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She was unloved, at least as far as Chance Reilly was concerned. She was a necessity in his life at the moment and it was stupid to get her feelings hurt just because he’d hightailed it out of the house to work in the barn on their wedding day.
She went into the bedroom—the master bedroom where she would be spending the night with Chance. She’d spent the day before bringing more of her things over from her apartment, and Chance had spent part of the day transforming the room from Sarge’s to his own.
A new multicolored bedspread covered crisp new sheets. The spread was a splash of color in an otherwise colorless room, but she knew it was Chance’s need to brand the room with something of his own.
The top of the dresser held an array of items—several bottles of cologne, small change and a pack of matches from a café in Topeka, Kansas, with a phone number written in pencil across the front.
Lana was certain it was a woman’s number. Chance probably had a woman waiting for him in every city when he traveled. And why wouldn’t he? He was handsome and incredibly sexy and had just enough bad-boy aura about him to make him wonderfully intriguing. Women would be drawn to him like bees to honey.
She took off her dress and exchanged it for a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, rose-colored blouse at the same time wondering how long Chance would remain outside. Would he work all afternoon, or come back inside in an hour or two?
Carrying her wedding bouquet back into the kitchen, she contemplated how to spend the afternoon. She was now a wife, and the least she could do was make a nice meal for her husband.
She was eager for any activity that would take her mind away from the night to come, a night that could be beautiful beyond her wildest dreams…or confirm to her that she’d made the biggest mistake in her life.
Chance banged another nail into the barn door, using more force than was necessary to drive it into the slightly rotten wood.
He didn’t know what to do with his anger. It had been a living, breathing force inside him since he’d arrived back here and found his father had passed away. It had built to mammoth proportions when he’d heard about the terms of the will, threatening to consume him entirely.
He paused in his task and sat on a nearby bale of musty-smelling hay. The barn was a wreck, filled with cast-off machinery and rotting hay and feed. The corral outside was falling down. Fences needed mending, boards needed replacing. The entire place showed more than one year of neglect.
“And now it’s mine,” he said aloud and felt a momentary surge of triumph. He’d beaten Sarge. Despite his father’s efforts, he’d succeeded in inheriting the place that he’d always told himself he hated.
And now what he felt more than anything was guilt as he thought of the woman who had agreed to be his “bride.” The passing years had been good to Lana. She had only grown more lovely than he remembered. She deserved more than a temporary husband and single parenthood.
He plucked a piece of hay from the bale and worried it between his fingers, his mind racing back in time, remembering the thirteen-year-old Lana who had befriended the troubled, raging sixteen-year-old he had been.
Even then, at that young age, Lana had emitted a quiet strength, a sweet nature and a sympathetic ear that had drawn him to her despite their three-year age difference. For the year of their friendship, Chance had found a soothing of his anger, a calming of his pain.
In the years since, he’d always entertained a fond gratitude for the young girl who had been his confidante and support for that year of his life.
And how had he repaid her? By agreeing to her crazy idea. She’d fulfilled her end of the bargain and tonight he must fulfill his.
For the first time in his life, something he enjoyed doing, something he’d been told he was quite good at, suddenly seemed daunting. Tonight he had to make love to Lana.
He tossed the broken piece of hay aside and stood once again. Grabbing another handful of nails, he began hammering, at the same time his mind whirled with thoughts of the night to come.
No safe sex tonight. Pregnancy was the desired aftermath. In all his adult life, in all his physical relationships, he’d always been extremely careful to make sure there was not a baby as a result of a night of passion.
Chance had absolutely no desire to be a father. The very idea filled him with anxiety. What he’d learned from his own father’s parenting he never wanted to pass on to anyone else.
But Lana didn’t want a father for her baby, he reminded himself. All she wanted was a sperm donor. He was surprised to realize the whole idea of sleeping with Lana made him nervous.
What if he couldn’t fulfill his end of their bargain? What if he couldn’t perform? He shoved this thought away, knowing if he dwelled on it, he would certainly have a problem when the time came.
