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Jake’s mouth thinned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His tone was suddenly cold. Addison couldn’t blame him. He’d asked a damned good question.
What had just happened—down-and-dirty sex with a man she had just met, a man who’d accused her of trying to seduce him into bed or maybe into accepting a job—had involved the both of them.
There was no way she could blame it on Jake Wilde alone, much as she wanted to.
She’d been part of it.
Her throat constricted.
More than part.
She’d been an eager participant.
The proof was in each wild, exciting memory.
The taste of him, still on her lips.
The scent of him, still in each breath she took.
The echo of her own voice, feverishly repeating his name, asking him, begging him to—to—
Her belly knotted.
She thought of how they must look, he standing with his back to a truck in the middle of nowhere, she standing before him, what they’d just done stamped all over her.
His tie was askew.
More to the point, she didn’t have her panties on.
She wanted to weep with humiliation. That she, of all people, would do such a thing. She’d grown up with a mother whose attitude toward men had devolved to something about as complicated as her attitude toward potato chips.
Why have just one if more are available?
As for her … she wasn’t a virgin. She wasn’t some sad little innocent. She’d had sex before.
A few times …
Very few.
The truth was, she was on the pill to regulate her menstrual cycle, not for anything more exciting.
For one crazy second, she thought of telling him that.
And almost laughed.
What would she say? I’m not the kind of girl who has sex up against a truck with a man I’ve known for five minutes….
But she was. And there was no explanation for it that would make her feel better.
“Look,” he said, his tone conciliatory, “I know you’re upset….”
She took one quick look at his face, all hard angles and planes in the moonlight, and then she turned away.
The flashlight lay at their feet, still lit, the beam illuminating—she shuddered—illuminating what remained of her panties and one shoe.
What had become of the other?
As if it mattered.
She bent. So did he. His hand closed on hers as she reached for the flashlight. She pulled her hand free, picked up the light and the scrap of silk that was proof of her shame.
“Dammit,” he growled, “talk to me!”
She looked at him. The muscle in his jaw was flickering. What did he expect her to say? Thank you for the good time?
“Listen, lady, I’m not going to let you pretend this didn’t happen.”
“You’re not going to let me pretend this didn’t happen?” Addison tossed her tangled curls back from her eyes. “Here’s a news flash, Captain. What I do or don’t do isn’t up to you!”
He caught her by the wrist again; she gasped as he pulled her closer. “We’re a little past the ‘Captain’ routine. And, yeah, you’re damned right, what you do is none of my business.”
“I’m glad we agree,” she said coldly.
The pressure on her wrist increased; he tugged her the last few inches toward him until there was virtually no space separating them at all.
“But there’s no way I’m going to let you look at me as if I forced you to do this. We made love,” he said bluntly. “Why can’t you accept that?”
“We had sex,” she snapped. “And if you don’t know the difference, I feel sorry for you.”
The quick change in his expression terrified her. She stared up at him. Even in her stilettos, she’d had to look up to see his face.
Now, she had to tilt her head back.
It made her feel powerless.
“Do not,” he said, very softly, “do not ever make the mistake of feeling sorry for me.”
His hand fell from hers. He turned on his heel, swung the Tundra’s door open and climbed behind the wheel.
“And you’re right, Ms. McDowell. We had sex. Nothing to write home about, either.”
Addison forced a little smile. “At least we agree on something.”
It was the worst kind of lie and it left the taste of ashes in her mouth, but the look he shot her told her it was a small victory.
God knew, she needed it.
Head up, shoulders back, she marched away from him toward her car, still shoeless. No way was she going to give him the pleasure of watching her search for that miserable missing shoe.
She waited for the sound of the truck starting up.
Nothing happened.
Her spine tingled. She could feel his eyes on her. She wanted to run but she wouldn’t do it.
This was her property.
He was still watching as she got behind the wheel, started the engine and turned on her lights. It wasn’t far to the house, only a couple of hundred yards.
Would he follow?
Would he expect to have sex with her again?
Her heart began to race as she imagined what would happen if he came after her. If he took her not against a truck but in a bed.
Naked, skin to skin. That hard, powerful body under her hands.
He was like no one she’d ever known before. Beautiful. Proud. Complex.
And wild.
God, so wild …
She reached the house, stumbled from the truck and went to the porch.
She was alone.
His truck, engine idling, stood unmoving.
He wasn’t coming after her.
Still, she didn’t take an easy breath until she was inside the house with the door closed and locked. She leaned back against it, panting.
The truck roared to life. The engine faded.
Jacob Wilde was gone.
Shaken, she slumped against the door.
“Damn you,” she whispered.
Tears filled her eyes. Not tears of sorrow. She had never believed in feeling sorry for herself.
It was just that after all this time, she’d behaved exactly the way the world had always seen her, first when she was a girl and an entire town seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her to become her mother’s daughter, and then after Charlie’s death.
What had happened with Jacob Wilde made no sense. You slept with a man after you got to know him. After you decided you liked him, had things in common. You went to dinner, to the theater; you took long walks, came home, made popcorn, watched a movie.
Addison tossed her purse and the flashlight on a small table.
Okay, so she wasn’t an expert on when-to-have-sex protocol.
But she knew one thing for certain.
You didn’t have sex with a stranger.
She didn’t, anyway. Never mind that it had been exciting and, God, incredible; never mind that she’d never had an orgasm before and on this night, in, what, five minutes, she’d had two.
Three, she thought, and she shut her eyes, remembered the liquid, hot feeling of Jake inside her, Jake taking her up and up and up …
Her eyes popped open.
“Are you out of your mind?” she said.
She had to be.
Or maybe she was just worn out.
Losing Charlie had been painful. The whispers had been agony. And then she’d come down here and found a ranch that looked like something out of a bad dream …
“Okay,” she said briskly.
Forget what had just happened.
Forget Jake Wilde.
Forget everything.
She would blank all of it from her mind. She’d blank out Texas, too, and Wilde’s Crossing. She belonged in New York, where life was a lot easier to understand.
She’d had enough.
To hell with finding out exactly what the ranch was worth.
“Charlie,” Addison muttered as she made her way upstairs, “forgive me, old friend, but I don’t like this place one little bit.”
Tomorrow, she’d contact the Realtor.
And go home.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_909bd14f-5fe9-5615-b9ad-3ef97b52718b)
JAKE SLEPT badly.
The truth was, he hardly slept at all but there was nothing new in that. He spent most nights tossing and turning, only to fall asleep and dream things that made him wake with his heart pounding, his skin drenched in sweat.
