flared, but he bowed his head just a bit, a conciliatory gesture, she thought. “I had no right to make such a statement.”
His grip tightened and she stumbled, losing her balance, her weight held up by his greater strength and the long lines of muscle, sinew and bone that made up his stalwart frame.
She trembled at his touch, the heat of his body radiating through the layers of their clothing. Shrinking from the intimacy of their positions, she felt his hand at the base of her spine flatten, pressing her even closer, and became suddenly aware of the taut, powerful length of his thighs.
And then was taken aback by the unmistakable shape of his masculine arousal against her belly.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, his eyes narrowing as if he’d only just recognized the telltale sign of his reaction to her warmth. “It’s obviously been a long time since a woman stood this close to me. I didn’t mean to be so blatant.” A crooked smile curved his lips, and his gaze touched her mouth and softened. “But then, you’ve always had this effect on me, haven’t you, Faith? One touch, one smile, and I was at your beck and call.”
“In the bedroom, perhaps,” she said quietly. Her hands lifted to press with force against his chest, and he released her. “I never complained, at least not until the last few months we were together, about your attentiveness.”
“And that change was at your own request,” he reminded her, sliding his fingers into the back pockets of his trousers, as though that were the safest place for them to rest.
Her hands clenched, and she shot him an angry look. “I don’t want to hear a discussion of what went on in my bedroom. Please, say whatever you came to say, and then leave.” And then anger twisted her features. “In fact, I’ve changed my mind about even that. Just get on your horse and go, Max.”
“It’s not that easy,” he said sharply. “There are things to be settled, papers to be signed and…” He hesitated, then drew in a deep breath. “Can we just have the day together, Faith?”
“So I can sign papers for your divorce?” she asked.
“Divorce?” He repeated the word slowly. “What makes you think I’m here for a divorce?”
“That would be the logical reason for you to come calling.” She tilted her chin, only too aware of the effect he had on her, conscious of her trembling hands, of the rapid beating of her heart, and worst of all, her yearning for the brush of his lips against her own.
“Well, that isn’t the reason. Far from it, in fact.”
His statement was flat, with certainty underlining each word.
“I’d think you’d want to get on with your life,” she said curtly. “Marry again, have a family.”
“I’m already married,” he reminded her. “And my wife has shown herself capable of giving me a family.”
The pain was sharp, quick and urgent, and she clutched at her waist as if wrapping her arms around the aching emptiness would alleviate the knife thrust he’d dealt. “I gave you a child, and then proved incapable of being a good mother.” Her stomach ached as if a giant fist clutched at it, threatening to empty its contents. “Our baby died, Max. And it was my fault.”
“I never said that,” he said quietly.
“Didn’t you?” Her laugh was forced and harsh, and held no semblance of humor. “Perhaps not.” She gave him the benefit of the doubt. “But others did.”
“My mother?” he asked, watching her closely. “If it came from her, I can only say she’s difficult to please, and she was hurt by the loss of her first grandchild.”
“Is that supposed to fix everything? Your mother was hurt?”
“Let’s not get into this right now,” he suggested mildly. “There are other things we need to decide. I know this is painful for you, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart? I think not,” she said sharply. “You lost the right to call me that