Dusk was falling when he made his way back to the house. As he walked into the back door, the mouth-watering scent of roast beef greeted him.
Lana was not in the kitchen, but the table was set for two. He grunted in surprise as he saw that someplace she had dug up a bright yellow tablecloth, and in the center of the table her simple wedding bouquet had been transformed into a sweet-smelling table centerpiece.
A woman’s touch.
A sudden memory flitted through his mind, a distant memory of a blond-haired woman arranging flowers in the center of the table, of her laughter that was bright as sunshine as the scent of rich chocolate chip cookies wafted from the oven.
The memory of his mother stabbed through him. When she’d died, she’d taken all the softness, all the nurturing, all the woman’s touches from this house and from his life.
Lana’s efforts found the hidden place of neglect in his soul and stirred something warm. He turned as she came into the kitchen.
“Oh, you’re back,” she said.
He nodded, suddenly feeling guilty for running out on her, escaping to do work the moment they’d returned home. He gestured toward the table. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
Her forehead wrinkled worriedly. “I hope you don’t mind. I found the tablecloth in a drawer and thought it would be nice.”
“It is nice,” he assured her and was rewarded by a slight blush of pleasure coloring her cheeks.
“I made supper. It’s ready whenever you are.” He could tell she was nervous by the way her gaze refused to meet his and the slight catch in her breath as she spoke.
“I need to shower, then I’ll be ready to eat.” He smiled at her in an attempt to diffuse some of the tension. “I’ll be out in about fifteen minutes or so.”
He left her standing in the kitchen. A moment later he stood beneath the hot spray of water in the shower, trying not to think of the nighttime to come.
Instead he focused on all the work that would have to be done on the ranch in order to get it ready for sale. It was an awesome task, but the reward would be awesome as well. His father had owed no mortgage, so the land and the house were free and clear of debt.
He could afford to hire several men to help him get the place in shape. He’d go into town tomorrow and see about hiring help. With several ranch hands, the work would go quickly and he could have the place on the market in no time.
Finishing his shower, he then towel dried and dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a button-down sports shirt. When he entered the kitchen the homey scene before him again struck him.
Lana, apparently unaware of him standing in the doorway, was at the oven. For a moment he stood silent, merely admiring her backside. She’d been slender as a young girl, and she had retained that long-legged, coltish slenderness.
Despite her slenderness, there was no mistaking the gentle curve of her hips, the shapeliness of her buttocks in the tight jeans.
Her dark hair was as he’d always seen it, tucked into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, a single errant strand loose and without restraint. He wondered what it would look like completely freed and flowing down her back. He wondered what it would feel like cascading against his fingertips.
She turned at that moment, a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes in her hands. She jumped in surprise and juggled the bowl precariously before finally settling it on the edge of the table. “You scared me,” she exclaimed.
“Sorry,” he replied. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Domesticity wasn’t exactly his style, but he felt a sudden desire to do something with her, some tiny act that might break the thickness of the air between them.
“There’s a salad in the fridge. If you want to get that on the table, I’ll get the roast and gravy,” she said.
Within minutes they were seated across from each other, eating the best meal Chance could ever remember enjoying. Still, the air was thick, the tension palpable as the shadows outside the kitchen window deepened, portending the coming of night.
He should have taken her right to the bedroom the moment the ceremony was over earlier in the day. Then, the act would be over, the ice would be broken and they wouldn’t be suffering the taut tension that was like a third guest at the table.
Dinner consisted of strained small talk, and Chance was almost grateful when the meal was over and the dishes had been washed and put away.
Chance went outside to make sure everything was locked up and secure for the night, then returned to the house, where Lana sat on the edge of the sofa looking as if she wanted nothing more than to bolt.
Enough was enough, he thought. “I’m going to bed,” he said, and watched as her dark eyes flared slightly. “You can join me whenever you’re ready.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Unless you want to call this whole thing off.”
Her eyes snapped brightly and she jumped to her feet. “Not on your life, Chance Reilly,” she said with a burst of unexpected spirit. “I did my part. I’m not about to run before you do yours.” With these words, she stalked past him and disappeared into the bathroom.
Chance stared after her. For a moment, just a brief moment, he thought he saw not dread or anxiety in her eyes, but rather excitement and anticipation.
A stir of excitement sang through him in response, the excitement of taking a new lover, the anticipatory thrill of discovery.
He turned out all the lights in the living room and went into the bedroom where the faint bedside lamp spilled a whisper of golden light through the room. Undressing, he tried not to think about the young, sweet girl Lana had been and instead focused on the fact that she was an attractive thirty-one-year-old woman.
Naked, he slid in beneath the crisp cotton sheets and waited. Staring up at the ceiling, he concentrated on what he would do with the money from the sale of the ranch. First and foremost, he wanted to start his own business. He wasn’t sure exactly what kind of business it would be, but the important thing would be he’d enjoy being his own boss.
He’d get a condo, something low-maintenance but nice. And then there was a Harley he’d been contemplating. It was a sleek, chrome machine he could easily imagine riding on his days off.
A noise at the doorway diverted his attention from the ceiling, and when he saw Lana standing there, all thoughts of condos and motorcycles fled his mind.
Clad in a white nightgown that clung to her breasts, then fell in a soft cascade to her bare feet, she looked like a vision from a dream. A very good dream.
Her glorious hair was loose and fell below her shoulders like a cloak of black silk, and Chance’s fingers itched with the need to tangle themselves in it.
She said nothing as she moved to the side of the bed and slid in beneath the covers. She lay flat on her back, barely taking up any space on the large mattress.
Chance raised himself up on one elbow and smiled. “This is very awkward, isn’t it?”
His words seemed to chisel away some of the tension. She smiled. “Horribly awkward,” she agreed.
“We can take this very slow,” he said. He reached out and lightly touched her cheek. Her skin was softer than he’d imagined and a spark of desire began to glow deep inside him.
“Slow. I’d like that.” Her voice was a bare whisper as his fingers moved from her cheek and instead trailed down the curve of her jaw.
He’d worried that he wouldn’t feel the necessary desire to fulfill his end of the bargain, but as his fingers touched the silk of her hair, and her breathing quickened slightly, he knew there would be no problem where desire was concerned.
He bent and touched his lips to hers and her instantaneous response delighted him. He’d been afraid that Lana would be overly shy and self-conscious as a lover, but her kiss was filled with sweet heat that further fed the spark inside him.
He deepened the kiss with his tongue and she responded, opening her mouth to him as her arms reached up to clasp him around the neck.
Moving his body closer to hers, he was enveloped by the evocative scent of her perfume and could feel her body heat radiating outward as if to warm him.
His mouth left hers and traveled the path his fingers had trailed earlier…down her jawline, then lingering in the vulnerable flesh just beneath her ear where a pulse beat rapidly. Her arms tightened in response to his nipping, teasing kisses.
His fingers toyed with the ribbon between her breasts, but he carefully kept away from a more intimate touch, knowing it was too soon. Instead he claimed her mouth once again, enjoying the way she tasted and the way her tongue thrust and parried with his own.
All too quickly, mere kissing wasn’t enough. Chance wanted, needed to touch her, feel her warm skin against his, cup her bare breasts in his hands.
He stroked his hands down the length of her sides. He could tell she was ready for him to take them into the next dimension. Her breathing had grown more rapid and occasionally a tiny moan issued from her lips.
“Lana,” he whispered softly. “I want to take your gown off.”
In the pale illumination of the room, she gazed at him, and he saw her desire in the dark depths of her eyes. “Shut off the light,” she replied breathlessly.
He hesitated. He didn’t want the light off. He wanted to see the beautiful skin he was eager to caress. He wanted to see her breasts, the flat of her stomach, the curve of her hips and the length of her legs.
“Please, Chance,” she said as if recognizing his hesitation. “We can keep the light on next time.”
He acquiesced to her wishes with the promise of another time ringing in his ears. Turning out the light, he heard the whisper of silk leaving flesh and when he reached for her again, she was warm and naked in his arms.
Any further conscious thought was impossible as his hands stroked her heated flesh and she returned his touch, caress for caress. Their mouths found each other’s as they explored one another’s bodies, finding the magical, secret places that evoked sighs or sweet shudders of pleasure.
All too quickly, Chance was ready to possess her completely. She arched beneath him and a deep, throaty moan escaped her as he moved between her thighs.
He moved partially into her and encountered resistance. He pressed deeper, harder, and instantly her fingernails bit into the flesh of his back. He froze, recognizing suddenly what the resistance had been.
“Lana.” Her name was both a protest and a plea. He started to pull away, shock riveting through him as he realized what he’d done, realized she’d been a virgin.
“No, Chance. It’s all right. Don’t stop now. Please don’t stop.” The fingers that had bitten into him now pulled him closer.
Heaven help him, he didn’t want to stop. She surrounded him, warm and tight and achingly pleasurable. Still, he remained inert, afraid of hurting her any more than he just had.
“Please don’t stop,” she repeated, the words a warm breath in his neck and followed by the press of her lips against his skin.
He moved tentatively, gently against her, awed by the gift she’d just given him and at the same time angry that she hadn’t told him beforehand.
Had he known she’d never been with a man before, he would have never agreed to this whole scheme. Now it was too late. In a single moment he’d transformed her, changed her forever, and she would never again be the same woman she’d been before climbing into his bed.
Had he known she had never made love before, he would have taken more time, enjoyed introducing her to sensations that would be new and exciting.
But it was too late now. Buried deep within her, he couldn’t staunch the storm of passion that coursed through him. Like a tidal wave, he was helpless in the wake of it as he felt himself building to a summit. Then he was over the summit and crashing down as he hoarsely cried out her name.
Moments later, he lay on his back, trying to catch his breath and wondering how on earth a woman who had never made love before had managed to get him to such a fever pitch.
He heard the slide of silk fabric and realized she had grabbed her nightgown and was once again pulling it on. “Lana, why didn’t you tell me?” he asked with a touch of censure in his voice. “I would have never agreed to any of this had I known.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you. I’m tired, Chance. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” The mattress shook with her movements and he sensed she’d turned her back to him.
A momentary urge to reach out and touch her, to pull her into his arms and hold her swept through him. It surprised him, the need to gather her against him and feel her heartbeat against his own.
But he dismissed the impulse. It was obvious she wasn’t interested in sharing any afterglow with him. She was finished with him now that the deed had been done.
As he stared up at the dark ceiling, he reminded himself that she was nothing to him but a means to an end. And it was apparent that he was the same to her. That was just fine with him. The last thing he wanted was any sort of emotional tie to this woman or this place.
In three to five months time, he’d be out of here and this time when he left Prosperino, he didn’t intend to ever look back.
A dream awakened Emily Blair Colton. She sat straight up in bed, heart pounding with the residual terror of the dream. No, not a dream, a nightmare.
She stared around the room, looking for something familiar, safe. Bright moonlight streamed into the bedroom window, painting the room in silvery shades.
A deep, abiding sadness stole away the terror as reality sank in. She wasn’t home. She wasn’t safe and sound at the ranch in Prosperino, California, with her loving adoptive parents, Meredith and Joe Colton.
She was in the small town of Red River, Montana, hiding out because somebody was trying to kill her. Chilled, and with the memory of the dream further haunting her, she got out of bed, grabbed her robe and left the bedroom.
She turned on the table lamp, pulled her robe on, then sank down on the sofa, her mind in a jumble of thoughts just as it had been for the last year, since leaving home and running for her life.
